Five points to anyone who can guess what my short little story is about. It follows:
And she opened the door and she took a breath in looking at her old life and her old things and her old manner and she was stopped short by the expectation of it all and her breath caught in her throat and her hopes were so high. She was disappointed.
"You stole it from me!" she cried to the empty and dusty room. "You snuck in and you stole it from me in my sleeping years! And then you forced me to open my eyes. And I can't close them now! I can't shut out my misery! And I can't live without my happiness!"
She laid down. Not loudly, in a lump, like a child. But quietly, resignedly, without conscious effort or intended consequences. She conceded to Zeus and Jupiter and Yahweh and the Gods that come by age through ages, she yielded, she was conquered without tears. Without scratches. Without determination of retaliation.
No. Now she was able to recognise defeat.
Five more points to she (or he... or both, or neither) that can figure out the title. Ironically, it's figurative language. If you're a non-diaryland reader (though, I still believe that my readers are non-existant), I haven't put up a comments-page yet, so just go to my livejournal, username alla_luce.
As bad as highschool's been... why do I have the feeling that it's never going to be better? I pray that it will be.