do you ever feel like you are watching your life spiral down into a dung heap right in front of you?
I do.
Now actually.

I love Veronica Mars.
Also - I got summer feature :]

wip
basic idea (all based on a dream I recently had so its shady)

a guy goes and finds a new bride. both young. he looks like David Kross (german actor, the reader). its early 1900s. lots of gray and browns. they come back to live with his family because his father died and they need some helping hands. the girl finds out she married into a hot mess. rilvery between his family and another family. the whole city is run by ''the church'' which is cult like and bans what doesn't help them but allows evil if it benifits them. very corrupt. the family against the protagonists have illness and are red heads. the family tries to end the desputes and  invites one of the girls to eat with them as a peace offering. they have special food she can eat that wont affect her health and all goes well until she starts hitting on David Kross. the young bride is furious and the red haired girl swears more violence will come if she doesnt get David. She runs off. Eventually, one of the cousins and the other families youngest die at the same time and the feud more or less ends because the baby was Red's favorite. The young bride tries to help David out with work because its getting harder to survive and she accidently drops his face wiping towel in a chemical and when he wipes his eyes, he rapidly starts going blind. that scene sticks out the most - lots of tears and crying and yelling but he eventually comes out and holds her and he says that the bishop was wrong about some prophecy on his life or SOMETHING and then he is either shot by a carriage drive by or she is...or something...I cant remember. I think they both end up dying though.

weird.

The Georgia July heat was bearing down on my skin so fiercely that I could have swore that hell was slithering from below to the Earth's surface to try to take us prisioner. But hell wasn't upon us, it was my Uncle Thomas' famous July 4th celebration at his plantation, which was worse. The men were inside smoking and talking politics while we (my mother, aunt, cousin Shirly, and myself) were walking around the garden before afternoon tea was served. As we turned a corner in the maze of flowers, the sun glared at me angrily and I glared back, earning a sharp rebuke from my mother.
"Victoria, stop scowling."
"The sun is in my eyes."
"Well lower your hat, silly girl, that is what it's there for!"
I resentfully pulled the huge straw hat further down on my head, being careful not to 'ruin' my hair. I slowed my pace to be behind them, so  I could scowl all I wanted, but Shirly moved as I had and was right beside me. She was quite a few inches taller than me and had high cheekbones and full lips that were her best attributes but it was her eyes, black as night, despite her long blonde locks, fair skin, and genetics, that could cause a man to fall in love with her or cower in intimidation.
"Lovely day," she said. I shook my head.
"Shirly, we are in full length lace gowns in 95 degree weather strolling in a garden..empty of any substance except beauty, like those irises."
She looked down at me with her eyes and I realized my mistake in an instant.
"Not to say, of course, that -"
"A flower, beautiful and elegant, admired by every creature that walks by it, envied by every bush or tree that palls in its wake. If given the choice, I would much rather be an...empty pretty flower than a useful swamp plant, wouldn't you agree?" Her black eyes narrowed on me.
"Yes, I daresay it would be unpleasant to be a swamp plant."
We walk in silence and I look out at the servants setting up the tables and canopies and streamers - the plantation always looked magical this time of year, as much as I hated to be in it.
"I feel like one of the Bennett sisters. So elegant and ladylike," she said looking at the fountain facing the house away from the garden, away from the face I was making.
"Thats what I dislike about today," I muttered.
"What was that dear Victoria?"
"I said, that is what I like about today. A time capsule, back in the days when grandmother was a girl - do you remember the stories she would tell us about living on this plantation?" Shirly smiled. I had won, for now. She nodded and began recounting one of her favorite stories. One of balls and social dancing, of greed and deciet, of mindless gossip and the entitlement of ownership men thought they had to women. I saw the ugly truth in everything Shirly loved hearing. The blood on the wall covered by the tapestry, a morbid metaphor indeed. And every Fourth of July, my Uncle seemed to bring it all back, like 1941 was a lifetime away and the Great Depression (which this family hardly survived) is in the unthinkable distant future, leaving only shallow social activity and major gender role divisions.



[Your beautiful, whats your name?
 Victoria
 Thats an old stuffy name, a face like that deserves a name fitting of it, like Rose
 A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet
 I reckon thats true. if we called them cowpies I'd probably still love picking them all the same
 I was quoting shakesphere
 oh that old english fellow. beg your pardon mam i didnt know thats what you were speaking of. I never got past the 3rd grade so all i know is how to read the paper and figure my taxes. i may not know any of billy shakespheres books or the science that makes the universe, but i know that there is a gorgeous woman standing in front of me and i know that if i let you walk away without asking for this next dance, that i would sure be a fool]

It's late. It feels like it's been 3am for years. Infomercials, dial up psychics, re runs of bad television shows. The static blends in with my state of mind...I bet you've never felt this sorrow so deep and cutting like a freaking knife jabbed into the heart over and over and over to the point where it doesn't hurt anymore and all you feel is a numb pressure and see blood running down your chest. You were never as good with words as I am and you lived for my metaphorical speech. Being with me made you more alive, you've told me several times, and once I believed it.

Looking up over my TV, I see a picture we took at a corny fair with your parents. You told them so much about me and they wanted to meet me. Not because they wanted to meet the person who made you happy but because they wanted to make sure I was good enough for their precious baby boy.
I failed every test.
I wore ripped blue jeans and a tie dye tank top, for one. Apparently good southern girls wear dresses to the opening of the county fair. And apparently, they don't have wild hair, 2 piercings, and smoke. I told your mom that the Twisty Tangerine was a harmless little roller coaster and screamed in laughter at her as we went down the first belly flipping drop. I downed funnel cake without a fork and chugged cola until I puked next to the ferris wheel. You were so mad at me on the way home, you said I ruined the whole day. About 2 hours later we were making out in the drive way.

Billy Mays and his stupid voice selling his stupid oxiclean interrupts my memory. I turn the TV off so I wont have to hear his stupid voice. It makes me think of you. Everything makes me think of you. I scream into a pillow. I scream your name over and over until my throat hurts and then...I fall asleep.

When I wake up, I put your picture down.
"You're dead."