Just an excerpt from 8/14/2016

A Story by Samantha

This is just a short excerpt of my writing, I know it's really hard to follow but I'd like to have a grasp on whether or not my sense of imagery is up to par in this one.

It’s funny how something that once meant so much to us is the very same thing we’re trying so hard to run away from just a few short months later. I knew it would end. We both did. I was just ready to slink out of the bed and down the hall and out the door a bit sooner. It’s like a was going backwards in life and now that I’ve finally done that, my body’s confused on where to go from now. I have this aching feeling of my stomach. The kind of calm before the storm you only hear about in books or on the weather channel at six in the morning when even though the woman in the pencil skirt with too much bronzer on is saying it’ll storm and flood in the afternoon, you look outside the window and can’t fathom the idea of a single rain drop on such a beautiful day like today. That’s what is was like-a storm. At first it was a few cloudy days, days you were unsure of and then all of a sudden a big hurricane. The water was rapid but still you went out and rejoiced in it, danced in it, and waded in until you were up to your knees in water. Then the wind tickled the back of your neck and urged you not to go any further my Princess. The wind caressed you all the way back into your one bedroom studio apartment that looked much more luxurious online, and the door crashed with a sudden bang. You make yourself tea in the evening and sit and watch the storm through the window, totally alone and isolated. Fast forward a few months and you decide to move back to your sunny home town in Florida. But every day the gust of wind you left behind tugs at the baby hairs on the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine to come back. You have flashbacks of the cold dingy off white walls of your studio apartment. This abuse continues day in and day out, the burst of wind getting sharper, digging needles into the nape of your neck until you're forced to wear sweaters in summer. You're told what to wear, to think, to look at until one day you have had enough. You grit your teeth and send the burst of wind packing. You lick your lips and lift your hands to the sun, fully captivated by it’s warmth.