Post by Annika~ on Sept 12, 2009 11:17:21 GMT -5
[OOC: I woke up in the middle of the night, and needed to write. This is my result, seven hours later.
I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW LOLWTF
this chapter is just a huge inside joke I have with myself. if you get this joke somehow, feel free to spaz about it all you want.
and yes, the piano dude is Michael, if you read my applications.]
The book was something that belonged to her grandfather, and maybe it went down the Moretti family tree even farther than that, as far a she knew. It was simply an old notebook, some pages obviously torn out. Gianna guessed it originally held something they wouldn't want their children, and the children of their children, and so on, to read years later. It had been passed on to her just before school started, skeptically handed to her by her needy parents, thinking that she always had to "express her inner feelings". They were actually very right, in that Gianna did indeed have a lot of thoughts that she needed to get rid of somehow, but she knew she could do it herself.
She set the book down on her pale blue bedspread, which was once clean and the exact same color of the walls. But she had let the light shine in through her room--sometimes forgetting to close the curtains--and it had faded to a barely noticeable blue.
Gianna didn't particularly care about what the previous members of her family wrote--she had heard the stories about the family countless times. She flipped to a blank page, taking out a pen. Slowly, she sketched a piano, with an empty bench. She wasn't very fond of her drawing style--every time she picked up a pencil, she immediately began to sketch either a face. But there were pages and pages of this notebook, and she had plenty of time to practice.
She finished the piano, and began to scratch out the figure of a man. She couldn't draw them very well, but tried anyway. Unlike usual, she liked the picture. The two drawings faded into each other--it looked like he was about to sit down at the piano and start playing.
But as she looked at the expression she had drawn lightly with her pen, he looked tense, as if he was afraid to play. Gianna stared at the sketch for a moment, wanting to fix it, but then looked at the clock. She realized it was growing late, and she had school the next day. She sighed, turned out the light, and let herself fall into a long, dreamless sleep.
The book was still open.
I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW LOLWTF
this chapter is just a huge inside joke I have with myself. if you get this joke somehow, feel free to spaz about it all you want.
and yes, the piano dude is Michael, if you read my applications.]
The book was something that belonged to her grandfather, and maybe it went down the Moretti family tree even farther than that, as far a she knew. It was simply an old notebook, some pages obviously torn out. Gianna guessed it originally held something they wouldn't want their children, and the children of their children, and so on, to read years later. It had been passed on to her just before school started, skeptically handed to her by her needy parents, thinking that she always had to "express her inner feelings". They were actually very right, in that Gianna did indeed have a lot of thoughts that she needed to get rid of somehow, but she knew she could do it herself.
She set the book down on her pale blue bedspread, which was once clean and the exact same color of the walls. But she had let the light shine in through her room--sometimes forgetting to close the curtains--and it had faded to a barely noticeable blue.
Gianna didn't particularly care about what the previous members of her family wrote--she had heard the stories about the family countless times. She flipped to a blank page, taking out a pen. Slowly, she sketched a piano, with an empty bench. She wasn't very fond of her drawing style--every time she picked up a pencil, she immediately began to sketch either a face. But there were pages and pages of this notebook, and she had plenty of time to practice.
She finished the piano, and began to scratch out the figure of a man. She couldn't draw them very well, but tried anyway. Unlike usual, she liked the picture. The two drawings faded into each other--it looked like he was about to sit down at the piano and start playing.
But as she looked at the expression she had drawn lightly with her pen, he looked tense, as if he was afraid to play. Gianna stared at the sketch for a moment, wanting to fix it, but then looked at the clock. She realized it was growing late, and she had school the next day. She sighed, turned out the light, and let herself fall into a long, dreamless sleep.
The book was still open.
}
his anger is Chopin.