hit this hard

“You wouldn’t know anything about getting…ah…coffee stains out of paper, would you?” Ren asks. Before him sits a stack of documents that are, unfortunately, now soaking wet from a spilled coffee cup. ( Who, exactly, spilled the coffee cup? Well, that’s a secret Ren plans on taking to the grave ). He tries to free the corner of one page, but when it disintegrates before him, he drops any further attempts at freeing the pages from one another. “I mean…I’m sure my boss has backups saved to her computer,” He doubts Josie’s the type who would give him paperwork to catalogue and file otherwise, despite her distrust of the postal system, she had to keep backups for her backups somewhere. “…But I’d also hate to ask her. I mean, she trusted me with these for a really important case and I’d hate to say I ruined her notes because of coffee…Do you think any of these are salvageable?”

Andrea was thankful that she was taking a day for herself, after the holidays seemed to be the busiest days and that meant that there were customers that didn’t care about anything but getting what they want. She had just got her coffee and pastry and was sitting down when she heard somebody giving out to the barista for getting their order wrong, which caused her to roll her eyes back a little.

“Honestly I feel bad for the barista, only doing their job and they did it right anyway.”She said to the person sitting closest to her before taking a sip of her coffee. “I always think people who act rude to people in stores or places like this were never taught manners.”

“this happens a lot.”  he comments to his fellow customer.  “i think they might be a little overextended here…  but the yelling probably doesn’t help things either.”

On an uncrowded bench, Marlowe sat with her legs crossed, staring up at the project she’d finally dragged down for an exhibit. It had been the final work she’d completed before leaving Machias; a disquieting piece on the harrowing nature of a self-discovery forced upon oneself, riddled with implications that all may not be lost in the end however it would take a considerable amount of time to reconcile with the new self — a rip in the darkness. The white canvas was christened with graphite, the deformed portrait of a black figure gripping and clawing at its crooked collarbones, every somewhat discernable inch of its form still somewhat unsettling to behold with its spindly arms and unfinished torso. She couldn’t remember beginning it nor how it ended, but perhaps that was a good thing. It was the first since her debut that she felt like she hadn’t made it for anyone else. 

kisung knew nothing of art,  he was clueless as to how much of a person's individual experiences would pour into every fine detail made across a blank canvas with purposeful strokes,  and yet,  he found himself captivated by the image before him;  his entire being drawn to the frightening creation.  it was familiar to him,  the desperation,  the suffocating shadows,  the uncertainty  ─  and it made him uncomfortable,  as if the portrait were leering deep into the depths of his own soul.