This novel, or whatever it is, is starting to make less and and less and less sense. I think I’m losing my mind.


Marie had been fully awake when Galen had thrown her over his shoulder and carried her back to the bed she’d spent the previous night in, but she let herself go limp anyways, lolling pitifully like a ragdoll and keeping her eyes squeezed shut. She imagined she was in the arms of a big, handsome millionaire, possibly a prince or a stock holder in an important company or a masseuse, and he was carrying her back to her penthouse in the city where a large chocolatini and a bubble bath were waiting for her.

Instead, she was abruptly let down onto the absurdly uncomfortable bed she’d woken up in, and left alone without so much as a tucking in of covers.

She heard Galen slam the door shut and opened her eyes. The plaster walls of the room were painted a manically bright yellow that someone who was obviously colorblind must have picked. Marie shut her eyes again. Shut eyes were obviously better in the case.

A bird of some sort made a loud noise outside and then fell silent. A different sounding bird answered it, and they had a brief, angry sounding conversation before a third bird told them in absolute tones to shut the fuck up.

Under that was the ever-presence buzz of some sort of bug –cricket or whatever, Marie thought – and a rustling like the wind through the leaves. She listened for sounds of home – the hum of the refrigerator, the whirring of a laptop, cars honking at each other, even just the sound of water running through pipes – but all she heard was nature.

Marie had not previously realized exactly how annoying bird sounds were when that’s all you have to listen to.

She tried to cry again, out of boredom, but she was either cried out or dehydrated or too drunk, so she drifted instead into an unwary doze.


Day 7

Word Count – 16230

Confused? Start here!

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