Things she pondered throughout the day:
While idly listening to the radio, in the car, watching the windows mist up with her breath and the blur of trees and houses, glancing down to see the hypnotic white line that centred the road... the words 'fey taxi men' floated into her mind. Whether she had heard it correctly from the song or not, she wasn't sure. But it made her wonder about fey taxi men the rest of the day.
---
Waiting for her ride, tapping her pencil rhythmically against the polished pine table, her mind wandered to the display cabinet, where precious nothings were displayed. She spotted a ceramic egg on the far right, daintily spotted with colourful garden flowers. There was a tiny golden spoon next to it, with a flower plate and tiny encrusted ruby embedded in the handle. She wanted to crack open the ceramic egg with the tiny spoon. And she wanted to a crystal chick to pop out, chirping. Or maybe, a gingham cat.
---
Reaching her prison, she walked into the monotonous blue and white structure, plastic tables stripped chemically of the previous day's scent. She kept her gaze on her red shoes, but glanced up once, just to look. They were there. People. Acquaintances. But she was in a bubble. She walked to their table, but she sat a seat away. She put her bag down, but she didn't look at them. She picked up a book, she drowned herself in music.
So original in her black lipstick... Listening to some obscure band... But isn't she pissed that all the other non-conformists... Listen to the same obscure.. band.
---
((She paused. And she frowned at her reflection. Then she ripped a piece of tissue from the tissue-box and wiped the black lipstick off her mouth. She replaced it with shimmery pink gloss. She turned off the cd player. But in the end, she chose the black lipstick.))
---
Often, their conversation would float over, piercing through the bubble. She looked in but then she wondered. Was she in the bubble, or were they in the bubble? Who was keeping who out? And how delicate was this bubble? She liked the somewhat amusing, garbled sounds that seeped through instead of being exposed to all the sharp sounds of reality. She flipped a page of her book. She had stopped reading already. She wanted to break through. But she didn't.
---
Later, she was standing by the corridor, under the harsh floruescent lights, and her, dressed entirely in white. She felt heady, she enjoyed that word. It seemed to embrace exactly what she was feeling. As if she were just a head, with no weight to pull her down. And they walked past. And she could see the rainbow-colored bubble, illuminated by the artificial but glaringly bright light. And she forced herself to look away from her red shoes, her book, her music, whatever. And she looked up. And they walked past. And the bubble remained intact.
---
At the end of the day.
She wearily gathered her things, she covered her ensemble with a dark jacket, and she trudged out of her prison. She saw some other people and smiled. It was the end of the day, everything seemed less important. They asked her how her day was. She replied it she was strangely tired. Her eyes felt as though someone added another layer to them. It was blurred and heavy. One of them smiled and said,
"Oh, it must be the weather today."
She looked outside. It was dark, it was gloomy, it was grey. How had she not realized it before?
While idly listening to the radio, in the car, watching the windows mist up with her breath and the blur of trees and houses, glancing down to see the hypnotic white line that centred the road... the words 'fey taxi men' floated into her mind. Whether she had heard it correctly from the song or not, she wasn't sure. But it made her wonder about fey taxi men the rest of the day.
Waiting for her ride, tapping her pencil rhythmically against the polished pine table, her mind wandered to the display cabinet, where precious nothings were displayed. She spotted a ceramic egg on the far right, daintily spotted with colourful garden flowers. There was a tiny golden spoon next to it, with a flower plate and tiny encrusted ruby embedded in the handle. She wanted to crack open the ceramic egg with the tiny spoon. And she wanted to a crystal chick to pop out, chirping. Or maybe, a gingham cat.
Reaching her prison, she walked into the monotonous blue and white structure, plastic tables stripped chemically of the previous day's scent. She kept her gaze on her red shoes, but glanced up once, just to look. They were there. People. Acquaintances. But she was in a bubble. She walked to their table, but she sat a seat away. She put her bag down, but she didn't look at them. She picked up a book, she drowned herself in music.
So original in her black lipstick... Listening to some obscure band... But isn't she pissed that all the other non-conformists... Listen to the same obscure.. band.
((She paused. And she frowned at her reflection. Then she ripped a piece of tissue from the tissue-box and wiped the black lipstick off her mouth. She replaced it with shimmery pink gloss. She turned off the cd player. But in the end, she chose the black lipstick.))
Often, their conversation would float over, piercing through the bubble. She looked in but then she wondered. Was she in the bubble, or were they in the bubble? Who was keeping who out? And how delicate was this bubble? She liked the somewhat amusing, garbled sounds that seeped through instead of being exposed to all the sharp sounds of reality. She flipped a page of her book. She had stopped reading already. She wanted to break through. But she didn't.
Later, she was standing by the corridor, under the harsh floruescent lights, and her, dressed entirely in white. She felt heady, she enjoyed that word. It seemed to embrace exactly what she was feeling. As if she were just a head, with no weight to pull her down. And they walked past. And she could see the rainbow-colored bubble, illuminated by the artificial but glaringly bright light. And she forced herself to look away from her red shoes, her book, her music, whatever. And she looked up. And they walked past. And the bubble remained intact.
At the end of the day.
She wearily gathered her things, she covered her ensemble with a dark jacket, and she trudged out of her prison. She saw some other people and smiled. It was the end of the day, everything seemed less important. They asked her how her day was. She replied it she was strangely tired. Her eyes felt as though someone added another layer to them. It was blurred and heavy. One of them smiled and said,
"Oh, it must be the weather today."
She looked outside. It was dark, it was gloomy, it was grey. How had she not realized it before?
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