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|Frozen (standard:other, 1212 words)|
|Author: Ceejay||Added: Aug 20 2006||Views/Reads: 1792/1092||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Anna's famous, success-bringing stoicism is the demon she has to battle in this story about an internal conflict.|
Anna turned on the light at two o'clock AM. The smell of Cajun food from the restaurant down the street was so strong on Sunday nights, after the evening mass in the small church down the street ended, that her eyes burned and she had decided to go upstairs to bed at seven, thinking she would sleep straight through until morning and wake up refreshed. But when the light from the ice-cube lamp bled into the dusty air, Anna knew that seven hours was plenty of time for beauty sleep. She slowly and silently removed the cover, as not to disturb the lightly sleeping orange cat in the window seat. Yellow streetlights made the dirt on the windows pop. Anna turned her legs off the bed and slipped towards the bureau, which was cluttered with row after row of well over four hundred dollars worth of cosmetics and hair products. Anna robotically chose a drugstore lipstick called Cameo Kiss, expensive Pink Lamé eye shadow, and her standby fragrant volume mousse in a tall purple bottle. She kicked a pair of shoes and plaid flannel boxers under the yellow chair next to the door and pulled a black t-shirt and men's jeans in a size 27-waist from its dirty, mustard colored, pleated-cushion back. The hall was a stump, only five feet long and crooked until it reached the bathroom's white door. Anna washed her hair in the sink with peach-scented shampoo from one of the shower shelves and blew it dry upside-down, putting it into a black elastic just above the nape of her neck. She meticulously applied her makeup and changed her clothes in the mirror, tying her turquoise tennis shoes tight around her gray and green polka-dotted socks. Upon finishing her early morning preparations six hours earlier than usual, Anna couldn't think of what to do. She slid down the plastic banister of the spiral staircase and onto the hardwood living room floor, original to the two hundred year old house. The white desktop computer with a pulsating light in the bottom right corner was the only thing that felt intriguing at two fifteen AM, and so she sat down at the backless spinning desk chair and turned it on with a tap on the button behind the screen. Instantly it began to buzz in the otherwise silent house. She played the music she listened to when she needed to meet a deadline, forty minutes of songs she knew so well that didn't have to listen to them. Still unsure of what to make out of the free time she had stumbled upon, Anna started to think. To her, almost nothing was worse than thinking. She had run on the track and cross country teams in high school and college ending only a few brief of years ago, and when she ran she would always end a race in tears, the first one to cross the finish line because she needed to hear something other than the thoughts in her head bouncing and screaming about at the tops of their lungs. After her third cross-country season in college, Anna quit because the mental pain was becoming far too much for her to take further into her life. Anna hadn't thought like that for a while, and so she decided to lie on the fuzzy, old gray couch, close her wide-awake eyes, and let it take her over completely. After eating a two-inch tall slice of packaged chocolate-chip cookie dough, she put the back of her head down on a pink flannel pillow. Anna realized that she would have to cry, but she felt that perhaps crying would relieve her of the numbness in her head. Remembering the books she had read as a teenager, Anna concluded that she had the opposite problem of Kurt Cobain, who wanted to relieve the pain with total nothingness. Anna needed to relieve the nothing with pain and to feel as bad as she often had before, because nothing ever was far worse than everything all at once. Anna hadn't made a friend since her junior year of college, when she was named the editor of a nationally famous student paper. Then, girls had flocked to her side at social events and competed to be chosen as her senior roommate. The boys of the newspaper staff had begged her for dates not only because of her powerful position, but also her bubbly personality, intense intelligence, and good looks. Since college, when Anna had moved into the house she was raised in, just twelve minutes from the city's hub, her social circle had neither increased nor decreased in size, and she had to wonder, now that she was thinking again, what had made her lose her open magnetism. Her boyfriend of five years lived in a loft apartment by the big Click here to read the rest of this story (36 more lines)
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