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Ain't life just awful strange


Posted on March 01, 2016 by Gia Jones
Testing


A new world hangs outside the window
Beautiful and strange
It must be I've fallen awake
I must be




Eleanor dropped the phone, her gaze refusing to shift until the screen had gone blank again. There was nothing else to be done, the message had been sent. It wasn't that she regretted sending it. Eleanor rarely regretted any of her decisions, no matter how rash they could be. But an inkling of a worry fluttered away in her stomach as she realized what she had done. The flood gate was now open. Eleanor had left Anywhere in a hurry, leaving Al in her wake with nothing more than a written note and a few hollow apologies spoken over the phone. Most of the time she didn't even know why she kept a phone. She hated it and everything it stood for. If she wanted to speak with someone, which was rarely so, she'd much rather find them and do it in person. Eleanor knew she could be jarring, uncooth, perhaps even alarming to some. Even though her tastes in fashion were much less radical these days, her behavior hadn't changed a bit. She gave no warning before an anger outburst would surface and there was nothing anyone could do to calm her once she erupted. Luckily, none had seen her in such a state here in the city, although a few minor meltdowns caused the destruction of a canvas, several nearly finished clay vases and the scabbed over ruts still healing on her legs and arms. She wasn't the type to harm herself on purpose, actually, she'd much rather inflict her rage on another being. But sometimes when she was shaken enough, even she got in the way too.

She mused over the possibilities that were to follow. How would Al react? Would she take this as a formal invitation to jab insults at her and finally voice her abandonment? Although that seemed unlikely, Eleanor assumed she should expect the worst. She inched her buttocks up into a sitting position on the cold and sleek granite counter top, a wave of goosebumps pimpling her near bare legs and arms at the touch. She held a warm coffee mug close to her chest, both hands cradled around it, and occasionally rose it to her lips to drink. From her perched position she caught her reflection in the large pane windows at the edge of her living room, her thin, nearly







Gia Buffy Jones
Dark Hunter | © Vinyl

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