I think I should probably do better than to gape at ceilings, and so I would just stretch my brain further. And if I can't concentrate on my fanfics, I think I would just write a narrative sketch. About...er, about food? Bags, a place, probably. Uh, no, I got it. Drowning.
She leans against the brick wall, arms crossed, designer shades hiding tired and sunken eyes. Constructed of sleek black leather, the bag slung over her shoulder appears much too heavy for her scrawny, awkward frame to carry. Her deathly pale alabaster skin glows unnaturally in the sunlight. Cheeks, which should contain traces of pink, have no color except for an ashen and sickly grey. Cutting edge, fashionable clothes do not conform to her shape, instead, they hang off of her, causing her to look even more outlandish. Glued to the rough bricks, her delusions of beauty have her appear like a little girl, swimming in her mother’s clothes. Underneath the excessive makeup and glamorous clothes lies a scream for help. Whether she remembers the last time she felt beautiful, it matters not. She only craves someone to notice her, and know her, beyond the exterior. Pushed over the edge, she waits for someone to pull her out of an ocean of lies and deception.
Ha! So that was soooo unlike me. I have to sleep now. Seriously.
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