Bubbles. Floating to the top. Dancing. Swirling all around and popping. Clustered together, like a little family, all struggling to stay warm. Three of them, all snuggled in the corner. I watched them, my eyes sagging. The two on the end were small - they were so close, they were almost one. Another stayed away, larger, more eager looking. It slowly floated to the pair, inching closer and closer. The two sailed off, around and around, chasing each other, until finally, the big bubble caved. Pop! I couldn’t hear it, but I knew what it would sound like. The two bubbles soon morphed into one. Large, just like the other one. Soon, it too popped. I couldn’t help but sigh. Slowly, I lifted my cup and drank. Sprite. Fizzy and bubbly. I’m sure I killed a few bubbles with that one. More than a few, probably. I drank half the glass already. With a small clink, I set the glass back on the bartop, watching the ice cubes bob up and down, almost tauntingly. I could just make out my wavy reflection in the liquid gold - I didn’t look like a wreck; I was a wreck. No, I was atrocious. Physically, emotionally, mentally, everything. With contempt, I pushed the ice cubes along with my finger, blurring the hazy mirror. I couldn’t stand it any longer. Not just my reflection, but everything. I couldn’t stand it. Weakly, I pushed the glass to the side. I tried studying the wooden bar top. At least it was still. Somehow, it still managed to get me. Everything got me these days. I could feel my glasses slowly falling off my face. No matter. I let them. Plunk. Right on the wood. I hoped it hurt. I forced myself to look up. My glasses laid there, lenses face down, arms outstretched and pointed skyward. My eyes danced along the walls. Bottles of wi... ... middle of paper ... ...tomach churning. She smiled warmly. Lazily, I pulled my glasses off. Set them on the counter. Turned back around. A weird glance from Lola. “You okay?” A gruff mumble. “Fine.” “Bull. Tell me what’s wrong.” I...couldn’t. It was none of her business. Whatever. I didn’t feel like talking anyway. Tammy and Mr. Perfect dancing together. Some bullcrap slow song blaring in the background. Couples swaying. Drinks flying. Kisses in every corner. Wallflowers. A life of the party, shaking her hips, like she did to every song - slow, fast, or in the middle. Vaguely, she looked like a girl from my art class, some shy looking girl who wore big, nerdy glasses and oversized sweaters. Name was Marie. How ironic. Anyway, still. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever. Done, done, done. With everything. Spectacles on the counter. I twirled them around. Stared into my glass. More bubbles.
stared back, unable to believe that it was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became fully convinced
As you walk in the front door you find yourself standing in front of a glass
You groggily slid your eyes open, slowly sitting up and blinking around in search of the annoying contraption. It was marginally harder to see anything without the aid of your glasses, and turned searching into a game of guessing what this or that blurred object was. It turned out that somewhere in the night, you'd managed to knock the clock into the incredibly small crack between your bed and the table, ad you had to fish it out with your
I unwilllingly walked through the entrance of regret and guilt. With teary eyes from what happened the night before, I didn’t know what I could say. All I thought was ‘It was an accident’ but that didn’t matter anymore.
In a flash, her expression reverted back to the original, but with one prominent difference. Her eyes, which had been clouded over before, were now brimming with delightedness, almost hysterically, as she turned towar...
'I saw him at the end, like as if I saw him down a perspective-glass'
You stumbled out of the slowly moving contraption, tears streaming down your face. You could hear the laughter and excitement of your friends in front of you. They weren't feeling what you were, and you doubted they would understand.
• Count the bubbles for the next three minutes and also make a note of the
Although it seemed like we had a lot in common being actresses, I wanted to end our conversation and talk with other interesting people. After all, I was at a Gatsby party! This was the nicest party I had ever attended, and I was determined to meet people even though I didn’t want to come in the first place. When Marion Davies turned around to grab a glass of champagne, I made a run for it. I saw another woman I had seen in the movie Pretty Ladies, so I introduced
reflection in the mirror while talking to Delbert rather than looking at him. This further
Why didn’t the bubble pop? The bubble just wraps itself around anything that is wet, filling in the hole that would have been made.
The sink was still running, and the water was flowing out with full force. The bathroom’s vents were put on blast, and the shower was steaming up the entire area to the point where the mirror completely blurred. Even though there was so much noise blaring all at once, I needed it. I needed something in my ears to cancel out the harmful jokes from others, the hurtful “you are good for nothing” speech from my parents, and my self hatred. The corners of the wall were my escape area from the world and its cruelty. My eyes were a scene from niagara falls as tears flowed out. I purposely had fogged up the mirror so I could stop looking at myself. I hated my fat. I hated my acne. Most of all, I hated my selfish and negative minded mentality.
You walk, you breathe, and that’s enough for people. But the older we get, the more the rose-colored glasses crack, and move beyond repair; the ugly truth rears its head as it always has. Before this happened for me, I believed in many things. I believed in the goodness of people, that they could be good, simply because. I believed that people loved, because it was the right thing to do. When I found my glasses, literally and figuratively smashed in 4th grade, I saw the world for what it was; a mess of intricate stories and ideas; and people were no longer simple. While this event may have been jarring and unbearable for some, I pressed forward, because there had to be something brighter, waiting. Although I’ve grown, I am still young and I have yet to find my purpose, as many much older than I haven’t as
Mason cut through the swells like a shark, using only his hips to generate motion. Then we raced each other, and once we’d tired ourselves out, we climbed onto the shore and napped. When the sun was too hot, we leaped back into the hole, and when the chilly water made us shiver, we scrambled out again, and so it went until we finally started back to the house on sopping wet, slippery
I look out the window and see massive buildings, millions of colorful lights lights and above it all a dark night sky. It’s almost eight, and I rub my eyes in an effort to wipe away exhaustion from the long day. I struggle to get up and slowly walk over to the huge window. I look down and see hundreds of tiny cars whoosh in all directions, I think I see people, but it’s too hard to tell. I sip on my cappuccino while thinking about today’s case. I admire my speech and the carefully thought out questions for the main witness. I remember when I first started my practice: a shabby small office on a side-street, working for a snobbish little man who always annoyingly patted his head to make sure his toupee was still there. I was so inexperienced and scared.