Long Day's Night
dilleachta
las ballenas
dilleachta
las ballenas
Dilleachta stepped out of the hole in the wall and into her shower, soaking wet and freezing – as always. She knew well enough to keep her eyes closed, and so it was easier to recover for her, not blinded by the light as so many unfamiliar with the experience wound up. She turned, pulled the hole from the wall; it collapsed into her hand like nothing more than a black cloak, shimmering slightly. Her briefcase clicked open, empty, and she put the hole away before tossing the whole thing aside. The wet clothes were stripped off, thrown to the bathroom floor, the pins removed from her hair with the disgust that always accompanied letting her hair down.
Actually showering required a special stool, so that she could reach the levers, reach the showerhead and the soap that most probably took for granted. It was probably possible to get a special shower made, one that accounted for the fact that she was only three feet tall, but Dilleachta had no desire to order such a thing. No desire to have deliverymen and installers in her apartment, putting in special fixtures for her disability. No desire to have anyone in her apartment, ever, for any reason. The makeup was scrubbed from her face, ran pink and bronze and brown down the drain. There was no need to shave, no need to exfoliate; it was enough to wash the makeup off, the grime of the city out of her hair and her tail.
She slid out of the shower, gathered her dirty clothes and put her hair up before she could see herself in the mirror. She could tolerate the rest of it, could tolerate her pale skin and the shape of her body and even the ears on the top of her head, but she couldn't bear the sight of her hair.
There was a stool at the sink, as well, so she could brush her teeth with a toothbrush made for children. It probably wasn't necessary – her square white teeth, her needle-like fangs, would probably always be pristine. But she brushed her teeth anyway, because brushing and flossing twice a day was important. She brushed, even if it meant looking at herself in the mirror, the skin so pale without makeup, the red eyes so large with their slitted pupils. Escape occurred as soon as it was possible; the longer she looked at herself, the stranger she found her own reflection, the more alien she was to herself.
Exercise clothes were pulled from the closet to act as respectable looking pajamas, and she curled up on the black leather couch with a plate of microwavable appetizers that almost made her feel normal-sized.
It had been hard at first, on her own, figuring out what to do with her free time. Her apartment was filled with books, leather bound with gold titles, critically acclaimed bestsellers and classics. She had never read any of them. Again and again she'd tried to enjoy reading, but always her eyes trailed off the page, never could she keep track of the letters and the words and the meanings behind them. The fact nonetheless remained: smart people read books. So Dilleachta had books, as pristine as her chess set.
Computers, too, were difficult. The smartphone she'd left in her briefcase was slightly better, but in her hands it was a tablet, and the technology was barely comprehensible. So now, as usual, she watched television. No sitcoms, filled with people whose problems she'd love to have. Nothing with romance, nothing with monsters. Instead she watched the lowest of the low, binging on reality shows about human beings that lived in filth and squalor and pettiness. It was all she could stand, it seemed, to watch people that she could never envy, people she would never want. Her tail, black fur dried, wrapped itself around her like a blanket. She hugged it to her chest, but did not purr, even if it was what instinct demanded. Dilleachta didn't purr anymore, didn't hiss, didn't slink or crawl or climb.
She slept on the couch, as always. The master bedroom, the large bed, was as much for show as her books. It was too big, too empty, too difficult to wash the sheets and tuck in the comforter. But it looked fabulous.
Dreams came of pleased voices, of warm skin, of the sound of a heartbeat beneath her. They were always the same, her dreams, where she never knew any better than to curl up on a lap or sprawl across a sunbeam. And when she woke twelve hours later, the anger came, always the same. Anger at dreams, at herself for having them, at herself for enjoying them, at a world that left her wanting.
Her music was on vinyl, even though the records looked enormous in her hands. Music was the other thing she could enjoy, the old kind without voices, if only in her own home. Headphones, after all, were an impossibility; made for human ears, ears she didn't have on the sides of her head.
Moonlight Sonata was a cliché, but she played it anyway - nothing but piano would suit her now, no violins if she could help it. Trudging back into the bathroom, she retrieved her briefcase; released a breath she hadn't known she was holding when it clicked open and her things were inside. That was always the fear, that the briefcase wouldn't open, that it would be empty and her phone and makeup would be lost.
Dilleachta didn't know how her phone worked; she only knew that she needed one with a stylus, with a special pen, because her fingers weren't large enough for the screen to know when she was touching it. It looked absurd, as if she was taking notes on a clipboard, but she tolerated it by pretending it looked professional. A message from her employer, as she'd expected; time to get ready for work. A black pencil skirt, a matching suit jacket over a prim white blouse, stockings and heels – all ordered online, all made for dolls. Her black hair was pinned into a tight bun, waterproof makeup applied with an expert hand. Red lipstick, brown eyeliner, rouge and foundation all worked together to make her skin more life-like, less pristine. She'd need to fix it when she arrived, would need to wait for her clothes to dry, but most of the work was done. Her phone and her makeup were placed back in the briefcase, clicked shut; when she opened it again they were gone, and in their place another hole. She placed it on her living room wall, closed her eyes, and stepped into the cold – briefcase in hand.
Actually showering required a special stool, so that she could reach the levers, reach the showerhead and the soap that most probably took for granted. It was probably possible to get a special shower made, one that accounted for the fact that she was only three feet tall, but Dilleachta had no desire to order such a thing. No desire to have deliverymen and installers in her apartment, putting in special fixtures for her disability. No desire to have anyone in her apartment, ever, for any reason. The makeup was scrubbed from her face, ran pink and bronze and brown down the drain. There was no need to shave, no need to exfoliate; it was enough to wash the makeup off, the grime of the city out of her hair and her tail.
She slid out of the shower, gathered her dirty clothes and put her hair up before she could see herself in the mirror. She could tolerate the rest of it, could tolerate her pale skin and the shape of her body and even the ears on the top of her head, but she couldn't bear the sight of her hair.
There was a stool at the sink, as well, so she could brush her teeth with a toothbrush made for children. It probably wasn't necessary – her square white teeth, her needle-like fangs, would probably always be pristine. But she brushed her teeth anyway, because brushing and flossing twice a day was important. She brushed, even if it meant looking at herself in the mirror, the skin so pale without makeup, the red eyes so large with their slitted pupils. Escape occurred as soon as it was possible; the longer she looked at herself, the stranger she found her own reflection, the more alien she was to herself.
Exercise clothes were pulled from the closet to act as respectable looking pajamas, and she curled up on the black leather couch with a plate of microwavable appetizers that almost made her feel normal-sized.
It had been hard at first, on her own, figuring out what to do with her free time. Her apartment was filled with books, leather bound with gold titles, critically acclaimed bestsellers and classics. She had never read any of them. Again and again she'd tried to enjoy reading, but always her eyes trailed off the page, never could she keep track of the letters and the words and the meanings behind them. The fact nonetheless remained: smart people read books. So Dilleachta had books, as pristine as her chess set.
Computers, too, were difficult. The smartphone she'd left in her briefcase was slightly better, but in her hands it was a tablet, and the technology was barely comprehensible. So now, as usual, she watched television. No sitcoms, filled with people whose problems she'd love to have. Nothing with romance, nothing with monsters. Instead she watched the lowest of the low, binging on reality shows about human beings that lived in filth and squalor and pettiness. It was all she could stand, it seemed, to watch people that she could never envy, people she would never want. Her tail, black fur dried, wrapped itself around her like a blanket. She hugged it to her chest, but did not purr, even if it was what instinct demanded. Dilleachta didn't purr anymore, didn't hiss, didn't slink or crawl or climb.
She slept on the couch, as always. The master bedroom, the large bed, was as much for show as her books. It was too big, too empty, too difficult to wash the sheets and tuck in the comforter. But it looked fabulous.
Dreams came of pleased voices, of warm skin, of the sound of a heartbeat beneath her. They were always the same, her dreams, where she never knew any better than to curl up on a lap or sprawl across a sunbeam. And when she woke twelve hours later, the anger came, always the same. Anger at dreams, at herself for having them, at herself for enjoying them, at a world that left her wanting.
Her music was on vinyl, even though the records looked enormous in her hands. Music was the other thing she could enjoy, the old kind without voices, if only in her own home. Headphones, after all, were an impossibility; made for human ears, ears she didn't have on the sides of her head.
Moonlight Sonata was a cliché, but she played it anyway - nothing but piano would suit her now, no violins if she could help it. Trudging back into the bathroom, she retrieved her briefcase; released a breath she hadn't known she was holding when it clicked open and her things were inside. That was always the fear, that the briefcase wouldn't open, that it would be empty and her phone and makeup would be lost.
Dilleachta didn't know how her phone worked; she only knew that she needed one with a stylus, with a special pen, because her fingers weren't large enough for the screen to know when she was touching it. It looked absurd, as if she was taking notes on a clipboard, but she tolerated it by pretending it looked professional. A message from her employer, as she'd expected; time to get ready for work. A black pencil skirt, a matching suit jacket over a prim white blouse, stockings and heels – all ordered online, all made for dolls. Her black hair was pinned into a tight bun, waterproof makeup applied with an expert hand. Red lipstick, brown eyeliner, rouge and foundation all worked together to make her skin more life-like, less pristine. She'd need to fix it when she arrived, would need to wait for her clothes to dry, but most of the work was done. Her phone and her makeup were placed back in the briefcase, clicked shut; when she opened it again they were gone, and in their place another hole. She placed it on her living room wall, closed her eyes, and stepped into the cold – briefcase in hand.
The following 1 user Likes Tindome's post: megs
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-07-2014, 12:47 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-07-2014, 12:52 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-07-2014, 12:59 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-07-2014, 01:20 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 06:44 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 06:56 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:10 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:18 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:27 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:30 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:32 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-15-2014, 03:26 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-28-2014, 08:16 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-28-2014, 08:35 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 12-06-2014, 02:37 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 12-08-2014, 12:17 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 01-25-2015, 03:43 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-14-2015, 03:19 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-17-2015, 07:39 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-27-2015, 10:42 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-28-2015, 12:44 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-29-2015, 02:21 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 06-05-2015, 09:53 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 06-14-2015, 08:24 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 06-29-2015, 10:04 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 08-07-2015, 02:47 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 08-29-2015, 06:09 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 09-25-2015, 09:24 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 11-23-2015, 10:27 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 02-03-2016, 09:42 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 02-23-2016, 09:00 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 03-09-2016, 05:18 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 03-23-2017, 04:34 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 10-23-2019, 10:35 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 11-04-2019, 09:21 AM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 11-06-2019, 10:10 AM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 11-19-2019, 11:26 AM