This is the beginning of a...dare I say it, book of sorts that I'm writing, would really love some feedback on what your thoughts are :) Also, anyone feel free to take it and use it :)
The little girl leant over her mother. She looked down at her, observing every detail. Her breathing, shallow and fractured, like her throat was made of glass and it had broken, smelt of malt whiskey. A single tendril of dark hair curled down her face, leaning silkily in by her mouth and ending its winding road at the nape of her neck. She had a creased, pinkish red mark that stretched down her cheek were the pillow of the sofa had indented itself. In the delicate wrinkles of her eyelids dark flecks of make up were scattered, like someone had blown ashes through them. The red lipstick, that had looked so glamorous and beautiful hours before, was now smudged and faded. It still looked beautiful in its own way, but it was wrong. The girl sighed, a sigh too pained and saddened for a person so young as she, went to find a blanket, and laid it over the sleeping, unconcious form on the settee. Then, she poured herself a glass of milk, and went up to bed.
Created: Dec 11, 2009Document Media