Entry tags:

life, project: writing majorly, tantric tuesdays

[what the fuck do I call this even.] Sky
Ficlet, just for shits and giggles.

Fandom/Pairings: Real Life?; Reili
Rating: G. :D
Pre-Notes: This is what we call “what the fuck Reili you're on crack.”
Summary: What happens when a writing major is sadcakes.

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Sky
“We're looking up at the same night sky.”

There are days when she forgets. Days when she doesn't care. Days when she's cheerfully and deceptively happy. Days when she's herself. Days when it's almost almost almost okay.

Those days are few and far between.

The nice thing, she's noticed, about not having anyone around you that can absolutely and positively tell that there is something wrong with the whole situation is that no one bothers you for reassurance that yes, you are okay. Yes, you are not in possession of a razor blade. Yes, you are one-hundred percent peachy keen.

Then again, she misses that too.

She misses skittles, Transformers, Michael Phelps sperm beams. She misses discourses on Sora's sexuality, terribly off-key Christmas carols, knowing that if she really needed it someone could bring her key lime pie in the middle of the night (regardless of what her parents might say). She misses making stupid jokes about musicals that people get, being the worst fake vegetarian-lesbian there ever was, knowing that her own personal army is ready for her if she needs them.

She feels like crying.

It is at the moment when all of this hits her as a rushing, overflowing wave of emotion that something occurs to her: the sky is the same wherever you are. Instead of crying, she looks out the windows across the room. Though it is not night and there are no stars, she makes a wish.

But if she told you what it was, then it wouldn't come true.