Post by daileh on Jan 4, 2010 4:05:13 GMT -5
IN THIS BLACKENED WONDERLAND
i a m t h e d a r k e n e d a l i c e !
[/size]Daileh had adjusted to her new, and hopefully temporary, "home" quite well. The nurses had stressed time and time again that "street drugs" were not allowed under any circumstances. Street drugs sounded so bad. It made her think of cocaine. Cocaine was a stupid thing to do. And, as she was (obviously) very proud, and not stupid, she felt as if it were an insult that they'd even implied such a thing - which really, they hadn't. But hey, good luck telling her that. The no drug thing had been a bother, but soon enough, she'd scouted out a decent place to smoke. More importantly, it had the atmosphere she was looking for. Dark, creepy, full of some pungent odor you couldn't quite pin, and laced with cobwebs.outfit: click me, i'm pretty.
Of course, this was the only place fit enough for a girl like her. She was trying to establish a reputation in this new home of sorts. It was a means of survival, and in this place? It was just too much fun. She'd asked a few people, namely ones too dumb to think for themselves, for some secluded places around and about. A schizophrenic boy who's name she couldn't remember had told her about this place - this furnace room - and she fell in love. According to him, it was haunted with the souls of patients from the past whose bodies had been burned. He'd rambled on for a moment or two about his theories and what not, and Daileh had ignored it, lost in thought. This had become her place ever since.
The air was so thick and hot and steamy that the smoke that drifted from the blunt loomed in the air, swirling with the chemicals and dust particles, illuminated slightly by the tiny window and single light bulb. They danced along, Daileh's blue eyes locked on, watching the smoke snake around the spider webs, and the play that went on within its confines. There was a fly, tightly wrapped and wriggling to get free from the spiders web. At least, until the smoke hit him. Maybe he had died, maybe he had mellowed out, either way, it pleased Daileh in her sick little way. "I like this place," she murmured to herself, glancing to the figure of the broom and bucket in the corner. She always talked to the broom and bucket, for some reason.
count: 398.
credit: pretty stuff by red. lyrics from say anything.
notes: if you wanna join, feel totally free. and i suck right now. sorrz.