Post by Deleted on Jun 16, 2014 12:54:34 GMT -5
P A R I A H F E R
change
change
Ripred, everything hurt.
His throat was as dry as those Districts the peacekeepers had yelled about a couple weeks ago, and the pounding in his head was equivalent to the many sounds of slammed doors he'd hear after the
The morning had greeted him with the way too bright light of the sun and the way too loud chirps of birds, and each blink he took only served to increase the pounding that terrorized the inside of his head. At one point or another the kitchen table had gone from a place to put his head down to a place where one wakes up, face half submerged in drool that had made it's way out of his half-open, snoring mouth, and as much as he hated to admit it, the hard, cold wood surface had felt like a heavenly pillow (like one from his bedroom- roughly twenty feet from where he awoke) the night prior. The memories from his latest endeavor of self-loathe mixed with vodka came and went, flitting through his mind, some staying, some leaving him just as fast as they came forth. His legs protested movement, his brain joining in with them and, although every single step he took, movement he made sent screams of unneeded protest through his body he willed himself to pop two slices of bread into the toaster, the simple yet horribly loud pop! sound they made as they came back out sending an earthquake of pounds through his head, and sent his fingers to his temples, desperately rubbing the things in an attempt to make himself feel better.
A few slices of peanut butter later and he was back to the table, the wooden chair greeting him with perhaps too much kindness (it still sort of felt like a good place to sleep), and as he presented himself with the struggle of simply lifting the dry pieces of bread to his mouth over and over again, he finally dropped the dull pieces of food back onto the plate which they had began on, and again rested his head on the table (not in drool this time, he'd had the decency to clean that up). This time, though, sleep did not overcome him, and although the relief of closing his eyes came, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the hallways came as well, and as his fingernails scraped ever so slightly against the wood he really wished that whoever had decided to make their way down the hallway at this time in the morning (at least, he thought it was still early in the morning, for all he knew it could be three in the evening) would just turn around and go back to where they came from, because right now, human contact with someone in his family was definitely not on the top of his list.
But then again, it never really was, anyways.
template by chelsey
OOC: Jfc hate me
