Listen/Seein' you got ritualistic/Plans in my soul of addiction for now/'Cause I'm fallin' apart, yeah/Tension/Between us just like picket fences/You got issues for now that I won't mention for now/'Cause we're fallin' apart
The sound of Drake's voice was the soundtrack to the evening's commiseration. I sat in the window of my apartment, a bottle of beer in my loose grip. The raised glass pushed evening vespers through the drapes, past my bare chest, dancing through the living room like petite women on bare feet, wisping across hardwood from the kitchen to the bedroom and back. Felt but unseen, thin fingers tickling for attention, for one more kiss, one more moment where eyes were locked and desires were sated. Here in this home, there were only ghosts, empty sheets who were filled by outside breaths and lifted to life, cursed to trace well-worn footsteps through memorized encounters long since past.
I pulled another slow sip from the bitter brew, eyes unfocused along the glimmering rooftops of the city. Nighttime had slain the heat of the late summer day, the air had grown cool enough to lift goosebumps across my bare flesh. Sitting there in only a pair of sweats, there was a very good chance I'd find myself sick in the morning. For now, I needed to simply feel, even if it was the sharp bite of cold teeth on my arms and into my neck. Brown eyes gauged the distance from here to the asphalt below, guessing at whether or not a fall from this high would be enough to put this misery to bed. Behind me, the stereo's bleating had transitioned to rhythmic thumps of bass. Drake'd had enough for one night, and now Tove Lo was filling in.
I can be the perfect one/But I'll make you come/And I'm locked in you're mind/You can say I don't belong/That I'm so wrong/I can tell, tell you lie
One more big gulp and the beer was gone, the third of the night. I pulled away from the smooth wood of the sill and padded through the dark living room. No need for light when you'd memorized every piece of furniture. Every spot where the warmth of another had been. Where YOU had been. The light from the refrigerator sliced through the dark, but was snuffed away when I found my target: another amber green bottle. I popped the top with the bottle opener and had nearly made it back to the window before a knock came at the door, then another. It was apprehensive, almost cautious, and barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the radio. I killed the low volume and padded to the door, leaving the beer at the window and opening the heavy wooden barrier.
"Yeah?"
So, trying out a new scene this evening. This one is a bit dramatic, and I imagine it'll be one based around recovery from depression. I left it open-ended so that you could respond with whatever character you wanted to play, but if I had to suggest some ideal options, here you go. You could be a friend who always had feelings and watched me go through a bad breakup, or a neighbor who was worried about me, or even a memory of my ex, conjured to keep me sane and alive even though the real you is gone. Either way, reply with your character description and your continuation of the scene. Here's the character I'm playing:
As for my character, I'm gonna be playing Charlie. I'm about 5'10" with black hair and dark brown eyes. I'm black, with faint stubble coming in and an even caramel complexion. I'm slim and fit, not so much buff but more lean and defined. No tattoos, but a small, faint scar on the left side of my face just underneath the corner of my mouth.
Submitted June 25, 2017 at 09:55PM by FolarinMask http://ift.tt/2rQFN2o dirtypenpals
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