Realism Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ T N T ❯ Chapter 9
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: C y a n i d e 
Miscellaneous: Realism Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Drama | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.15.2009 | Pages: 1 | Words: 249 | Visits: 136 | Status: Work In Progress
Miscellaneous: Realism Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Drama | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.15.2009 | Pages: 1 | Words: 249 | Visits: 136 | Status: Work In Progress
A bruise is an interesting thing.
It marks your skin, hiding just below the surface. Visible, and an angry purple.
It screams at the slightest pressure, and depending on where it is, makes you dress in layers.
It was cold that day though, and wearing a heavy sweater would not be questioned.
Needless to say, he didn’t like it, when I got into his car that morning.
His beautiful smile fell from his lips, as narrowed eyes wandered down over my torso.
He said nothing, but I knew he was pissed.
Pissed at what, though?
I wasn’t partuclarly sure, puzzled over it, worried, until we pulled into the schools parking lot.
His fists, clenched tight on the wheel.
Leaning back, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Turned to the right, out his window.
Then he turned back to me.
Lips pulled down, his full mouth marred by a frown of dissapproval.
You’re not wearing that inside, are you?
Clueless, I asked, “Wear what?”
That sweater. Its bulky. It makes you look fat.
Speechless, I sat there as he got out of the car. It took me several moments to compose myself,
and humbled by his
not
so
eloquent
opinion,
I followed him into the building.
It marks your skin, hiding just below the surface. Visible, and an angry purple.
It screams at the slightest pressure, and depending on where it is, makes you dress in layers.
It was cold that day though, and wearing a heavy sweater would not be questioned.
Needless to say, he didn’t like it, when I got into his car that morning.
His beautiful smile fell from his lips, as narrowed eyes wandered down over my torso.
He said nothing, but I knew he was pissed.
Pissed at what, though?
I wasn’t partuclarly sure, puzzled over it, worried, until we pulled into the schools parking lot.
His fists, clenched tight on the wheel.
Leaning back, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Turned to the right, out his window.
Then he turned back to me.
Lips pulled down, his full mouth marred by a frown of dissapproval.
You’re not wearing that inside, are you?
Clueless, I asked, “Wear what?”
That sweater. Its bulky. It makes you look fat.
Speechless, I sat there as he got out of the car. It took me several moments to compose myself,
and humbled by his
not
so
eloquent
opinion,
I followed him into the building.