rhoda. 23. nus. dgms. choir. sing(:


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Template by Elle and this is her blog.
Inspiration: charlove @ tumblr
Others: colour codes / icons (batch)

new skin! haha.

a girl once proclaimed self-righteously, "i do so hate people who indulge in self-pity!" she contemplated her words for a moment and nodded to herself, thinking of how SHE never did pity herself. no, not once.

then, her confident smile faded. she remembered, a distant blot of memory, tarnishing her wonderful self-image. the memories came crowding in, blocking each other out, in a tremendous effort to let itself be seen. the little girl stiffened, seeing how time and again, she had committed that frightful transgression. that transgression, that her lips had denounced just a moment ago.

hands covered her unseeing eyes as she tried desperately to block out those terrible images, of her savage, cruel self. for her memory had not just extended to those of shame and regret but also to those of her ugly self.

自作自受

that familiar chinese phrase appeared in her mind, fresh as if dipped in white paint. she screamed.

a scream that echoed around the empty room and vaulted off the high ceilings of the house. she was alone. truly alone.

she screamed again, desperate for help, for anything that might give her a glimmer of hope. her gaze settled on a dusty clock atop a battered piano. the hands were moving forward, cruelly. taking her away from redemption, from any hope of putting things right. she lifted a finger and stopped the second hand. but it only left a deep cut, not even stopping to throw her a defiant glare. this clock was testing her. she was sure of it. its golden hands gleamed, smirking. you can never stop time, it seemed to say.

"i can!" she shrieked and hurled the clock out of the window. "there! i told you so," she said in an almost triumphant tone.

alone in the wet, dewy grass, the clock peered out of its dented and chipped frame. two of its hands were bent. but did it matter? they were still moving, were they not?