Veve (veve) wrote in wordware,


The walls were pink she thought, well more fuchsia or some weird combination of both. A giant psychotic pepto bismol bottle two years too old had thrown up it's contents onto these walls.

They had a texture as well.

Her fingers ran through the grooves in the textures as she stared up at the ceiling which was also the same vile color as the walls.

The air was hot and felt like it was filled with powder.

The air had grit to it.

She could feel the air passing, settling around her and on her. She tried to ignore it. It was hard to do so, but she was trying.

The old smells wafted by again, as if there was some breeze between these walls, which there wasn't. There they were again, a combination of urine, eggy water and fizzy denture cleaner.

Her eyes ran along the length of the ceiling, jumping over the extension cords that ran around the ceiling and down a couple of walls. The cords were plugged into outlets that were brown. The brown was very similar in color to the brown used on the baseboards, the ones you could see at least. The ones that were not blocked by furniture. Big hulking pieces of furniture.

There was a bed. An old bed. She knew what that bed felt like in the middle of the night. It was soft. It was lumpy. It creaked with every move. The blankets on that bed weighed enough to make someone sleeping under them feel as if they were slowly being weighted down by lead.

She kicked the bed slightly. It creaked. It was almost as if she could feel its weight again.

The pictures on the walls looked back at her. Noted her impatience. Her discomfort. Her longing to escape. She stared at them a moment. Pretending as if she did not search them for one of herself.

Her finger moved again and again in the grooves of the wall.
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