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Room 210; Sunday Afternoon [06/07].
Jun. 7th, 2020 08:04 amAstrid had pulled out the bag of her letters from underneath her bed that afternoon, some packets thin as a promise, others fat like white koi. The bag was heavy, it exhaled the scent of Ingrid's violets. Usually, Astrid kept the door open, in the spirit of their shared communial living, in the unspoken invitation for distraction or interruption, but today, she got up and closed it softly shut, before going back to her bed and lifted handfuls of letters out of the bag onto her bed.
Astrid hated her mother but she craved her. She wanted to understand how she could fill her world with such beauty, and could also say thigns like that woman was born to OD.
And so she read. Just one, for now. One at a time, like small little meals to get her through the day, as to not gorge herself on a feast and discover herself, suddenly, within an inescapable famine.
( CW for Ingrid's letters, which are always...something. In this edition: sexual content, domestic violence, drug use, prison being awful, Ingrid being an abusive sociopath and Astrid finally realizing it. )
Astrid glued them to sheets of paper. She'll give them all back to her.
Ingrid's own little slaves.
Oh my God, they’re in revolt. It’s Spartacus, Rome is burning. Now sack it, Mother. Take what you can before it all burns to ash.
[[ the bulk of this was swiped and modified from Chapter 26 of White Oleander by Janet Fitch, naturally, and I have been looking forward to this post for a long, long time. Door is closed, but the post is open! ]]
Astrid hated her mother but she craved her. She wanted to understand how she could fill her world with such beauty, and could also say thigns like that woman was born to OD.
And so she read. Just one, for now. One at a time, like small little meals to get her through the day, as to not gorge herself on a feast and discover herself, suddenly, within an inescapable famine.
( CW for Ingrid's letters, which are always...something. In this edition: sexual content, domestic violence, drug use, prison being awful, Ingrid being an abusive sociopath and Astrid finally realizing it. )
Astrid glued them to sheets of paper. She'll give them all back to her.
Ingrid's own little slaves.
Oh my God, they’re in revolt. It’s Spartacus, Rome is burning. Now sack it, Mother. Take what you can before it all burns to ash.
[[ the bulk of this was swiped and modified from Chapter 26 of White Oleander by Janet Fitch, naturally, and I have been looking forward to this post for a long, long time. Door is closed, but the post is open! ]]
