Tangled Cotton And The Drowning Of Emotions.

• Kiani Nuttall, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2013

Below the mountain she was situated, the sweet scent of her breath stained the stale air as she exhaled the fresh morning dew. Tangled velvet hair lay resting across her pillow; mascara had slipped between cotton stitches the previous evening, her pillow still remained damp from the poisoned beauty product.

Lifeless amongst thin cotton blankets, freshly woken yet recently exhausted.
Rolling towards the left side of her large bed, she glanced out of her window where crystallized morning air tunneled through.

Diagonal of large mountain planes, she studied calm streams of rainwater trickling into a salt water lake. The way the atmosphere she inhabited shined, for a quartered minute, provided her with an illusion that comfort was upon her, perhaps she shall not bring herself to fall asleep lonely. This was nothing but a ferociously dangerous lie, suicide trickled into her mind in a similar motion to which the rainwater outside her window trickled into the wide salt water lake.

Years ago, her blankets would have been perfectly placed over her body from her breasts reaching her toes whilst she dreamt peacefully.

Warm raspberry jam, raisin toast and lightly flavoured green tea was used as refreshment, resting under the shade of a fig tree; they would adore each other’s company, enjoying their breakfast together as the sun rose into the heavens.

Pacing towards her vintage wooden mirror and makeup table she carelessly picked up the brush her mother had given her as a young child, throwing the bristles through a large tangle in her hair, slightly smiling at her reflection.

Each day, she would become just a little bit thinner; each and every day; she would grow just a little bit more lonesome. She leaned closer to see her reflection easier, brushed bright red lipstick across her thick, luscious lips, and then carelessly showered her face in foundation slightly darker than her skin’s natural tone. She didn't appreciate the complexion of her pigment and preferred to alter her original colour, allowing her to stand out; yet again, sadness swept through her body.

Forcing messy hair into a thick bundle on the top of her head, she slipped a white gown over her easily damageable body, pulling the gowns seams tight along her pelvic bones and upper breasts.

Today was to be the day that her pain crumbled through a bottomless pit. He proposed in agreement previous months before; she was to be seated upon the old tyre swing along Winchester Road, prepared to wait a life time for his presence.

He held her body close, her eyes came into line with his, not a word was spoken, but the connection which occurred between their sights screamed a million unspoken words. They had crushed one another’s souls; however, nothing could destroy their love.

Later that evening, together they disappeared into the salt water lake; all sights were lost as they passed away as one at the bottom of a bottom less love.