Chatterbox: Inkwell

Pitter-pattering raindrops are falling from the sky. The world outside her room is dark, gloomy, cold. The blinking lights of the alarm clock read 3:30 A.M. She sighs, the blankets of her bed pooling around her knees. She's tired, but she can't sleep.

Left of her is an empty bottle of melon soda, last night's homework, and the peeled off nametag she's saved from the first day of school. Only the double Ls are still visible–everything else has been worn down by time. Time.

Empty melon soda. Huh. She gets up, and glances into the box under her desk. There aren't any more.

Actually, she's been meaning to buy some pencils anyways. She can go to the convenience store.

Stepping out into the rain, she opens up an umbrella. It's green. The convenience store is only two blocks away. It's lit with glowing light, from the 24/7 sign. Time feels like jelly, as she steps into the air-conditioned store.

Elsewhere, a vaguely trending song is playing, but she can't tell which speakers are playing it, or what song it is. The shelves are lined with things you typically find in convenience stores. What else would there be in there? 

"Hey, uh, can I buy these?" she asks the bored-looking cashier. He has strawberry blonde hair, freckles, and lime green eyes. A friendly smile too. 

Eyes that remind her of something, but she can't remember what. "Sure, that'll be eleven dollars and two cents," he says, reaching forward to scan the melon soda and pencils. His accent is faintly British.

Looking in her purse, she finds that she has the right amount of change. She takes the melon soda, and leaves.

Pitter-pattering raindrops are still falling, as she makes her way back to the house. She only bought one can of melon soda. That seems to be an oversight on her part, but she hasn't got enough change to go back and buy more. Back at her house, she finished the melon soda in one long draft. It's still raining. She's tired. Tired. She curls up in bed, her eyes drooping.

---

It's raining. Pitter-pattering raindrops are falling from the sky. The world outside her room is dark, gloomy, cold. The blinking lights of the alarm clock read 3:30 A.M. She sighs, the blankets of her bed pooling around her knees. She's tired, but she can't sleep. Left of her is an empty bottle of melon soda, last night's homework, and the peeled off nametag she's saved from the first day of school. Only the double Ls are still visible–everything else has been worn down by time. Time.

Melon soda. Empty, at that. Huh. She gets up, and glances into the box under her desk. There aren't any more.

She's been meaning to buy some pencils anyways. She can go to the convenience store. Stepping out into the rain, she opens up an umbrella. It's green. The convenience store is only two blocks away. It's lit with glowing light, from the 24/7 sign. Time feels like jelly, as she steps into the air-conditioned store.

There's a vaguely trending song playing, but she can't tell which speakers are playing it, or what song it is. The shelves are lined with things you typically find in convenience stores. What else would there be in there? "Hey, uh, can I buy these?" she asks the bored-looking cashier. He has strawberry blonde hair, freckles, and lime green eyes. A friendly smile too.

Umbrella–the umbrella. His eyes remind her of her umbrella. Right. "Sure, that'll be eleven dollars and two cents," he says, reaching forward to scan the melon soda and pencils. His accent is faintly british.

Copper glints in her purse, and she finds she has exactly two pennies in change. Perfect. She takes the melon soda, and leaves.

Kind of the universe to keep it raining, she supposes, as she makes her way back to the house. She only bought one can of melon soda. That seems to be an oversight on her part, but she hasn't got enough change to go back and buy more. Back at her house, she finished the melon soda in one long draft. It's still raining. She's tired. Tired. She curls up in bed, her eyes drooping.

--

Can you hear me? Can anyone hear me? I'm stuck in the loop. Please, help. I can't get out. Time is difficult. Time is soft, like jelly.

It's still raining, but it's not cold. It keeps repeating.

-

–Dark, gloomy, cold. The blinking lights of the alarm clock read 3:30 A.M. She sighs, the blankets of her bed pooling around her knees. She's tired, but she can't sleep.

Only the double Ls are still visible on her nametag from the first day of school–everything else has been worn down by time. Time. Left of her is an empty bottle of melon soda, last night's homework, and the peeled off nametag. 

No more melon soda is visible under her desk, when she checks.

On her way to the convenience store, she can buy those pencils she's been meaning to get too.

The convenience store is only two blocks away. Stepping out into the rain, she opens up an umbrella. It's green. When she crosses the empty road, she steps into a puddle. The dirty water splashes onto her legs and arms, and she shivers. That's sure to be cold later on. The convenience store is lit with glowing light, from the 24/7 sign. Time feels like jelly, as she steps into the air-conditioned store, the cool air making the cold water on her positively icy. Elsewhere, a vaguely trending song is playing, but she can't tell which speakers are playing it, or what song it is. The shelves are lined with things you typically find in convenience stores. What else would there be in there?

"Hey, uh, can I buy these?" she asks the bored-looking cashier, shivering slightly from the water. He has strawberry blonde hair, freckles, and lime green eyes. A friendly smile too. She's cold.

Eyes that remind her of something, but she can't remember what, again. "Sure, that'll be eleven dollars and two cents," he says, reaching forward to scan the melon soda and pencils. His accent is definitely British. She's cold.

Looking in her purse, she finds that she has the right amount of change. She takes the melon soda, and leaves. She's so cold.

Pitter-pattering raindrops are still falling, as she makes her way back to the house. She only bought one can of melon soda. That seems to be an oversight on her part, but she hasn't got enough change to go back and buy more. Back at her house, she finished the melon soda in one long draft. It's still raining. She's tired. Tired. She curls up in bed, her eyes drooping. It's cold in here. Is this poetic justice?

---

This is what you deserve. Don't break character again, says me. Don't ask for help, says the strawberry blonde cashier with lime green eyes.

--- 

{All information in brackets is me, the writer, talking! Not W. Forester. So this isn't canonical :) This is an upcoming project I've got planned out. Make sure to keep an eye out. November 10th!}