Tuesday, June 21, 2011
It was dark in her room, or was it even her room? She couldn't tell. She felt something crack under her bare foot, a sharp pain shot through her as the shard sliced the underside of her foot, she felt the warm blood begin to leak like tears of an adolescent heartbreak. "There goes my last coffee up." She thought slightly annoyed with herself. Light flooded the room casting it's fluorescent glow across the dangling beads and feathers hanging from the ceiling of her closet apartment. Suddenly feeling the pain intensify in her foot and remembering the consequences of blood on carpet, she threw her saxophone on the futon and sat down next to it to nurse her wound. After she had tended to her foot and threw out the guilty mug, she sat on the window ledge and watched the sun rise over New York City, the sky the same hue as her bandaged wound.