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Tunisia

18-year-old TCK obsessed with language in general, especially the written word, for my entire life. Working on my first fiction novel. Check out my blog at glassraindrops.com for more writing and even some art (my avatar is one of my paintings)!

Message to Readers

From my memory of my family's trip to Venice. A snapshot memory, about a year old.

An Evening in Venice

March 10, 2016

FREE WRITING

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GROUP: True Stories

Crystal water laps languidly beneath me at the mossy roots of the bridge. I rest on the wide stone hand rail, my back against a lush overhang of vines and flowering creepers that provide a cool shadow from the spring sun. The chatter of tourists slips into the backdrop of my consciousness, replaced with the rocking of the boat tied up beneath me and the whisper of the breeze through the tops of foliage. I pull one leg up to my chest and drape the other over the edge of the chilled stone, squinting my eyes against the glare off a motorboat spluttering past. The water that snakes through the city seems to be taking its afternoon nap, lolling off to the slapping of an emerald tarp against the peeling hull of the tiny boat in the shadow of the wall. Sky arcs above me in an unbroken sheet of vivid blue. It seems that if I could soar above the city, a spiderwebbed jewel in the midst of the sea, and prick the dome, the whole thing would unfold into shreds of tissue paper. I’m caught in a pause, a break between mazes of chipping paint and haphazardly ancient architecture. A pause set in the midst of twisting alleys that never seem too tight or dirty or dark. A pause between weeks of chaos, friends faces, and the ever-present threat of the future. 

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