godless. soulless. there are sirens outside the window wailing dissonant melodies and harmonies reflecting off brick walls and making their way into a room full of flowers, paintings and lists. papers folded one too many times bend further still as the author stabs at names and numbers with a pen. Approaches to Literature, Intro to Poetry Writing, The Politics of the Apocalypse... None of these things will help me graduate, she thought. But I want to take them. The fan blends the noise of rain, sirens, and cars into a thin, cool breeze. The tv transitions from blue to black: it's a sign the DVD has run out, and there's nothing more to see.
she looks up. She smiles as she sees the flowers she stole from various parts of her college town: white and blue violets from the overpass, azaleas from the quad, blue bells from the front loop, clover from an alley, and African violet from her window. They all looked so sweet resting in her double shot glass from Cancun. She'd never been to Cancun, but the flowers didn't know. They didn't know much other than they'd been transplanted from a somewhere to a someplace.
she takes a sip from her mug. vibrant orange feels her senses as she indulges herself in toronja Jarritos and vodka. for all her roommate or her RA cares to know, it's soda- it's tea- it's anything but underage drinking.
she turns pages. there are pages and pages telling her of things to be done, things to be left behind. bright pink highlighter screams: Test Monday. Blue sticky-note says: leer elaboración y delimitación de la tesis. Orange highlighter dice: tienes que ir a dos citas- una a sábado y una a domingo.
godless. soulless. the vintage-style alarm clock reads past one in the morning. except the fan, the world is still. she takes her mug with her as she circles her room and gives the flowers a little more water. She stares into the tv screen before turning it off. The black, reflective surface reminds her of someone she can't place. Another sip, another night, another check mark on a list: she settles into bed and counts until she falls asleep.
she looks up. She smiles as she sees the flowers she stole from various parts of her college town: white and blue violets from the overpass, azaleas from the quad, blue bells from the front loop, clover from an alley, and African violet from her window. They all looked so sweet resting in her double shot glass from Cancun. She'd never been to Cancun, but the flowers didn't know. They didn't know much other than they'd been transplanted from a somewhere to a someplace.
she takes a sip from her mug. vibrant orange feels her senses as she indulges herself in toronja Jarritos and vodka. for all her roommate or her RA cares to know, it's soda- it's tea- it's anything but underage drinking.
she turns pages. there are pages and pages telling her of things to be done, things to be left behind. bright pink highlighter screams: Test Monday. Blue sticky-note says: leer elaboración y delimitación de la tesis. Orange highlighter dice: tienes que ir a dos citas- una a sábado y una a domingo.
godless. soulless. the vintage-style alarm clock reads past one in the morning. except the fan, the world is still. she takes her mug with her as she circles her room and gives the flowers a little more water. She stares into the tv screen before turning it off. The black, reflective surface reminds her of someone she can't place. Another sip, another night, another check mark on a list: she settles into bed and counts until she falls asleep.
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