Post by ERICA BLAKE LARSEN on Jun 4, 2012 21:25:43 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; padding: 30px; ] these dry bones cry out  WORDS- 635 OUTFIT- CLICK NOTES- i know this sucks. The headache that Erica was experiencing at this exact moment was killing her motivation to do anything productive. She laid in her queen-sized bed, comfortably buried deep beneath the down-filled comforter, head burrowed between her feather pillows. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying at best to block out the slightest bit of daylight that peered through her curtains, making her head want to explode even more. She grumbled loudly, throwing the pillows from her face and kicked the comforter from her body. She swung her legs out of bed and rested her elbows on her knees and dropped her face into her open palms. A light bleat noise came from her cell phone on the bedside table. She reached for an elastic from the floor and messily pulled her long hair into a knotted top bun. She grabbed her cell phone, stood to her feet, and slowly walked down the hallway to the kitchen. It wasn't as bright out here because the curtains were darker and (thankfully) still closed. She snatched a bottle of Advil from the cabinets, a warm bottle of water from the counter, and sulked over the couch where she flopped herself onto. She popped the cap of the Advil, dropped two into her mouth, and generously chugged from the water. She re-capped the Advil and the water bottle, and pulled the fleece blanket from the back of the couch across her body. Erica laid there, eyes closed, already starting to feel better. Last night had been ridiculous and she remembered her cell phone. She scrolled through the missed calls, the unheard voicemails, and all the new text messages. She read through the messages, some from unknown numbers of people she must have met last night, a bunch from her best friend, and about twenty from her ‘concerned’ mother. She suddenly felt dirty, sweaty, and sticky. She definitely needed a shower; a nice, lukewarm shower to bring her to her senses. She flung the blanket off her body, placed the cell phone on the coffee table, and made her way down the hallway into the bathroom. About a half hour later, Erica was emerged from the shower and standing in her bedroom, rustling through the contents of her closet. Her headache felt slightly better, but all she was missing now was food. A greasy burger and fries was exactly what Erica was craving right now. She dressed quickly, pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail, and grabbed an empty purse from the floor. She dropped into it her wallet, her apartment keys, her cell phone, and some public transit tokens. She took a quick look in the full-length mirror and decided she looked good enough to satisfy herself. She walked to the apartment door, slid her feet into a pair of shoes, and walked out, making sure to lock up behind her. Erica had always been the type of person to enjoy taking public transit; it was dirty and filled with unfriendly people (usually), but she liked it. She liked it a heck of a lot better than driving herself, anyways. A short bus ride later and Erica was hopping off down by the boardwalk. She had heard about a carnival and was actually craving a candy apple right now. She strolled to the entry gate, purchased a few tickets in case she ran into someone she knew, and headed over to the food stands. She asked for a caramel apple, dropped the exact change in the palm of the concession girl, and took hold of the stick. She knew she a large, child-like smile lit up her features right now, but she couldn't help it. She found an empty bench near a ferris wheel and sat down, setting her bag down next to her. She bit into the apple and closed her eyes, savoring the caramel taste. Her head felt a lot better; all that was left to do was to call her friend and figure out what the hell had happened last night. these dry bones cry for you |
