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I didn't mean to do it, it loved me in my head
IP: 24.18.171.195
Posted on June 3, 2010 at 04:26:25 PM by Charlotte



"A few months, really. I don't know how you did it - do it, really." She says incredulously and then takes another moment to take a drag off of her cigarette and muses quietly over the thought of being here for that long. She thinks about what life was like before Shaman and how it is now - oddly it's not too much different. She's outside smoking with a perfect stranger the way she would be back home. There were countless days Aunt Shelley would pull over the caravan to rest in the middle of nowhere to give us something to call home for a few hours at a time. They almost always parked next to some shoddy diner so that Bo could eat his thirteen or more cheeseburgers in one sitting. Charlotte couldn't care where they were really, as long as she had her friends with her, they were what mattered most when it came to material possessions.


She appears thoughtful for a moment before turning to look at Blake. "You remind me of someone back home." She says and offers an honest smile. "It's a good thing, I promise." Charlotte thinks about Laulliette when she sees Blake, a guy who has nothing better to do than to smile and mean it. Laulliette had been a good friend of hers back home, so had the rest, but on all those days where the nights seemed never ending he'd sit up with her and talk. Maybe Blake isn't the guy to sit up throughout the night but, she compares his selfless gesture of giving cigarettes to her to Laulliette's sacrifice of sleep to keep her entertained.

This thought amuses her. There's a lot of silence between the two but it isn't awkward at all. She breathes in more smoke and exhales with a quiet shiver; she feels as chilly as the silvery plume of smoke looks. "I've been here for ... probably about half a day. I can't really think straight about all that has happened here already. The harder I try to grasp the concept of this place the more I just give myself a headache."

And, there goes that headache as if it was waiting for it's queue. The woman presses a hand to her forehead and rests her elbow on her knee. The several tattoos shiver and quake and ripple as her skin does, the birds almost seeming alive for the moment her body finally registers the cold and the onset of a mild fever. She flicks the cigarette out into the open water with her free hand and exhales the last plume of smoke, half of her better thinking escaping right along with it.

"I feel really wierd."

Charlotte Tweet
So we did make love. Is that what you're calling it?
…this is probably just another one of those cry-for-help things.



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