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She fled through school recording nightmares in a pocket book, and to relay her shortcomings - behind a blistered red wall at the end of the yard - to her best friend, Astral, gave her an overwhelming feeling of untainted understanding. Although It was not the way in which Astral would arch her neck forward, as though to urge her to carry on reading from that Pearloid book, that elicited this feeling, but the knowledge that for the first time in her life, she had someone to talk to; to commend, other than her bedroom wall or teddy bear. And this was before she had read Jane Eyre.
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She loved the sound of autumn leaves being crushed under her double-decker Dr.martens, and now that she had finished school, she knew that there would be many more days during the year that she would be able to carry this favorite past-time of hers. Over the candy floss mountains, she would skip, on a pebbled path towards her preferred horizon, until her outline and the sun's rays would mix together, like sugar and syrup: Indistinguishable. And it was during one of her many excursions to the destination: a lake, surrounded in pears, where she would first sit to read Jane Eyre.
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She lifted the kettle, and the base rose with it; just like the other morning when attempting to pull one of her stilettos out of a grid that she had drunkenly stepped on: the wire mesh rose with the faux leather of her boot. On pouring her organic green tea into a Kraftwerk mug, she tried, desperately, to forget the embarrassing happenings of that night spent rubbing stains from her chequered dress, and straightening her fringe, until a deafening noise interrupted all efforts. It came from outside of the window, but on turning to identify said sound, she was greeted with nothing more than a scene of nail thin, sky-high tower blocks, that, in complete shock of remembering, stained the once green nadir where she had first read Jane Eyre.
--------4-------
She watched them run, tumble, and wallow in the grass - repeatedly - until their knees resembled a braille map more so than any recognisable part of the human anatomy. It was a warm day; the sun was beating down on her head, and as one of her grandchildren described to her the shape of a ladybug, that was nestled on a leaf of the tree he had climbed up in an attempt to reach the sun, she could not help but think about how differently her life could have been; how mutch better it could have turned out. Underneath the tree that her grandson had climbed, sat her granddaughter, a little thing, consisting of bracelets and powder blue buttons, but more interestingly, in her hands lay a book. She walked over to her and enquired as to what book she was reading, but in a voice as clear as silk she replied: "Granny, I want to be just like Jane Eyre."
She fled through school recording nightmares in a pocket book, and to relay her shortcomings - behind a blistered red wall at the end of the yard - to her best friend, Astral, gave her an overwhelming feeling of untainted understanding. Although It was not the way in which Astral would arch her neck forward, as though to urge her to carry on reading from that Pearloid book, that elicited this feeling, but the knowledge that for the first time in her life, she had someone to talk to; to commend, other than her bedroom wall or teddy bear. And this was before she had read Jane Eyre.
--------2-------
She loved the sound of autumn leaves being crushed under her double-decker Dr.martens, and now that she had finished school, she knew that there would be many more days during the year that she would be able to carry this favorite past-time of hers. Over the candy floss mountains, she would skip, on a pebbled path towards her preferred horizon, until her outline and the sun's rays would mix together, like sugar and syrup: Indistinguishable. And it was during one of her many excursions to the destination: a lake, surrounded in pears, where she would first sit to read Jane Eyre.
--------3-------
She lifted the kettle, and the base rose with it; just like the other morning when attempting to pull one of her stilettos out of a grid that she had drunkenly stepped on: the wire mesh rose with the faux leather of her boot. On pouring her organic green tea into a Kraftwerk mug, she tried, desperately, to forget the embarrassing happenings of that night spent rubbing stains from her chequered dress, and straightening her fringe, until a deafening noise interrupted all efforts. It came from outside of the window, but on turning to identify said sound, she was greeted with nothing more than a scene of nail thin, sky-high tower blocks, that, in complete shock of remembering, stained the once green nadir where she had first read Jane Eyre.
--------4-------
She watched them run, tumble, and wallow in the grass - repeatedly - until their knees resembled a braille map more so than any recognisable part of the human anatomy. It was a warm day; the sun was beating down on her head, and as one of her grandchildren described to her the shape of a ladybug, that was nestled on a leaf of the tree he had climbed up in an attempt to reach the sun, she could not help but think about how differently her life could have been; how mutch better it could have turned out. Underneath the tree that her grandson had climbed, sat her granddaughter, a little thing, consisting of bracelets and powder blue buttons, but more interestingly, in her hands lay a book. She walked over to her and enquired as to what book she was reading, but in a voice as clear as silk she replied: "Granny, I want to be just like Jane Eyre."
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Author:
3lliS (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 17th, 2017 19:27
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
Offline)
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