In the beginning

Either I got too tired, had a lecture to go to or I just wasn't wearing the right hat and so these never developed. Abstract modern literature or a chance to organise my thoughts. These may never be anything so I thought I'd give some of them a little hope by putting them up here.

Holly had everything; smarts, beauty, a fair degree of independence and a comfortable home shared with a wonderful man. But she had two problems. First while she was passionately in love with her roommate, he had a girlfriend and second she was a cat. Despite these hindrances Holly felt she had a pretty good chance.

George figured himself a romantic, a real Byronic hero. Take Michelle for instance. She was young, inexperienced, more than a little naive. Almost too perfect a candidate really. He noticed her in History first. She was regularly late and sat alone by the window. The morning sun shone through her bedhead scruff and glittered along the blackrimmed squares that hung snugly on her nose.

The dirty plates pile upon the floor marking the breaks in the day. She hadn't moved in weeks, not since Luke left. She was in mourning for a living man.

It's raining. The red sandstone houses fade to mud. My ceiling fades to yellow. And the sky glows twilight. Tired and worn, my eyes blur. I'm sick of this world of greys.

Everyone agreed his work was beautiful. Nobody painted portraits quite like he could but his bold use of colours split the critics. It was garish, borderline obscene but some believed it made sweeping statements about the rigidity of the modern art scene. Others found it fascinating in an LSD laced interpretation. Whatever they believed, his latest technicolour piece rocketed Percy to stardom.
People asked him over the years which followed what his secret was. He would smile enigmatically and mutter nonsensically about the Muses.
He couldn't tell them the truth.
He couldn't tell his adoring fans that he had ruined his masterpiece by mixing up his paints.
He couldn't give his detractors the satisfaction of being right. He was nothing but a hack.
For Perceval T Jones was terribly colour blind.

Rick winced as he gingerly lifted the glass to his swollen lips. A swirl of rust red tinted the clear liquid. He spat out a molar with a clink in the sink. It hadn't been his day.

I'm a slut without the sex. A flirt, a tease, a whore but it's not deliberate, I just want your attention. I want to captivate you. I want you to sit by yourself and wonder what I'm doing. I want you to fall for me and fall hard and ungainly. Do I interrupt your self-conscious? Do you lie awake and think of me? Do you want me because, for the love of God I don't care one whit about your reasons, just take me if you do. I wish you gave a damn. Fuck your indifference.

Cassandra wore her favourite pink pants the day she disappeared. They were her dance when no one is watching pants and her snuggle up on the couch with her girlfriend pants. Jack remembered how cute she looked standing in his tiny kitchen making tea in her underwear. He remembered watching from the door wishing every morning could start this way. Her hips swayed to the distant tune from the crackling radio as the kettle boiled and though he dearly wanted to, Jack restrained himself from dancing with her. The kettle clicked, Cassandra sashayed to the fridge for milk and Jack went back to bed and waited like she had told him to the night before.
"Happy Birthday!" Cassandra chirped close to Jack's face as he woke up startled. "Morning, sleepyhead. I almost didn't wake you but I already made you tea twice and you didn't even stir so you're enjoying breakfast now. Oh and your milk was off so I borrowed from next-door. You should pay more attention to these things."
"Or find myself a girl to pay attention for me. She could make me breakfast and wash my socks too. Oh wait," he smirked and Cassandra flicked his nose.
"Well it won't become a habit. I'm not your mother. I just couldn't stand the stench." She ducked his hand and stole a piece of his birthday toast, dropping crumbs all over her big blue jumper. Her favourite pink pants were hidden but he knew they were there, soft and unpretentious.
"Way to miss your mouth, dumbass." Cassandra stuck her tongue out at him and brushed the crumbs into his bed."Enjoy. Your party is at six, don't be late. I gotta go do some stuff so you do whatever you want until tonight." She kissed Jack on his unshaven cheek and had she left like she'd intended Jack might have seen her that night and every day after but instead his hand was on her waist and he was imploring her to stay.