words 374 

characters: (secret) song jieun centered, mentions (girls day) sojin, implied (dmtn) daniel

She sits there for a few more seconds. The air inside her car is dusty, she sighs watching the dust particles, it’s almost saccharine nostalgia coated. She finally starts up the car lethargy kicking in. The night is dark, amaranthine, indigo and all of a sudden she wishes it to rain. She likes how the city lights seep into one another, reflecting off the rain, a carousel of electric Cyans all in a Gaussian blur against the windows of her car. Usually the stars would collide then.

                                                             She never got her wish.

She pulls up next to the convenience store. Her phone rings, a loud thrumming. She hates it. She should off, changed her ring tone a long time ago. She answers the phone, it’s her again, Sojin. Her voice is always dulcet, vanilla velvet, vermilion shaded. She hangs up the phone on her then, before she can continue with her long drones about the same old thing (usually involving him).

            She wonders if she remembered her birthday. She wonders if anyone                                                         remembered.

She enters her apartment. The skyscrapers reflect light, a saturated shadow on her wall, a gauzy pantone chaos. Simbelmyne flowers are juxtaposed sweetly with verbenas on her window sill. She can see the Modena dripping from the verbenas to the simbelmyne, it’s almost ethereal. She walks to her room, fairy tale gold painted. She is then tainted in Prussian blue from the night club, just across the street. She paints her eyeliner on like war paint, her eyes a shimmer of celadon. She finds her dress in her wardrobe, the one she’s been waiting to wear for her birthday, Metallic lace.

            There’s a birthday cake on the mahogany table. One she baked herself, chocolate flavoured. No one is coming, she realized that two hours ago, a whiskey bottle on the side. She never realized how good chocolate tasted until mixed with the drug of whiskey. Acceptance, loneliness and depression finally sinks in with the smell of Sobranie cigarettes on her ash tray, the moment is almost surreal. Before she knows it she’s in a drunken stupor, pink elephant delirium.

            Her eyes are now painted Sinatra blue, a haunting colour. Tears sting her eyes.

No one’s coming no one will ever come……….

a piece for homework