Post by bryonie on Apr 10, 2010 3:40:11 GMT -6
-- bryonie elise pattinson. sixteen. junior. fashion.
it was dark. poppy couldn't see well enough to judge where exactly she was, or maybe that was because she was lying down. she could feel grass against her left cheek, wet grass and cold air. so she was outside. in a park? she didn't remember going to the park, especially not at night. what was the last thing she remembered? going to bed. on .. tuesday night? going to bed on tuesday night. well it was still night, she wasn't sure if it was tuesday, and this certainly wasn't her bed. what had happened? it didn't take a fool to guess. it had happened again. poppy had gone out again. she tried to move and groaned softly; she had drank enough for the hangover to grip her already. again. shutting her eyes, she rolled onto her back, because everything seemed to hurt less with her eyes closed; it made the hazy edges of her vision stopped swimming and she greeted the blackness happily. patting her hands down her body, she cringed at her lack of clothing and, more importantly, mobile phone, pockets or bag. no way to call someone, no way to ask anyone if they knew where she was, to come and find her and take her home. so she would have to get up herself then. she sat up too quickly, her eyes tightly shut as the world span around and one hand over her mouth as the need to throw up over took her.
when everything felt still again, she opened her eyes slowly and looked around, carefully making sure she avoided looking at the puddle of sick she couldn't help but smell. she was sitting in .. a field? she still wasn't entirely sure. pulling her feet under her, she felt the grass through her tights and realised she wasn't wearing any shoes; that was odd. who left the house without shoes? poppy usually didn't - she decided she had just lost the pair she had been wearing and at least had the brain power to put shoes on before going out, although she couldn't remember. on the ground next to her was a packet of cigarettes, a lighter and a smoldering cigarette butt. poppy didn't have to attempt to smell her own breath to know it was her that had been smoking the cigarttes, and she picked the packet and lighter up with no intention of smoking the rest of the cigarettes. standing up slowly, so she didn't get head rush again, she blinked and looked around. now she was standing up, she could see that down the gentle slope of grass she had passed out on, the rippling water of the swimming pool reflected the moonlight and finally realised where she was.
suddenly poppy didn't want to go home. she hadn't been home for at least a day. it wasn't tuesday anymore. her guess was thursday, these black outs in her memory seemed to be getting longer, but she had no way of knowing. it didn't bother her as much as it should have. she didn't want to know what day it was for now, she was happy moving slowly across the grass towards the pool, with no shoes and ripped tights. a small part of her brain wished that when she did go out she would have the sense to put more clothes on, but was thankful she had at least thought to bring a jacket. however most of her brain wasn't feeling the cold; possibly something to do with the small buzz she still felt from the huge amounts of alcohol she couldn't remember drinking. she smiled to herself as she reached the edge of the pool and sat down on the side, carefully placing the cigarettes and the lighter next to her and sliding her feet into the water. the cold hit her hard and she laughed out loud, shivering slightly. unzipping her leather jacket, she discarded it along side the cigarettes and closed her eyes, took a deep breath in and pushed herself into the pool, slipping easily under the water.
amy. sixteen. gmt. c: