portrait

spirited away

 a bit of Spirited away fanart of Chihiro and Yubaba. done with the help of MY FAVORITE BOOK EVER, aka The Art of Spirited away.

writing piece + happy 2013!

Happy new year everybody! Hoping everyone has had a great beginning of 2013. Also, this is the beginning of this blogs third year, so....cheers!
And here is the beginning of a new untitled, unrelated (and slightly gloomy, but oh well) story I've just started.

I didn't walk five blocks in the pouring rain that afternoon by choice. I need to make that clear. Just so you can understand.

          If things obediently mirrored the lists I’d been writing in this notebook, titled Best-case Scenarios, nothing would have gone the way it did and I’d be happy. I suppose that’s obvious, though.

          I didn't make any worst-case scenario lists. It’s the same sort of idea of how hard it is to retell the worst nightmares aloud—no one wants to relive that kind of terror. In this case, I was worried putting my fears down on paper might make them come true more easily. If I let them go from my mind to my notebook, they are one step closer to where they go next, which is, unfortunately, reality.

          I didn't become friends with Celeste by choice either. I never wanted to go to her apartment, never wanted to see what I did and somehow become involved with the last thing I wanted to be involved with. Some things you can’t help, I suppose. Never mind the fact that now I’m sitting in the old hospital at the top of the hill, the one that caught fire shortly after it closed down. They never really cleaned it out thoroughly, and at the moment I’m sitting atop a rusted metal gurney. It’s high enough so my shoes don’t have to touch the floor, which is black with dirt and soot and other things I don’t like to think about, much less put my feet on it. The walls are worse. I don’t even know what kinds of things they must have seen in their lives.

It’s chilly here, since there’s no glass in the windows anymore. Now that it’s late November the wind is starting to bite and I keep forgetting my jacket.

I don’t have a watch. Even so I know Celeste is late. Late or not coming. Late is what I’ve been telling myself now, even though she’s been perfectly punctual for weeks. Weeks…That’s what’s been nagging at me. It’s been four weeks since we first started meeting at the hospital. Four weeks. My time’s run out, and this time she really isn’t coming.