Aggression like this demanded slinging the first punch in a bar brawl, firing rounds at a range, or setting a car on fire.
As the sky faded to night, her anger dissipated—but not in a healing way, just dulled, like forged iron sizzling in a cold pail of water.
Blonde hair drawn into a no-nonsense bun, her new manicure the deep red of fresh blood, she’d even donned a blouse and slacks for the occasion, something Neve had forgotten Veronica owned.
She glanced outside at the sky, filled with clouds and smog. All the pollution, all that hell—even the stars didn’t stand a chance.
Time to make herself scarce because, hell, she didn’t want to pass that thunderhead on her way out.
As she’d walked along this street, a million stars stretched across an indigo canvas, holding all the freedom she’d yearned for every night.
Harsh, bitter laughs exploded from her like shrapnel, and she didn’t care who was cut in the process.
The Cottage Diner’s homey lights glowed onto black asphalt which just sucked up the beams to spit out more shadows.
Save the sugar for some other girl. This one’s had it up to here with people in general.
Shards flew everywhere, slicing her hands, her forearm, and cascading to the floor like snow glistening on a winter morning.
