sixty-seven : midnight
The sun is rising somewhere, but here the night stretches out to both horizons. The pale orange glow in the house is the only light for miles, and it is diffused through the fogged glass. Inside, hot water drips from the roof, down the walls, pooling on the floor below. In thick clouds of steam, pressed up against the glass door of the shower, is a splotchy pink hand.
The water has been running for hours.
Tonight I wrote while listening to Nick Cave. This is one of my worst nightmares—passing out while by myself and nobody finding me in time. Even worse because of the hot water. Scary stuff. Must stop thinking about this sort of thing.
It’s so hot… still 36 degrees in the house, though it’s after 7pm. Very sticky. Am now heading off to the cinema to see what I expect will be a godawful 3D version of the last three Final Destination movies. If only there were something good playing tonight :(
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captainsoiree reblogged this from acircadianrhythm and added:
Just casually reblogging myself. I miss this; my self-imposed daily writing challenge. I stopped because I didn’t think...
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