Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Not Pretty

She was not a pretty crier.

Anna's nose was red and shiny, like a drunkard on a binge. Her eyes were rimmed in a matching shade, and seemed to be partly swollen. Splotches covered her cheeks, and her face was shiny with tears. She sniffled, but a little trail of snot still escaped her nose.

Her shoulders shuddered as Anna tried to catch her breath, but to no avail. She let out a wail, and it sounded like someone had stepped on a puppy. The sound was as unpleasant as Anna's appearance. She wasn't surprised that no one had stepped up to hold her and comfort her – Anna didn't even want to be around herself.

With that thought, she lapsed into another bout of wailing, giving in to her despair and letting herself crumple to the floor. There she sat, in a sniveling, whimpering, wet, snotty, slimy mess, unable to do anything but feel sorry for herself.

I write like
Stephen King
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