Feeling Your Pain

Like the other intrepid EsNoWriMo-ers, I too began my quest at midnight. I left it off at 1,655 words, and like the others, it was hard. I had to write some dialogue, which is always embarrassing, terrible, and completely unnatural. However, I did manage to work in two Martha Stewart crafts. Some excerpts, for your reading displeasure:

"Sadie feels out of place. Not only is she a Wellesley scholar amongst a sea of Harvard students, a brunette surrounded by blondes, but she also seems to be the only Canadian at a Fourth of July barbecue. She takes in the carefully laid out decorations with some irony, recalling all of the half-assed parties and fireworks displays that she had attended back at home. The buffet table is adorned with a fiery flowers display, with what appears to be spider mums that were tinted to look like lively fireworks. ‘What a good choice,’ she thinks to herself, recalling how inexpensive and readily available those flowers must have been, and mentally congratulating the hostess for grouping the blooms of various colours in assorted vessels for a simply dazzling exhibit. She can’t help but wonder what the point of it all is, since everyone around her seems to be single-handedly attempting to drain Boston of all of its cheap and watery beer. She made a bet with herself that not a single party attendee had noticed the flowers, or any of the myriad decorations that were jauntily displayed around the backyard."



"The summer rain began to fall, forcing revelers in Boston’s North End to seek shelter under the many awnings scattered along the busy, bustling street. Rain is rarely welcome on hot summer evenings such as these, but on this particular occasion, many felt an odd sense of relief. It had been cloudy for days, inviting the inevitable rainstorm that always accompanied such somber skies. Everyone had seen it coming, and had been dreading it. The rain that had finally come had felt like a release, freeing them from the burden that they all knew was unavoidable.

One girl stood out amongst those huddling together in an effort to avoid the downpour; she seemed completely oblivious, in fact. The trudged along the now-empty street, mindlessly staring forward, as if in a dream. Her brown hair was soaked, and hanging limply at the sides of her hollow-looking face. The t-shirt that she wore clung to her body like a second skin, emphasizing every slow movement that she made as she moved forward. While the rain obscured her tears, the aura of tragedy that surrounded her was visible to all. The kind of pain that emanated off of her drenched and cold body could not be overlooked or ignored; it’s the kind of pain that even though those around may not directly feel it, they all know it, and can feel it vicariously.

Theories are tossed around the onlookers’ minds as to what could possibly be the source of such palpable anguish. “Someone must have died,” many postulate. “Perhaps she was fired,” others think to themselves. But some of them, those that have felt it, know exactly what this is. That empty look, that appearance of being completely lost that is as plain on her face as anything, can only come from one thing: unrequited love."