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lilamarie

Singapore

I'm the type of person that gets an adrenaline rush from writing. 15 going on 16 - don't judge a story by its author's age, alright?

Message from Writer

Shower me with constructive criticism because I can't control my abuse of adjectives.

The Shape of a Girl

January 19, 2016

PROMPT: Setting as Mood

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Miggy's eyelids lifted, trailed by the lingering tail of slumber, far too awake in the instant yet not resisting. Their periphery was greeted with such soft whiteness - the sight of the blurred white ceiling illuminated by the clear light of the a.m., muffled pinches of the morning chill floating around with the white noise of Kitty Kallen's crooning - and their body felt so very good under the thin white blanket; their growing sharpness did not appreciate this. Miggy heaved a breath, a lungful of something cold and heavy, and just as silently deflated her chest. They continued to gaze at the ceiling, patiently awaiting her body's full awakening until they finally took notice of the reflected alabaster rays that had been playing at the edge of their vision, working up the strength to lift their head and catch a sight Miggy knew would be there. 

Jude's skin alone waned the ever harshening whiteness of the atmosphere back to clemency. To Miggy, she looked like the morning sun herself. Jude was sat at the foot of the bed, faced turned to the streets and clearly smoking, the sheer white curtains swaying where they were parted around her as a mild breeze carded through her short hair and trailed ribbons of grey along the creamy walls. The grimy window pane had been cracked a sliver, just enough to expose Jude's face to the winter bite - undoubtedly flushing her cheeks and nose a lovely shade of pink - and the sunlight that hadn't been caught through the curtains saturated her pale skin, shrouding her in a silvery silhouette.

The planes and planes of skin available for Miggy's eyes to ravage simply intoxicated them so and they almost felt guilty with letting themself indulge. Despite the pool of blanket tangled around Jude's hips and legs, her left knee propped up to support her idle left arm that shielded her breasts from Miggy's eyes - the sheer intimacy that seemed to pulse in the distance between them made Miggy light headed. Lord, that is mine, she thought, comfortably sinking into a soft cotton haze of disbelief. 

They didn't realize that they had reached for their camera until a click meant to be silent disrupted the air waves and made Jude turn, finally aware of the audience she'd been holding. She raised an eyebrow and huffed out a grey cloud before stubbing the cigarette on the window sill and crawling back into the covers to lie atop of Miggy, elbows propped on either side of their head. Jude's short hair tickled the sides of Miggy's face and they squirmed at the itch. They heard Jude snort softly before chapped lips were on hers to still her in a smoke-filled greeting.

They remained that way, languidly exploring each other with their mouths, for a long while before Jude pulled away first, lingering for a stretched moment and gazed down at them, eyes clear, hands stroking their hair. 

"Morning, baby," she rasped.

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