#cloudedwrath

Occluded Thoughts

     summer heat slips through the open window, curtains swaying in the july wind, and patience runs  THIN   –   unruly curls flipping over bronzed shoulders and dress strap sliding down all the same as sawyer moves through her bedroom. the sun settled long ago but the warmth remains, radiating from the windowsill where a collection of snow globes gather. one from her grandparents small town of winsconsin, another bought in the ski resort visited years ago, and a third gifted to her by sienna   –   presumably a thrift store reject. she likes them. not enough to commit to a  full - blown  collection, but enough. enough to keep them on display, turning them  UPSIDE  DOWN  on nights she cannot sleep. normally illuminated by the moon’s light, they are now brought to life by the one on her ceiling, a room kept bright and awake as she paces   –   back and forth, and back again. then, when another thought of WHEN strikes, the door cracks open. she’d left the one downstairs unlocked, less bothered by the potential intruder than idea of not being  DONE  by the time he arrives. space between them is cut with the skipping of her feet, and with a moment’s notice she lands before him.   “   hi !   ”   she begins, relieving him of the opportunity to respond   –   glossed lips pressed against his, smile re - shaping.   “   i got something to show you.   ”   closeness relinquished, she goes on.   “   go lay down… and close your eyes.   ”

TIPSY  –  far having surpassed wasted, but refusing to adopt the term. odette is tipsy and she shows no sign of stopping : drinking, unleashing her many frustrations out into the world unprompted and to people who are bound to remember in the morning. unlike herself. “ what if he gets into an accident? ” she poses, the question awfully morbid for a fun night in. odette would’ve preferred a bar anyhow, outside of town  –  but beggars cannot be choosers. despite her insistence that they sure can be when they’re her. “ what if he’s HORRIBLY DISFIGURED and i have to identify him, and all that remains are his private parts? ” upside down, legs thrown over the couch’s back, odette does her best to continue the consumption of alcohol. in this case, a beer bottle with a twisty straw  –  normally a feature to mock her friend over, though she’s not in any position to judge. “ and i’m standing there saying, ‘ sorry officer, i can’t help you. because NO, i haven’t seen his penis. ’ ” the buzz achieved plays into the whole hypothetical scenario presented, as well as the concept of ANYTHING happening between her and malachai knox, a topic brought forth that she’s bound to regret in the morning. nothing has, nothing ever would. and yet …

* / starter for lou ( @cloudedwrath ) . . . baking soda smeared across tan features and an apron stained with the remnants of heated butter, dark eyes narrow at the presented recipe. usually, sawyer wasn’t TOO SHABBY in the kitchen : baked goods often resembled the example pictures found in her uncle’s cook book, and compliments were to be handed out by the cousins which consume them in bulks. but the boy beside her act as a distraction on top of another; a topic, or rather issue, she’d chosen to ignore over the course of weeks, perhaps even months. “ i can see just fine, thank you very much . . . ” she insists, publication sliding across the kitchen island and into his direction. “ it’s not my fault they decided on the teeny tiniest font in the whole wide world. seriously, who would be able to – ” beat. “ okay, don’t . . . answer that. just tell me how many eggs. two, right ? it says two. ”  might’ve said three. or eight. nine, even. though it was doubtful the recipe demanded eggs in that quantity. two was a SAFE BET, and so she makes a b-line towards the fridge. 

damian’s already plastered.  BUT :  how could he not be ? ten thirty on the dot, surrounded by strangers and peers from all around town, and with a red solo filled to the brim with some concoction he let the hostess make . . . shit-faced was just the first adjective among many. it is a familiar scene, yet he never suspected it to take its familiarity to the next level. or rather – FAMILIAL. he spots the older from across a crowded room and hadn’t he been in his current state avoidance would’ve been the GO-TO. but he is and so it isn’t. instead he calls out through a sea of party goers, second cup snatched from some poor soul as he passes them by. “ look what the cat dragged in ! ” a shit-eating grin appears, drink offered. “ y’know, showing up stag to a kegger . . . shit’s pretty bold. ” he speaks the fact as if he’d been in female company himself. difference was, he was about to be. the same couldn’t be said for his brother. “ so, what’s the plan here, dipshit ? sulk in a corner ? bribe some freshman into giving you the old rug and tug in the bathroom ? c’mon, you can tell me. ” / starter for lou holstad ( @cloudedwrath ) !

* / starter for lou ( @cloudedwrath ) . . . oz was still learning to navigate the streets of his new home : poorly, at that. despite the relentless relocating his life was founded in, his sense of direction was bust. three times : three times had he taken the wrong turn on his way back home, and suppose he should be grateful for all those misguided decisions. if he’d been on the right road–a left turn on main, then the second to the right, he’d later learned–he wouldn’t have been the one to find the poor creature. and who knows, whoever had might not have been an animal person, like himself. needless to say, the person who did the running over hadn’t been. “ i want it to be . . . CLEAR that i wasn’t the one who, y’know – ” ran over a poor, defenseless, cat in the middle of crossing the street . . . but his voice fails him and panic stews beneath olive skin. “ i don’t even – have a car, so i couldn’t have. i mean, we have a car, but i don’t –– i-i bike. ” one of the many downsides of hopping town to town with his brother, – atticus got the car. “ is it gonna be alright ? ”

     fingers rub against flimsy plastic, an agnostic praying to the man upstairs for the banner to  stay up  when she lets go. more tape would do it, but more tape would also mean heading to the convenience store for a re - stock. she was not at that point of desperation just yet.   “   i didn’t go to a single dance in my entire high school career.   ”   she starts, eyeing thick writing with suspicion   –   don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall… and she climbs down the ladder, SATISFIED with decorations finished. kevin had planned this event for weeks now   :   starting with dance classes, continuing with the ornaments purchased out of pocket, and finalized with a date set. tomorrow night.   “   i am five foot seven and a hundred and ten pounds.   ”   kevin sighs, voice lowering.   “   when i dance, i look like a praying mantis on fire.   ”

     mickey was GOOD with kids. babies, toddlers, children, and pre - teens, he had it down. TO THE T. but when disney channel was replaced with MTV, he was as lost as any. he didn’t understand the various social medias, and until  MYSPACE  made its unlikely return, he never would. all brought to the table by the nurse was facebook, and he’d only recently got it explained to him   –   by a fourteen year old stuck in the ER with a broken femur   –   that it was an outdated forum. so he stands there, coffee cup in hand, watching as a group of teenagers fill the café with laughter and obscure jokes.   “   i am terrible with teens.   ”   he starts.   “   i haven’t listened to rap in three years. i don’t know the lingo.   ”