08-04-2018, 05:43 AM
She's nervous, and boy does it show.
You know those moments, where what you're going to do would either be just another notch of regret under your belt, or actually life-changing, and this time, actually for the better? It was right there, in a polished sign and a dirt road under a canopy of leaves― haven bay, cabin and behind it? is or will be the people that she mostly ever communicated with behind a screen, what the world simply dismissed under the simple phrase of "online friends". For her, since the internet is her life, of course so would be those she talks to one it on a daily basis, but even then, she can tell they're different. There was some emotional bond there, one that can't be bound by a screen, or this stupid society, or this universe. One that just makes sense whether it be four in the afternoon, or the wee hours in the morning that she likes to address as her "weird hours."
Her mom wants to prod her with questions, per usual, but she stuffs her earphones in her ears so she doesn't have to explain. Her mother doesn't understand this; how she could put her trust into people she's never seen, much less talk to on the phone. She also fails understand that this is a different time. One that isn't contained by face-to-face conversation ( shudders ) and landlines. She doesn't want to have to explain if these people weren't who they said they were, they wouldn't be coming here right now, not for a social experiment that reveals their face in front of potential thousands of people. Her mom would only combat that with another question and frankly, she isn't looking to scramble for an answer that's satisfying for her. She also doesn't want to admit that she, too, is nervous. Communication in the real world isn't exactly her forte, and she doesn't like to think of seeing herself on tv, much less on someone's snapchat. Her insecurity is to a boiling point, but remember when she said there was moments that are possibly live changing?
There is no process, no loving exchanges of goodbye. Summer promises to text her mom later before getting her luggage and slamming the door shut, not even turning once she realizes that it's far too heavy for her, even though her mom probably said it sometime earlier. She struggles but manages to shimmy the door open by awkwardly holding her toiletry bag underneath her chin. The cabin's exterior already is too good to be true, so she feels as if she should know what to expect. But she doesn't, and it's even better inside, like the catalog of IKEA slapped right in front of her. It's breathtaking, so much so, upon descending into it ( princess style ) she trips over the bags of someone else, nearly falling her onto her face, but her own bags catch her. God, please don't let the cameras be on. She thinks, huffing silently under her breath.
You know those moments, where what you're going to do would either be just another notch of regret under your belt, or actually life-changing, and this time, actually for the better? It was right there, in a polished sign and a dirt road under a canopy of leaves― haven bay, cabin and behind it? is or will be the people that she mostly ever communicated with behind a screen, what the world simply dismissed under the simple phrase of "online friends". For her, since the internet is her life, of course so would be those she talks to one it on a daily basis, but even then, she can tell they're different. There was some emotional bond there, one that can't be bound by a screen, or this stupid society, or this universe. One that just makes sense whether it be four in the afternoon, or the wee hours in the morning that she likes to address as her "weird hours."
Her mom wants to prod her with questions, per usual, but she stuffs her earphones in her ears so she doesn't have to explain. Her mother doesn't understand this; how she could put her trust into people she's never seen, much less talk to on the phone. She also fails understand that this is a different time. One that isn't contained by face-to-face conversation ( shudders ) and landlines. She doesn't want to have to explain if these people weren't who they said they were, they wouldn't be coming here right now, not for a social experiment that reveals their face in front of potential thousands of people. Her mom would only combat that with another question and frankly, she isn't looking to scramble for an answer that's satisfying for her. She also doesn't want to admit that she, too, is nervous. Communication in the real world isn't exactly her forte, and she doesn't like to think of seeing herself on tv, much less on someone's snapchat. Her insecurity is to a boiling point, but remember when she said there was moments that are possibly live changing?
There is no process, no loving exchanges of goodbye. Summer promises to text her mom later before getting her luggage and slamming the door shut, not even turning once she realizes that it's far too heavy for her, even though her mom probably said it sometime earlier. She struggles but manages to shimmy the door open by awkwardly holding her toiletry bag underneath her chin. The cabin's exterior already is too good to be true, so she feels as if she should know what to expect. But she doesn't, and it's even better inside, like the catalog of IKEA slapped right in front of her. It's breathtaking, so much so, upon descending into it ( princess style ) she trips over the bags of someone else, nearly falling her onto her face, but her own bags catch her. God, please don't let the cameras be on. She thinks, huffing silently under her breath.
summer
[align=center][font=arial][I]so, i heard the world doesn't revolve around me /:
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