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Anonymous Posted 19 years ago
Essay & Composition Writing
julia was her name
As she peels off her pjamas, the dreaming starts. Julia is only thirteen, and as she drags the blades of a golden comb through her curls, she curses the way she is. She curses her legs for not falling to the earth as dead straight pins, she curses her eyes for not being encased with long fluttering eyelashes, she curses her smile for being set at an angle that no one can take seriously. All the time dreaming of the day he will see past her faults.
Today may be different, for today the sun shone through her blinds and today is a Monday, a new start and a new begining. This week he will love her. He will.
Julia flicks the switch on the wall and pulls her dress down over her head. This one is her Uncles favourite, with yellow flowers dancing around the hem and turqoise ribbon joining the two halves together. Once before when she wore this dress, he looked her straight in the eye during english, and turned his whole body to do so. Perhaps he loved her already. Perhaps.
As she pulls ther irons through her hair. The culs that cling around her fingers fall dead straight against her head. Again. And again. She drags the life out of each individual hair follicle, and as she does so, prays for no rain. For with rain, with curls, he will not see her.
She walks into the classroom, as she does every day, every week, every month. She tugs at the dancing hem of her cotton dress and wring her fingers into knots infront of her. She keeps her line of vision to the floor and her hair hangs down over her face. People look, as they look every morning. Some of the boys call to her, her friends want to show her the pictures of last Sunday at the river. She smiles, and instantly stops herself, covering up the crooked line she doesn't want him to see. She takes a seat by the window and leans on her elbow waiting behind the glass for his slow loping walk up to the steps.
And as he walks, all other girls laugh at his pumps with huge bows, and his hair sweeping over his eyes, they laugh at Julia and her daydreaming over the boy who no one really knows. They tell her that Brandon cant stop looking down her top and that Tim shouts 'phwoar' every time she goes to sharpen her pencil. She doesn't care, all she wants is for him to see her. Not the football team, not the boy who brings a flask of vodka in his pocket. That boy who carries his folders with both arms crossed across the front, the boy who stares at his maths paper as she stares at the back of his dark head.
So even though the sun was shining, today isn't a new begining. He won't notice her, she'll stay shy. Everything will be the same.
Today may be different, for today the sun shone through her blinds and today is a Monday, a new start and a new begining. This week he will love her. He will.
Julia flicks the switch on the wall and pulls her dress down over her head. This one is her Uncles favourite, with yellow flowers dancing around the hem and turqoise ribbon joining the two halves together. Once before when she wore this dress, he looked her straight in the eye during english, and turned his whole body to do so. Perhaps he loved her already. Perhaps.
As she pulls ther irons through her hair. The culs that cling around her fingers fall dead straight against her head. Again. And again. She drags the life out of each individual hair follicle, and as she does so, prays for no rain. For with rain, with curls, he will not see her.
She walks into the classroom, as she does every day, every week, every month. She tugs at the dancing hem of her cotton dress and wring her fingers into knots infront of her. She keeps her line of vision to the floor and her hair hangs down over her face. People look, as they look every morning. Some of the boys call to her, her friends want to show her the pictures of last Sunday at the river. She smiles, and instantly stops herself, covering up the crooked line she doesn't want him to see. She takes a seat by the window and leans on her elbow waiting behind the glass for his slow loping walk up to the steps.
And as he walks, all other girls laugh at his pumps with huge bows, and his hair sweeping over his eyes, they laugh at Julia and her daydreaming over the boy who no one really knows. They tell her that Brandon cant stop looking down her top and that Tim shouts 'phwoar' every time she goes to sharpen her pencil. She doesn't care, all she wants is for him to see her. Not the football team, not the boy who brings a flask of vodka in his pocket. That boy who carries his folders with both arms crossed across the front, the boy who stares at his maths paper as she stares at the back of his dark head.
So even though the sun was shining, today isn't a new begining. He won't notice her, she'll stay shy. Everything will be the same.
Top answer
BW? This is a bit disturbing in that she fancies her uncle?
- BW?
- This is a bit disturbing in that she fancies her uncle?
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2 Answers
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Errr....BW? This is a bit disturbing in that she fancies her uncle?
00
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