Parallax
That man is playing Gallaga
Nestled in her right ear was the bud of her earphones, chaotically blasting hard rock at the highest level. The drum solo was something legendary, and Boulevard found herself nodding along as she paced at the brim of the frozen lake. There was what looked like a bullethole through the "Warning: No ice skating" sign stuck clumsily in the snow, and the small woman eyed it as she paced past. Her eyes flickered toward the flat, still surface of ice, wondering just how thick it could have been. Compact enough to hold her 80lbs of fierce might? Or paperthin, like her wrists? Would she slip through the glaze? Part of her was tempted to test the limits of her own audacity. But even Boulevard proved not to be that reckless, and that was truly making a statement.
The vixen did a perfectly timed 360-degree turn to the beat of her song, sniffling toward the end of her shifting movement. Her nose felt stiff and raw from the frigid atmosphere, and she enjoyed the prickling at the ends of her blueing fingers. She wore a dark outfit, which generously complimented her holographic black lipstick. Her hands were free of the gloves she normally wore in this weather, primarily due to the fact that she enjoyed the numbness and stiff pain that accompanied going without. Her shamrock green orbs studied the horizon. It was around early afternoon, and the sun was at its highest. It was stuck behind a thicket of clouds, which she appreciated. Clouds had long come to be her closest friend, shielding her from unneeded warmth.
Clearing her itching throat, Boulevard resolved that the spot she had come across, just beyond a small snowed over collection of boulders, was the ideal spot to rest. She'd been pacing for miles, her tracks trailing back to the home she shared with her roommate unwillingly. Originally, she had intended to come here and live in confined solitude, not really planning to pursue any type of relationship with any of the common folk. Being what was known as a "Rockie" made her stick out like a sore thumb in this area, the lake more popular for the wealthier and expansive homes. She relished the privacy, as the nearest house was on the other side of the body of icy waters.
She dusted the cool white powder from the top of a boulder, perching her bony rear atop of it. She let her shoulder shrug so that her messenger bag would slip off, the weight transferring to her forearm as the strap fell. Boulevard pulled it to her lap, opening it up to peek into its contents. Her fingers were too numb to use her yo-yo right now. Perhaps she could eat those 4 pieces of sushi she'd prepared this morning. Her lip curled at the mental image of someone watching her chew. It was almost a fear to consume anything in front of people. Like they would say some utter judgemental garbage and mention her to their bored companions. Why that mattered to her, she couldn't identify. It was just a nagging threat.
The inky haired woman pulled the headphone from her ear, adjusting her black sunhat after unintentionally bumping it. It was unusual to wear a sunhat in this weather. She was unusual.
Instead of eating, Boulevard reached deep into the contents of her bag and spilled out a pack of cigarettes, along with her crappy flame patterned lighter. After lighting one, she slipped it into her mouth and took a hefty drag, almost like she was challenging the whole thing. The smoke came out with the vapor of the air, mingling together as the wind carried both away in its gentle gust. The cigarette held a touch of obsidian lipstick on it, smeared at the base. She smirked, then allowed her gaze to wander to the skies. There was a cumulonimbus that distantly resembled a cat, and her mind trailed back to Meechie at home. How was the little guy fairing?
Boulevard's eyes scanned the squandered elements of her messenger bag, and she began to wonder why she had so much crap stowed away at all times. Scratching at her upper arm, she picked at a loose thread from her shadowy ensemble, almost tempted to yank at it until it all came apart. Her fingers begged for cover, but the willowy woman refused their request. Instead, she threw her bag to the floor and began to scoop the innards back into it, an insignificant amount of snow coming with it. She froze dead when she gathered that the pills she had wrapped up in a diminutive woven baggie had come loose, spangling the grounded frost. "Shit." She whispered, having almost forgotten that they were there. Elias had dealt them to her, and she paid her loyalty fee in full. This hemorrhaged a chunk of her savings from the flower shop job.
After peering over her shoulder with mild paranoia, she returned the unsubscribed substance to the safety of their woven tomb, a couple finding their fate in her mouth. She dry swallowed three, shaking her head as they slid down awkwardly against her petite throat. If Neptune, her sister, had seen her pop them just then, she would have lost her red little head. Bee commonly wondered why she chose crimson for her hair, and Nepsy would question the same for Berry and her raven black locks. They were both naturally chocolate-brown maned, but as Bee always said, 'If there's something going on in your life, you're going to change your hair.'
The high came gradually. It started as a steady prickling in the shoulders and lower neck, then progressively snowballed into the entirely euphoric alteration of reality. She was grinning subtly, now lying warm against the snow with her head perched against a rock. It felt good to escape. Her mind was aloof and free of anxiety, and she simply watched, like a third party observer, as the billowy clouds overhead twisted into wild shapes. There was nothing to disrupt. Nothing to torment or wreak havoc on her consciousness. She was transiently unfettered. But was that true freedom in the long run? Especially when you knew you would return to yourself, only to totter in your despondency?
The vixen did a perfectly timed 360-degree turn to the beat of her song, sniffling toward the end of her shifting movement. Her nose felt stiff and raw from the frigid atmosphere, and she enjoyed the prickling at the ends of her blueing fingers. She wore a dark outfit, which generously complimented her holographic black lipstick. Her hands were free of the gloves she normally wore in this weather, primarily due to the fact that she enjoyed the numbness and stiff pain that accompanied going without. Her shamrock green orbs studied the horizon. It was around early afternoon, and the sun was at its highest. It was stuck behind a thicket of clouds, which she appreciated. Clouds had long come to be her closest friend, shielding her from unneeded warmth.
Clearing her itching throat, Boulevard resolved that the spot she had come across, just beyond a small snowed over collection of boulders, was the ideal spot to rest. She'd been pacing for miles, her tracks trailing back to the home she shared with her roommate unwillingly. Originally, she had intended to come here and live in confined solitude, not really planning to pursue any type of relationship with any of the common folk. Being what was known as a "Rockie" made her stick out like a sore thumb in this area, the lake more popular for the wealthier and expansive homes. She relished the privacy, as the nearest house was on the other side of the body of icy waters.
She dusted the cool white powder from the top of a boulder, perching her bony rear atop of it. She let her shoulder shrug so that her messenger bag would slip off, the weight transferring to her forearm as the strap fell. Boulevard pulled it to her lap, opening it up to peek into its contents. Her fingers were too numb to use her yo-yo right now. Perhaps she could eat those 4 pieces of sushi she'd prepared this morning. Her lip curled at the mental image of someone watching her chew. It was almost a fear to consume anything in front of people. Like they would say some utter judgemental garbage and mention her to their bored companions. Why that mattered to her, she couldn't identify. It was just a nagging threat.
The inky haired woman pulled the headphone from her ear, adjusting her black sunhat after unintentionally bumping it. It was unusual to wear a sunhat in this weather. She was unusual.
Instead of eating, Boulevard reached deep into the contents of her bag and spilled out a pack of cigarettes, along with her crappy flame patterned lighter. After lighting one, she slipped it into her mouth and took a hefty drag, almost like she was challenging the whole thing. The smoke came out with the vapor of the air, mingling together as the wind carried both away in its gentle gust. The cigarette held a touch of obsidian lipstick on it, smeared at the base. She smirked, then allowed her gaze to wander to the skies. There was a cumulonimbus that distantly resembled a cat, and her mind trailed back to Meechie at home. How was the little guy fairing?
Boulevard's eyes scanned the squandered elements of her messenger bag, and she began to wonder why she had so much crap stowed away at all times. Scratching at her upper arm, she picked at a loose thread from her shadowy ensemble, almost tempted to yank at it until it all came apart. Her fingers begged for cover, but the willowy woman refused their request. Instead, she threw her bag to the floor and began to scoop the innards back into it, an insignificant amount of snow coming with it. She froze dead when she gathered that the pills she had wrapped up in a diminutive woven baggie had come loose, spangling the grounded frost. "Shit." She whispered, having almost forgotten that they were there. Elias had dealt them to her, and she paid her loyalty fee in full. This hemorrhaged a chunk of her savings from the flower shop job.
After peering over her shoulder with mild paranoia, she returned the unsubscribed substance to the safety of their woven tomb, a couple finding their fate in her mouth. She dry swallowed three, shaking her head as they slid down awkwardly against her petite throat. If Neptune, her sister, had seen her pop them just then, she would have lost her red little head. Bee commonly wondered why she chose crimson for her hair, and Nepsy would question the same for Berry and her raven black locks. They were both naturally chocolate-brown maned, but as Bee always said, 'If there's something going on in your life, you're going to change your hair.'
The high came gradually. It started as a steady prickling in the shoulders and lower neck, then progressively snowballed into the entirely euphoric alteration of reality. She was grinning subtly, now lying warm against the snow with her head perched against a rock. It felt good to escape. Her mind was aloof and free of anxiety, and she simply watched, like a third party observer, as the billowy clouds overhead twisted into wild shapes. There was nothing to disrupt. Nothing to torment or wreak havoc on her consciousness. She was transiently unfettered. But was that true freedom in the long run? Especially when you knew you would return to yourself, only to totter in your despondency?
code by Ri.a
