Who: Anne and Open What: Anne tries to ignore the worry about where she is, how she got here, how she doesn’t recognize anyone…yet. Where: Sing Sing When: May 10, late afternoon Rating: depends - at least PG Status: In progress
Sing Sing was impressive. She’d never been in a prison before but this place was cracking with history. She could smell it…see it…The place had presence. It was its own ghost. She felt as if she was interrupting something here and it made her feel uneasy. Then again, she couldn’t remember when anything was easy. It wasn’t going to get simple any time soon. Now she was starting new again, getting her grip on what this place was and the people within. So far she hadn’t been too impressed. She hadn’t felt much toward anything or anyone beside this environment.
Commotion was inundating a few of the listening sort but not Anne. It had no way to penetrate her defenses- being the sort of guest she thought Sing Sing might be happiest hosting . She couldn’t bring herself to find out what it was that people were jabbering about. Limbs were flailing, mouths yapping, and Anne was as silent as ever, sitting in a corner with pen to paper. She jotted a few words down while ignoring their lips, trying to dodge whatever it was they were pouring out.
Duck! These chumps squirt uselessness. Burn…Char…Black and brittle.
She didn’t bother to look up as a shadow cha cha cha’ed her way before breaking off in another direction –a Puppet theater on the wall. It was so hard to care. Sometimes she wished she was a ghost. Then she could just shut it all off, drift through the wall and hide in the blackest places.
She made some graceful loop de loops with the blue felt tip pen she’d been partial to lately - ring around the rosy - and then filled them in with a lazy cross hatch. There were some flowery vines, a face screaming with some arrows and twirls and splotches where the ink had run through the mini veins of the paper.
She sighed. Her toe tapped the floor. She noticed that the fabric was starting to fray on her red and black checkered Van’s. She prodded it with a chewed up, jagged, ruby-chipped-fingernail-polished finger tip. Her toes wiggled within and she shrugged. She really loved these shoes. She used the pen to stab at her toe through the hole. Then filled in a checker square.
Something felt wrong and she got a sick feeling starting to stir up in her stomach. She wanted to hear from someone…someone she could actually take bad news from. Not any of these shit nozzles. Maybe she should go and search, find someone that knew what they were doing or better yet, what SHE should be doing but she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to go in search of whatever it was she was supposed to find.
Come on… she wrote down before she flipped her book closed and leaned back in the chair.