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isoldebrooke

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She doesn’t remember where she is at first. She blinks, slowly registering the dim light, the lumpy mattress and flat pillows. It reminds her of her dorm room, but she’s fairly certain that she’s not back at Ewing Hall. The light’s different— there’s actual sunlight rather than a sun trying to break through lots of clouds. Slowly, she looks around and remembers. The furniture is just about the only nice thing in this place, typical Matt. He made most of the furniture himself, so of course those are the items that look like they’ve been cared for, like someone actually thought about them.
Matt.
Anna looks around and realizes something she probably should have noticed a lot earlier rather than fretting about the dingy curtains. Matt’s not besides her and aside from the various street noises, the place is completely silent. There’s not even a radio going downstairs and he nearly always has music playing. Did he leave? Is it really that late? It’s my first day here, she thinks, and I’m already abandoned. So much for this being different.
She considers just flopping down again and going back to sleep, but the mattress ensures that that will not be an option. We could go mattress shopping, she thinks, it could be a bonding activity and immediately wants to scrub those words from her brain. It’s something her sister would have said.
Instead, Anna gets up, stretching a little. Her body still feels tight and cramped from the plane trip even though that was yesterday. Maybe she should just blame the mattress again. She goes to the window and peers out from behind the curtain— she hadn’t really looked at the neighborhood yesterday, too out of it and tired and just wanting a shower and something other than airplane food. It’s nicer than she expected. There are more trees, for one thing, and most of the houses look nice, if perhaps in need of some paint. The yards look relatively well-cared for, and someone has some absolutely beautiful roses in bloom, vibrant pinks and reds that should clash but for some reason work. Anna smiles. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible mistake after all, though really, it doesn’t say much, that all it takes to make her feel better is the sight of roses. Still, she reaches for her phone and takes a photo, sending it to her mother— her father’s the gardener of the family, but her mother is more likely to check for messages.

416 words in 10 minutes at 03:18 PM on Jun 03, 2014 | comments

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403 words in 10 minutes at 03:02 PM on Jun 03, 2014

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399 words in 10 minutes at 02:36 PM on Jun 03, 2014

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477 words in 11 minutes at 03:09 PM on May 27, 2014

Somewhere on the train between Glasgow and Edinburgh, Michelle had disappeared.
She hadn’t gotten off the train, and it wasn’t like she had never gotten on in the first place— the trains security cameras clearly showed 19-year-old Michelle McLeod, weighed down with shopping bags, getting into the third car of the 3:05 train from Glasgow Queen Street to Edinburgh Waverly. She’d been on her phone, walking quickly (as quickly as she could, armed with bags from Debenham’s and River Island and somewhere else that didn’t stamp its name all over the bag) through the station, almost but not quite running into people. Paying attention, but not really, to her surroundings.
She’d gone to Glasgow to shop, her flatmates explained. She’d been looking for a dress to wear and had combed through just about every shop in Edinburgh and hadn’t found anything she’d liked or even considered purchasing.
“It’s a state of mind, really,” Annie Dance had told them airily. “She had this thing that Glasgow has better shopping than Edinburgh. No idea why, it was just one of her things.”
From Annie’s voice, Sam gathered that Michelle had a lot of “things” and wasn’t shy about sharing them either. Something must have shown on her face because the girl quickly went on, “Look, Michelle’s a great flatmate— she actually likes to clean, can you believe that?— but she definitely had very, um, strong ideas about some things. She’s great, though, really funny and sweet.”
Sweet didn’t seem like the first word you’d used to describe Michelle McLeod, at least not from what Sam had gathered from other people. Willful. Scattered. Sweet, maybe, but somewhere far down the list.
“Okay,” she said, glancing at her notebook. “So was this a spur of the moment trip or something she’d planned?”
Annie screwed up her face to show that she was thinking hard. “I think it was a bit of both, you know? She’d been talking about going to Glasgow, but I think she might have just woken up that morning and decided to go. It’s not like it’s a long trip, anyways.”
No, it was not a long trip. It was a trip people made every day, and yet none of them disappeared from trains in the middle of

377 words in 10 minutes at 02:57 PM on May 27, 2014 | comments

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