Original - Oneshot - Charlene
Oct. 2nd, 2007 01:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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snippetsTitle: Charlene
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Wordcount: 541
Author's Note: Inspired by the word prompt: Dissonant
Summary: In the sweltering summer heat, a woman goes through the motions of living.
Charlene
The screeching of the couch as she shifted made her head throb, echoing in her mind as though it was the tired chafing of her joints breaking with unfathomable weight rather than just the tired, half cured meshing holding her couch together. When had she grown so tired? When did she start feeling bone weary in this dying town and aging citizens?
Charlene pushed herself off her vestibule, her thin body laboring against lethargy with the simplistic motion. Swaying dizzily across the rug carpeted floor of her living room, she glanced at the ceiling fan and listened to the lazy drone of the flies buzzing around the room.
Everything was too warm, too lifeless, too much like herself. Even the air was unmovable, sluggishly parting before her sleight weight as though she were a tugboat, towing an insurmountable load behind her. It was incomprehensible. She was only 23 years old and already the world had worn her to skin and bones, taking away all substance.
She was tired of it all.
Leaning her weight against the counter, Charlene pulled her dingy white fridge open, peering inside at the meager contents within. When was the last time she had gone shopping? When was the last time she had the money to splurge on a decent meal rather than the bread and cheese which was her normal fare these days?
She was thirsty for steak and roasted ham. She was hungering for eggs and butter. She was yearning for sustenance greater than what she could earn.
Reluctantly, she pulled out the crusty end of a loaf of bread—all that was left of her meager store—and the last moldy chunk of cheese from the fridge. Shifting her weight, she watched the flickering light go out behind the door as she closed it. Turning around, she placed her meal on the counter.
A dull knife and a careful hand later, she had her meal. Gnawing on the hard bread, savoring the sawdust taste of her cheese, she peered out the window of her kitchen, the dirt streaked windows appealing to her senses, grounding her.
She was tired of living in this world where she had to fight tooth and nail for work, for regular pay. She was tired of breathing.
Shuffling back to her couch, she sat down on the shifting cushions, the creaking springs. Slowly, so slowly, she watched the blades of her fan turn, moving the sluggish air in reluctant currents, and she listened to the drone of insects outside her home. Slowly, even slower then the monotonous turning of the blades, the light outside faded, putting a close to another uninspiring, lifeless day.
Her eyes closed, and sleep claimed her, giving her an escape from the dreariness around her. It was her only solace and in the morning, she would wake up and stare at the fan, mesmerized. Eventually, she would find the will to move again, to wash herself from an ewer and basin before trudging off into town, looking for work, looking for the meager scraps of another loaf of bread, another discarded bit of cheese to get her through another day of listlessness. But until then, she would dream; it was the only time she was happy.
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Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Wordcount: 541
Author's Note: Inspired by the word prompt: Dissonant
Summary: In the sweltering summer heat, a woman goes through the motions of living.
The screeching of the couch as she shifted made her head throb, echoing in her mind as though it was the tired chafing of her joints breaking with unfathomable weight rather than just the tired, half cured meshing holding her couch together. When had she grown so tired? When did she start feeling bone weary in this dying town and aging citizens?
Charlene pushed herself off her vestibule, her thin body laboring against lethargy with the simplistic motion. Swaying dizzily across the rug carpeted floor of her living room, she glanced at the ceiling fan and listened to the lazy drone of the flies buzzing around the room.
Everything was too warm, too lifeless, too much like herself. Even the air was unmovable, sluggishly parting before her sleight weight as though she were a tugboat, towing an insurmountable load behind her. It was incomprehensible. She was only 23 years old and already the world had worn her to skin and bones, taking away all substance.
She was tired of it all.
Leaning her weight against the counter, Charlene pulled her dingy white fridge open, peering inside at the meager contents within. When was the last time she had gone shopping? When was the last time she had the money to splurge on a decent meal rather than the bread and cheese which was her normal fare these days?
She was thirsty for steak and roasted ham. She was hungering for eggs and butter. She was yearning for sustenance greater than what she could earn.
Reluctantly, she pulled out the crusty end of a loaf of bread—all that was left of her meager store—and the last moldy chunk of cheese from the fridge. Shifting her weight, she watched the flickering light go out behind the door as she closed it. Turning around, she placed her meal on the counter.
A dull knife and a careful hand later, she had her meal. Gnawing on the hard bread, savoring the sawdust taste of her cheese, she peered out the window of her kitchen, the dirt streaked windows appealing to her senses, grounding her.
She was tired of living in this world where she had to fight tooth and nail for work, for regular pay. She was tired of breathing.
Shuffling back to her couch, she sat down on the shifting cushions, the creaking springs. Slowly, so slowly, she watched the blades of her fan turn, moving the sluggish air in reluctant currents, and she listened to the drone of insects outside her home. Slowly, even slower then the monotonous turning of the blades, the light outside faded, putting a close to another uninspiring, lifeless day.
Her eyes closed, and sleep claimed her, giving her an escape from the dreariness around her. It was her only solace and in the morning, she would wake up and stare at the fan, mesmerized. Eventually, she would find the will to move again, to wash herself from an ewer and basin before trudging off into town, looking for work, looking for the meager scraps of another loaf of bread, another discarded bit of cheese to get her through another day of listlessness. But until then, she would dream; it was the only time she was happy.
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