In return for her brief answer, she’s at a loss. Perchance because the other girl seemed cornered, as though there were a row of garden stones lodged deep in her throat canal. Questions careened through her mind one after the other: was it something she had done? Wendy doubted there was anything on her face or in her teeth to gawk at. A moment of contemplation advised her to blame it on SHYNESS. Yet there’s a familiarity she feels despite having no connection but that of passing strangers. Maybe it was the bleeding red hue that colored the fibers of their hair or the constellations of freckles dusted on their skin. It’s silly, she knows it’s silly, and that’s hardly a reason. No, it was more likely in the attempted curve of her lips and the slope of her brow that explains more than words can that there’s more to it than that. She doesn’t point it out bluntly. Her shoulders sink back in a line of confidence and she tilts her head. Hands slipping into the pockets of her blue jeans, she braces as the air grows colder. There’s a practiced smoothness to her each and every gesture, a simple (yet not so simple) willingness to adapt to any change of tone. 

“I think there’s a first-aid kit in the shack.” She nodded at the glaring wound on the girl’s leg– impossible to ignore. While she was far from squeamish, she WAS familiar the sting that accompanied a cut like that. Alone, it was enough to evoke sympathy. “I could check, I guess. Or do you wanna head over there with me?”

     she, with dirt & mess fit in her stomach, on the verge of VOMITING, what if worms come from her mouth, she’s been eating EARTH for too long. taking, taking, taking. taking from the miss, her shop, & she’s never quite felt bad about errors such as her own. she knows she is impure, and she knows she deserves no delicacy, she was born ignoble, and will remain the BASTARD child. BAD SEED, BAD SEED, BAD SEED. her eyes fall on the mountain gash, skeletal legs pick her up, a fast run, get away, get away, run away. she, the deer seen, they call her BABEL, city of mud-brick, melting under sun now. she comes to a silent stop, when the innards of her lurch, her breakfast becomes vagrant.  leant over, grip on tree to hold onto the body she had left. she can still feel the drip, drip, drip of ichor to her toes. at least there’s no vomit in her shoes. just leave them be. leave the tall woman be, stop, you need to run, you need to get away, why are your legs not working ? you’re short circuiting, 

           ERROR 404 ERROR 404 ERROR 404. 

            ❛ i hope they all spit on my grave.  ❛

        ❛   yeah, well –  ❜   she pauses in her scribbling, the  TEETH  indents on her lower lips prominent from thinking, and she rubs at them with a delicate manicured finger until the imperfection goes away.  a perfect porcelain heiress once again.   ❛  let’s hope it  l a s t s  long enough for me to finish annotating this stupid reading. bio 101 may be an a.p. credit, but i’m  still  debating whether or not it’s actually  WORTH IT.  ❜     she’s all too aware of how oscar worthy her skills as an actress are, the validation is UNNECESSARY and only makes her wince.   ❛  when this is over i’ll literally pay you to tell people you did all the work.  ❜   she has a role to play. pacifica elise northwest has to maintain a 4.5 or higher gpa while masquerading as a care-free,  stress  free party girl. stress gives people wrinkles and makes them unattractive.  she has to guarantee her place among the ivy leagues while strutting with the social alcoholics to their college frat parties up the road. its a balancing act.   &  there in her room, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, is this freckled, ginger, gangly, tall, self-proclaimed asshole to leave it all in  ruins.