Hard Pulp

Bed sheets will move before sunrise. Hands upon multiple desires that even so have not killed her. Insecure by reason, questioning why she was there, she asked perception why the room had lost its entire original colour.

That made her retreat. The room was rapidly getting old as the sun set. Yet it continued to fool around in the same spot of her childhood playground.

She continued to smile, looking at the teaching commercials. She noticed that her snow carrying shoes paved foreign cemeteries. It reminded her how her parents rarely touched her, due to her inability to love.

She wandered in her pocket, where she usually kept her conscience, and realized that the blade was sharp. The night was cursed and the cold air that cut her face waited for the moment when cowardice would strike.

She had descended awhile ago in an entirely strange town. At the bus stop, she slashed little bits of paper that reminded her of the time when sisters chopped little heads off paper people figures.

There was an imposing dialogue…