Daily(ish) Writing Thread

[Anonymous No.3539055]

Hello /lit/,
I know many of us are writers, so post whatever it is you are working on now, regardless of the quality. Critique may or may not follow.

[Anonymous No.3539070]

got so based I fell
who put that chair there, for real?
maybe I'll get up

[Anonymous No.3539087]

Goodwin was awake.
His headache was fierce, and the heat surrounding him even more so. The darkness was equally encompassing, but all the more debilitating. Sweat filled every crevice of his body, especially between the arm and body. Entrapped within the blankets, his body could do nothing but flail ‘til his arm was freed. A blessed wave of cool ran up his arm, pleasant to some degree, yet chilling as the day outside.
A sharp punch to his side reminded him of morbid heart condition. Shrugging the pain aside, he reached his grotesquely fat arm towards his bedside table, his bed creaking all the way there.
Finally, there was light.
But this light was dull, singing without phrases or tune, just a listless hum in which one could be lost forever. So, in an attempt to alleviate the boredom and monotone that does always accompany florescent light, he looked to the window, which was, as many windows are, covered with a sheet. Swinging himself out of bed, his tremendous rolls of fat were revealed, and once again he vowed to lose one or two, as he did every day. His feet touched the floor, bending it with an ominous creak, but he paid no mind, for he did this every day.
His body rose off the bed with effort, and he stomped over to the window. Sweeping the sheet aside, he revealed the Sky to himself, and he realized it was good. A singing light, brandished with the power of an eight-minute delay, wherein it was intercepted by atmospheres upon atmospheres.

Rough Draft of a short story.

[Anonymous No.3539104]

>>3539070
It's nice, kinda cynical in my mind. I like it.

[Anonymous No.3539135]

>>3539087

Beyonce was awake
her headache was fierce
Sweat filled her.

her arm was cool
her heart condition was dull


fat revealed every day
her feet touched every day.

boredom and monotone
covered with a sheet.

[Anonymous No.3539150]

>>3539135
It's meant to be about God, but whatever.

Haiku:

I told her and she
Was like oh my God and I
Was like oh my God

[Anonymous No.3539176]

Hayden leaned against his clay wall. Edges of cracks dug into his shoulder-blades. This morning, she’d told him, over on the west path. I know because the sun was behind me. That’s west, isn’t it? When the sun is behind you in the morning. It rises in the east, you said. He knew but he didn’t tell them. Why? A sense, I suppose. Weird and ominous kind of premonition. Destruction, he thought, can after all be a kind of creation—they uproot that green and build a sense of safety out of it. Durst had told him things—old stories of the evil in green: the planet-flowers, traps with teeth that ate men, that began so sweetly. Truth in them? Maybe. Maybe not. But what could its death hurt? His mind told him so, but a part of him—the Maria in him—said there is something wrong. The badness of it is all around. Of what? Of people. She said you must stop them before something has happened.

In a way, he regretted telling them at all. He knew nothing about this thing. The others inflamed by Durst’s fear-mongering. A cloud on their judgment? Probably. But there was nothing to be done now. Maybe Maria could convince them but she was gone. The price of ignoring his request, he thought, sighed.

He waited here for Roger. Durst had already gone out to hunt. Far away, Hayden hoped. He didn’t know why. Just hoped. In the distance he imagined he could see the twisted clouds of filth kicked up by the frenzied search and the gleam of eyes hungry for a kind of blood, the red of it on green, dripping, dripping. Conceive that we still have a word for green. That flowers still grow in our heads where they do not belong. Barren seeds: wisteria: the bean trees.

Random excerpt of the rough draft of what will probably end up as a novella.

[Anonymous No.3539193]

Six ghosts:
>Back in those days, Aeris was heading to the Sea of Life with Euster, Elerika, Goluk and Berto with nothing more than the clothe they were wearing. Hunger and night had forced them to camp in a rocky valley where dark shadows ressembled the formidable soldiers of Yemenov. Aeris told them "fear not, for I shall protect you." And they entrusted their lives on her hands. That night, six ghosts, as white as the salt surrounded Aeris and they warned her that her mission would fail: her nation would burn to ashes, family and friends would fall sick and her death would come just a moment after the full moon ceased, that same moon that was illuminating them that night. Squatting in silence, Berto witnessed all the scene and woke up his friends. She, loyal to her beliefs, did not fall prey of their words and meditated about the four seasons, elements and moons; and hummed the song she thaught to her friends. Soon a gentle holy breeze would fall for them and the ghosts from the valley would return to their cracks. Non Euster, Elerika, or Berto would ever mention Aeris that they knew their fate, they never abandoned their embassy.

[Anonymous No.3539225]

>>3539193
Short story much!

[Anonymous No.3539270]

>>3539176
Can't care.

[Anonymous No.3539277]

>>3539193
Non? Also fantasy is the Dane Cook of genre

[Anonymous No.3539280]

>>3539087
>morbid heat condition

I'm sorry, I can't get over that phrase. You need to change that.

Also, I would stop using so many extraneous adjectives/adverbs. Such as phrases like "grotesquely fat arm" or "pleasant to some degree." Stuff like that sounds awkward.

Overall, though, it's something that could have potential.

[Anonymous No.3539283]

>>3539270
Meaning...?

[Anonymous No.3539289]

>>3539277
I like fantasy.

[Anonymous No.3539291]

I just can't get started on a new project. I'm so involved with my current one it's all I can think about, even though I know it would do me a lot of good to start something new.

[Anonymous No.3539294]

>>3539193
9/10 would read

[Anonymous No.3539298]

>>3539289
Fantasy writers are too fucking arrogant for me to abide. You think the whole world isn't enough.
You need to make a new one, in your own image. Why? What displeases you about this world? What's wrong with it?

Even if I could ignore your absurd arrogance, you're still giving me way too many faceless, boring characters for me to possibly care about. What about your story is worth reading?

[Anonymous No.3539316]

>>3539298
No offence but you're the main arrogant here right now. Fantasy is not an escape from reality, it's just something fun; actually my reality is pretty good.
>Light welter weight boxing champion.
>Graduated from Language Teaching.
>Currently on Masters program.
>I drive the car I bought myself.
>My girlfriend speaks 5 languages.
>I live by myself and have time to lurk here.
>I love language.
>I love my life.
I write fantasy because that's what I like. If I wanted to read about normal stories I'd rather ask my friends about their everyday life.
I hope this gives you a different perspective.
>captcha writings slimalar

[Anonymous No.3539321]

>>3539316
You're comfortable with never producing anything of substance?

Also
>the arrogant

[Anonymous No.3539323]

just putting this here because it was amusing.

[Anonymous No.3539325]

>>3539316

we need more guys like you

nah i'm kidding, fantasy wtf dude do you even into aesthetics

[Anonymous No.3539330]

>>3539321

[Anonymous No.3539332]

>>3539331

The scribe was guiltilty amused by the prisoner. He enjoyed the way Dirk put extra emphasis on the "fu" sound of "fucking." He took a curious and morbid liking to his lackadaisically self assured mannerisms and the way he carried himself, especcially in the face of certain death. This, of course, wasn't something he could ever express or even fully admit to himself. Dirk Barnet was, at least to the scribe and to the people of Rosmarus, a very evil man. Dirk was considered a murderer, a traitor, a saboteur of progress and an enemy of the kingdom. If not for Rosmarus' progressive penal code, Dirk would have killed on site.
"You'd do well to hold your tongue, lest I take it, filthy cur!" interjected a guard. "You're lucky to have lived as long as you have."
"Yeah! Cut this scurvy faggot's tongue out! Leave 'im to bleed untill the life's run out of 'im," proclaimed another guard.
"Now, now, the King wants my story and I think he should have it. Cut out my tongue, and who's to tell it? Kill me, and who's to be executed. I think it would be you then on this side of the bars," Dirk proceeded with sarcastic emphasis "awaiting the cold chill of death too soon. Yes, I do believe the King will have his tale, pending booze and smokes of course. Now which one of you dickweeds intends to fetch it for me?"
"I'll bring the items, sir, um, Dirk, um..." spoke the scribe.
"Ha," exclaimed a guard, "pay this scum no respect. He is below trash. Nevertheless, it would make the most sense if you went."

[Anonymous No.3539331]

“Whiskey and cigarettes,” said the prisoner to the scribe. “Bring me these and you shall have my story.”
The prisoner sat leaning back in a small wooden stool, hands folded overhead in a sort of lazy defiance, eyes wandering. This calm, almost languid sense of presence seemed strange and unnatural to the young scribe. The demeanor of this man was more like that of a cocky young cut purse blinded by youthful indiscretion than that of the weathered thirty something subject of tomorrow's execution.
“Whiskey and cigarettes, um, sir?” the scribe asked nervously despite iron bars and half a dozen armored guards just praying for a chance to give use to their blades.
“Sir?” laughed the prisoner. "Do I look like a 'sir' to you?"
The scribe took a cursory glance at the man. Long disheveled hair, tattered clothes, wild facial hair, this certainly was not the visage of a "sir".
"Name's Dirk. Of course you know that, what with all the fuckin' wanted posters 'n' shit."
Dirk proceeded sarcastically in tone of voice and use of over exaggerated and empatic hand gestures, "Dirk Barnett, wanted for crimes of treason, mutiny, and general fucking awesomeness. Well, looks like ya got me." Dirk chuckled gutterally. "So which one of you assholes is going to bring my bottle and packet?"

[Anonymous No.3539335]

>>3539332

The scribe nodded and started out.
"Not the cheap shit!" blurted Dirk.
It was twenty minutes before the scribe returned with the vices. In these twenty minutes, Dirk leaned back in the stool, eyes closed in thought. In his almost meditative state, he didn't notice the scribe's return.
"Mr. Barnett, your requests," the scribe announced.
Dirk was jarred back into consciousness.
"Ah, yes." He stretched then beckoned through the bars. The scribe handed over the goods. "Fuckin' A!," approved Dirk eyeing the bottle and the packet. "This will do."


That's all I got so far

[Anonymous No.3539338]

>>3539331
Better than most, but for gods sake, cut back a little bit!

[Anonymous No.3539341]

>>3539298
>>3539325
Not all of them are faggots [but most of them are] however go back to fucking New York Times if you were not looking forward for fantasy.

[Anonymous No.3539344]

>>3539335
Zzz

[Anonymous No.3539345]

>>3539338

I do appreciate the criticism, I don't want to come off as defensive. I only ask what you felt that I needed to cut back on, specifically.

[Anonymous No.3539349]

>>3539341
JESUS CHRIST! HOW CAN YOU CALL YOURSELF A WRITER?

Fuck off and write fanfiction or something.

>go back to the New York Times
How ignorant are you? I mean, really, how many books have you read in your life?

[Anonymous No.3539353]

>>3539349
I've read everything by G RR Martin [and it took me less than a year] fuck off queer

[Anonymous No.3539359]

>>3539349
u mad bro?

[Anonymous No.3539360]

>>3539353
Have you been trolling me this entire time?

Listen, I've been an asshole, I'm sorry. Very sorry.

But you're missing out on the best parts of the medium!

Broaden your horizons! There's a whole world beyond fantasy.

[Anonymous No.3539367]

>>3539360
No I'd be on your side I just thought it would be funny to post >>3539353 you should probably just drop it now though he's trolling or retarded it doesn't matter.

[Anonymous No.3539368]

>>3539087
>Sweat filled every crevice of his body, especially between the arm and body
First of all that sounds bad.
Second of all wut?

[Anonymous No.3539369]

I
The weather report predicted clear skies, but when she arrived, the snow was still falling, gently.
He let her in, and she sat down his table. She moved gingerly, as if there was something fragile within her.

In his head he didn't know why she had come, didn't really understand anything.
But the red hand on the clock slid upward, inexorably. He did not know and was afraid to learn.
She placed her phone flat on the table, and he looked down at it, terrified, expecting to see his own dark secret, the ruined, mouldering castle wall, the rack, the ancient cobble stones, slick and coated with the blood of something expendable-
But of course it was something else, it was silly to imagine that she could ever discover it, he thought, later.
Now, Am's blue eyes were glowing on the screen.
It spoke.
“Hello, Jon.” The phone said. It had a clear, strong voice, which shone in the room like a star.
John gawked at it like an ape.

And there was understanding, coming into him like a foul taste in fresh water. It was terrible, understanding! He wished he didn't have to!
But you can't go home again.

She had been in love with him for a while, months, even. They had enjoyed that sense of higher love that few couples ever even brush against.
But you can see the shape of things. I cannot lie to you.
She was leaving Jon for Am.

Their conversation only took a few minutes, but it was more painful than anything else he had ever done.
When his sight of her blurred, he knew it was over. His body has given him up before his mind. He didn't notice her leaving.

[Anonymous No.3539377]

>>3539367
>>3539360
I'm just saying that I'd rather watch TLOR than Sophie's choice.

[Anonymous No.3539378]

I used to know a bitch named Eric Wright
We used to roll around and fuck the hoes at night
Tight than a motherfucker with the gangsta beats
And we was ballin' on the motherfucking Compton streets
Peep, the shit got deep and it was on
Number one song after number one song
Long as my motherfucking pockets was fat
I didn't give a fuck where the bitch was at
But she was hangin' with a white bitch doin' the shit she do
Suckin' on his dick just to get a buck or two
And the few ends she got didn't mean nothin'
Now she's suing 'cause the shit she be doin' ain't shit
Bitch can't hang with the streets, she found herself short
So now she's takin' me to court
It's real conversation for your ass

[Anonymous No.3539382]

>>3539380
fishing victims?

[Anonymous No.3539380]

>>3539377
When you see other people who attach unrelated anime girl's faces to their posts, what do you think of them?

[Anonymous No.3539383]

>>3539378
Nooooo

[Anonymous No.3539388]

He who hasn't enjoyed a fantasy book may throw the first stone.

[Anonymous No.3539389]

>>3539388
dubs, I'm not throwing shit.

[Anonymous No.3539390]

>>3539321
>dis nigga

[Anonymous No.3539392]

>>3539388
I liked Rumo. But I diversify!

[Anonymous No.3539420]

Fuck the flame war, can we all just focus on

>>3539331
>>3539332
>>3539335

[Anonymous No.3539427]

Words are inevitable

they drop off the tongue
like a dog's saliva
on seeing a bone

arriving secretly on the inbreath
they ride to our body's furthest reaches
on the iron horses in our blood
only to leave again
in one form or another
as our senses bash our soul against itself

and slowly but surely
the butcher turns surgeon turns saint

[Anonymous No.3539439]

>>3539298
http://bjorn.kiev.ua/librae/Tolkien/Tolkien_On_Fairy_Stories.htm

[Anonymous No.3539440]

I need to name my characters. How do you choose a name?

>A 16 year old hero.
>A 16 year old antihero.
>A 45 year old milf redhead teacher.
>A naive 14 year old naive cutie.
>A 50 year old smart scumbag detective.
>A 50 year old genious/badass teacher.
>A 15 year old cold calculator girl.
>A 16 year old fat friend.
>A 17 year old handsome athletic douchebag.

[Anonymous No.3539443]

>>3539440
>Craig
>Lance
>Jenny
>Sara
>Clarence
>Clarence (make him black and refer to him as "black Clarence")
>Sam
>Robbie
>Chad

[Anonymous No.3539455]

A 16 year old hero- George
A 16 year old antihero- Gary
A 45 year old milf redhead teacher- Neesa
A naive 14 year old naive cutie.- Sarah
A 50 year old smart scumbag detective- Donald
A 50 year old genious/badass teacher- Smokey Joe
A 15 year old cold calculator girl- Ami
A 16 year old fat friend- Tony "Bigs"
A 17 year old handsome athletic douchebag- Billy Carson

[Anonymous No.3539457]

>>3539440
The story seems really predictable. IMO good/bad guys in high school are overrated.

[Anonymous No.3539458]

>>3539150
For some reason that haiku really got to me. I can't stop repeating it in my head. Good job. Never thought I'd be impressed by a haiku of all things.

[Anonymous No.3539463]

>>3539443
>>3539455

Damn, we both had the same 4, except mine had an h

I dig the Black Clarence btw, dude should go with that

[Anonymous No.3539464]

>>3539455
lol did you name:
>A 45 year old milf redhead teacher- Neesa
because of the pornstar?

[Anonymous No.3539470]

>>3539464

Haha, I sure did.

[Anonymous No.3539475]

God all this shit sucks

[Anonymous No.3539477]

>>3539475

lets see a paragraph of yours

[Anonymous No.3539476]

>>3539470
fuck yeah mah nigga.

[Anonymous No.3539496]

His eyelids gradually separated. Rheum was stuck to his lashes and skin. Eyes unable to focus, hands lifted to rub them. A long yawn forced its way out of his mouth. Instinctively, he arched his back to stretch and pressed his palms into his sockets. It felt like a part of his morning ritual. He enjoyed the way his skin tingled. His eyes focused and became less blurred. The first thing he noticed was his hands, right by his face, covered in dried mud and blood. He held them both up, inspecting them. Chipped fingernails sleeping in tough skin. There was blood splattered all over his hands and arms. He heaved himself up. Before his back could straighten agonising pain pulsed up his spine rested in the back of his head, it radiated. He hurt, he was hurt. The floor he’d been sleeping on, it was old and made of wood. He looked at his surroundings and found himself caught in a strange mix of worried, pleasantly surprised and excited. Strimmers, shears, shovels and cutters hung against the wooden wall, along with toolboxes beside him, brooms and old car parts. Dust, left untouched for years, seemed like it had grown along the Perspex. Newspapers littered the floor, along with pots and soil. Shelves barely supported old fish tanks, filled with seed packets and other assorted objects. He stumbled backwards, feeling dizzy. A loud snap rung through his ears. He looked down to see what he’d stepped on.

[Anonymous No.3539560]

>>3539455
>A 16 year old hero- George
>A 16 year old antihero- Gary
>A 45 year old milf redhead teacher- Neesa
>A naive 14 year old naive cutie.- Sarah
>A 50 year old smart scumbag detective- Donald
>A 50 year old genious/badass teacher- Smokey Joe
>A 15 year old cold calculator girl- Ami
>A 16 year old fat friend- Tony "Bigs"
>A 17 year old handsome athletic douchebag- Billy Carson

But in the end make them all be one gay with multiple personalities. Name him Jesus, Moses, Muhammed or something. Whatever.

[Anonymous No.3539568]

On a naked sign post resting my back,
Resting on my lips: a cigarette.
“You’re killing yourself with debt.”
Pressing on my back: the future.
The present is a couch that’s too small for two.
Can I stay with you,
Resting on your lips?

[Anonymous No.3539569]

Any critique would be really appreciated.

A building that once held the only preschool in Asmayi had been leveled completely, and all that stood were pillars of now serrated concrete with charcoal-grey smoke oozing out of the structure's every oriface. What were once brightly coloured orange bricks were now all uniformly grey, with an uncanny evenness that made it seem like the entire one story bulding -- or what was left of it -- had just recieved a fresh layer of textured paint. The doorway and the supporting walls were obliderated in the blast, revealing the dust covered innards of the school; from the street opposite from the school one could clearly see inside several classrooms. The stillness lingered uncomfortably in the air for a few moments, until one of the dust covered corners began to squirm and writhe inside the building. Slow, gurgling moans soon evolved into resonant cries of agony. "Darawem! Darawem! [Stop! Stop!]" the frail voice cried over and over -- it was a bright, young voice that strained and wheezed with each breath. The dusty corner folded itself back to reveal the bright red face of a petite boy, around eight, who moments ago had his body hurled forward, the blast pinning him between several sections of mud brick and pise. His cries became less and less resonant as his energy left him, and his body collapsed-- defeated -- to the rubble below him. His skull had been shattered open when it hit the corner in front of him and fragmented pieces of crimson stained bone and hair lay hopelessly in front of him. Osman felt the the boys trembling flesh beneath his fingers as he held him up, frozen in a mixture of fear and shock. The coal black smoke choked him and he coughed, he gripped tightly to the boys body desperately trying to think -- and then he saw the massive cavity in the boy's head and felt the boy's heart struggle to pump blood while watching the boy's exposed brain throb around the small chunk of concrete solidly set inside of it.

[Anonymous No.3539572]

>>3539560
>all be one gay with multiple personalities
meant "guy"

[Anonymous No.3539576]

Here's the latest crappy poem I wrote. Cooked this one up a few minutes ago.

"Lessons in Remorse"

It was trapped there, between the
thick cotton curtain and the glass of the window.
And it buzzed angrily, searching for
freedom between the folds,
teased by the sun and the breeze,
that could be seen but not felt
from the wrong side of the window.
I was a boy with a Tupperware container
and a sheet of paper I’d torn from one of
my mother’s coffee table magazines.
I saw only its silhouette first, a panicked shadow
cast from inside of the curtain.
My hand was quick, and I pulled away the shade
and caught it in my plastic box
and slid the paper over the mouth of the box
(it had been an article about when to
best grow your Geraniums).
It did not buzz in the container with the paper lid,
and I was curious and I pulled away the lid
and I saw it crawling, crushed from the
abdomen, struggling to pull the weight of
its broken body.
I walked the thing outside without the lid.
I dropped it into the grass under the oldest tree
and wondered if bees knew to dig their own graves.
It remained there and did not move,
cradled on a blade of grass like
some tired flower.
but I was sure I saw it breathing, and maybe laughing.

[Anonymous No.3539595]

>>3539560
Lol these names are beyond shit.

Don't listen to this guy if you want anyone to read your writing.

"Neesa". Oh god lol

[Anonymous No.3539596]

>>3539594
Nope.

[Anonymous No.3539597]

My dick was aching, pulsing against my denim jeans, leaking precum with every heartbeat. On the other side of the foggy glass, some couple was fucking. I assume they're a couple, I've never been here before; I heard the orgasms from down the street, I had to investigate the source of such... power! She was spread eagle on the coffee table, everything shaking, threatening to break, but they don't care, how could they. Not now, not with an eight inch black cock in her asshole. A phone went off, and they went on fucking, I went on dry humping the wall, we all kept up.
Hours passed. It must have been hours, my dick, standard unit of time, had never been so raw. With all the shaking it was hard to notice the front door opening, but it did and in walked what I assume is the husband, with corporate attire, suitcase and blank face -- I should have known better than to assume miscegenation. Frisson electrified me as I wondered if my dick would burst.

[Anonymous No.3539604]

>>3539176
I don't care what the other anon said - I like this.

[Anonymous No.3539625]

On advice from a friend, I’m about to slit my throat. Why would I do something like that? Well, maybe.. just maybe, it’ll take me back to where I need to be.

And I need to be near him. Not matter what age or decade we’re in. He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I want to know him on every level. Therefor, I’d have to meet him so much sooner than I did.

So in this life and the next, and even the one after that, I will find a way to befriend him. A day before last time. A week before that. A month before I met all my other friends. I’m going to change the course of history just for this boy.

No, I’m not ending my life.
I’m just restarting it.

[Anonymous No.3539644]

>>3539560

Ultimately, no one will care about the names if the story is good. Random names are literally given all the random time. The association will come from good story telling

[Anonymous No.3539663]

critique would be lovely, for it seems the usual channels have failed me

[Anonymous No.3539669]

critique would be lovely, as it seems the usual channels have failed me

[Anonymous No.3539675]

>>3539669

Never use the word 'ululating'. It's a try-hard's hallmark.

[Anonymous No.3539703]

>>3539675

But I like it ever so much. That seems an awfully arbitrary reason on its own!

[Anonymous No.3539704]

>>3539703

>I like it

That's because you're a tryhard.

[Anonymous No.3539735]

||>>3539704||

Aw

[Anonymous No.3539949]

They look young. Right as they come down, I lock eyes with one of them, and my heart speeds up. By this time, I almost know I'm dreaming. I'm near lucid, but I don't want to be. I don't want this to end. We all talk for not very long and the details are hazy, but we end up in the bathroom. She's wearing athletic shorts. They have her middle school's logo on them. Same with her T-shirt. We start kissing, and I start feeling her up and she is just so small and delicate. I'm making myself sick but I don't stop. As things heat up, she starts changing. She develops into a woman before my eyes. She gets bigger, her face defines, her curves grow, her tight, black, dress comes off, her skin darkens, but just a bit, now she's wearing makeup and suddenly she's just a beautiful, naked, woman. And she's mine. Things heat up more and more and we start making love. I'm tenderly thrusting in and out. She's breathing into my ear and whispering things. I'm feeling her all over. I'm kissing her neck and her mouth and I'm going harder and faster and harder and faster and she's moving with me in perfect rhythm and I tell her it's coming and I pull out and I, you know, on her right leg. Then she deflates, like a balloon. The woman is gone now, and the young girl comes backs. Her legs shrink, her curves retract, her face changes back. I look at the ground and her black athletic shorts are next to her white shirt, with my old Middle School's logo on it. Then I realize my eyes are closed. When I open them, there she is. Her eyes are watering, like she might cry. I look down, and I'm all over her skinny legs. I tell her I need to leave and as I walk away she screams after me, "What's not to love? WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE?!"
But dreams never make much sense anyways.