Bubbles

Not sweet or cutesy.

   It isn't a downpour, but even a light drizzle is enough to hide her tears. She is just crying -- not yet outright sobbing. Her eyes remain focused on the road. There is a dog barking somewhere in the distance. She can barely hear it from where she is because of the rain and her own pounding heart.
   Her left side aches from leaning against the stop sign. The scars on her arms are the color of a ladies pale pink lipstick; the lips only slightly plump. These scars, however, were not from any cosmetics department.
   She is mesmerized by a solitary puddle in the center of the road. The rain drops sometimes make bubbles when they hit. They float around the puddle as if they are slightly drunk. The bubbles glide around on the surface, and at one point she thinks they will meet, but one will pop before they get the chance.

   Just like life.
 

Author's Note

This is really just a snippet of what I was thinking/feeling one morning waiting for the bus to take me to school. Everything is accurate but the scars on my arms, I'm trying to stop.

Reviews

[.]

This is a nice little story, almost a portrait. Packs a nice little introspective punch at the end. What I would say is focus on the flow of your prose. The line "not yet outright sobbing" is a little bit of a mouthful and gives the reader a stumble when it is read. So just watch for things that like and you will be good to go. Very nice little read. I enjoyed it a lot.

[Penny Ellen]

Such meaning in something so ordinary. Don't you just love that?