nadya (freetalkspace) wrote in coldcreeklogs, @ 2015-10-27 02:33:00 |
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Weekdays dragged almost ridiculously long for Debbie, especially if she was being forced to actually go to class. It was expected of most people her age, but to her it was mundane and unnecessary. Therefore, whenever she participated, put herself in the norm, she was kind of fidgety. In a town like Cold Creek, normal seemed moot, something unlikely or even nonexistent. It was strange, and as she went through her day, the eyes of the faculty on her to make sure she did what she was supposed to do, her dad texting her phone in-between classes to make sure she was going, she felt odd. She was almost shocked, looking at her surroundings, the regularity in them. It was calm and quiet and almost pleasant during off-season. She’d spent most of the day looking wide-eyed at everyone, unable to fathom why they could not see how ridiculous it all was. Debbie was sitting in class, unable to shake the feeling that she was in the Twilight Zone. It was ironic, given the town she lived in, that, for some reason, the notion of hell season was more normal to her than when Cold Creek wasn’t a demonic pit of death and suffering. She was contemplating this with a frown on her face when a teacher called on her. “What?” Debbie asked, a little late, trying to focus on instinct. She’d looked up with confusion written all over her face. And, if by some sick fate, the teacher asked her about propaganda. They were discussing how it could be used to sway crowds, and counties. And immediately, she opened her mouth, brain working despite having been put away for so long, falling into something familiar, “Well, people have been using it for decades. To rally troops, or get citizens to support wars. You can use it justify the death, the massacre of thousands of people...in order...to...” Debbie off trailed off, blinking as the class waited for her to finish. After a ridiculous beat, she started to snort in laughter, unable to keep her amusement of her own words to herself. Debbie wasn’t an emotional person. She tending to push things down, but hilarity bubbled out of her of its own accord. She laughed hysterically, the sound thinly contained by the hand over her mouth. She’d spent the rest of the school day in the principal’s office, the rest of the afternoon in detention, and the evening smoking in the woods. By the time she’d made it to the bar, it was late. She shuffled in sufficiently prickly, the feeling of being coped up and lectured about how ‘inappropriate and insensitive’ she’d been had not gone away. Debbie had slid into a seat right in front of her favorite bartender, Olleea. Her name rolled off the tongue nicely. She remembered mouthing it a couple of times when she’d first met her. Their relationship wasn’t as smooth. After getting herself comfortable on a stoll, Debbie have her a knowing look, “If I tell you I’ve had a really shitty day, will you not be an asshole and give a me drink?” It never worked, but Debbie had to try. |