(Kind of) a flash fiction piece. I was mainly focusing on balancing dialogue with description for this one. . . I know it doesn't say, but it is set in the 1930s in Alabama.
Thanks to whoever reviews it!
Inside the grand, old house, you could find an assortment of various oil paintings, an army of rats behind the walls, and a thick layer of dust in the sparsely furnished upstairs. You could also find a teenage girl and boy, who were decidedly out-of-place.
Tabitha sat in the center of the parlor floor, her white skirt pooling around her folded lap. She tilted her head back in luxurious pleasure as she allowed a single elegant curl of smoke to escape her rosy lips.
Earnest sat in front of her, his eyes locked tightly together: partly in embarrassment, and partly because there was no point in opening them.
“What does it taste like?” he asked from his front row seat.
There was a pause, and the two listened in silence to the sound of the dying smoke.
Tabitha didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the boy and cocked her heart-shaped head, her auburn hair slipping off of her white shoulder.
“Earnest? Do you think I’m pretty?” She asked. This was a very unordinary question to be heard from Tabitha Buckley; one could easily assume that she knew the answer herself.
The boy chuckled and opened his pale blue eyes. He smiled.
“I don’t think I’m the right boy to answer that question.” He replied.
The girl looked away and nodded quickly as she sharply inhaled from the thick cigar and blew out another puff. The house now smelled less dusty; it smelled like the harsh sweetness of tobacco.
“Well, then.” She sighed towards the sagging couch.
The two teenagers hauled themselves to their feet and brushed themselves off. The cigar was thrown onto the floor and ground appropriately into the rug by a shiny red shoe. The girl reached out and grabbed the boy’s hand.
“This way.” She said and she gave him an encouraging tug of the arm before letting go and walking towards the door. The floorboards creaked as they took each of the five steps, before she stopped and reached for the rusting knob.
“Tabitha?” Said the boy suddenly. She turned to face him. He was looking at her left cheek.
“I think you’re beautiful.” He said with a slight smile. He couldn’t see the blush she gave in reply. Neither spoke for a few moments, they simply stood in the gentle haze of the cigar.
“It tasted like dust and molasses.” She said suddenly.
The door was opened, and the two left the grand old house for another day.
Thanks to whoever reviews it!
Inside the grand, old house, you could find an assortment of various oil paintings, an army of rats behind the walls, and a thick layer of dust in the sparsely furnished upstairs. You could also find a teenage girl and boy, who were decidedly out-of-place.
Tabitha sat in the center of the parlor floor, her white skirt pooling around her folded lap. She tilted her head back in luxurious pleasure as she allowed a single elegant curl of smoke to escape her rosy lips.
Earnest sat in front of her, his eyes locked tightly together: partly in embarrassment, and partly because there was no point in opening them.
“What does it taste like?” he asked from his front row seat.
There was a pause, and the two listened in silence to the sound of the dying smoke.
Tabitha didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the boy and cocked her heart-shaped head, her auburn hair slipping off of her white shoulder.
“Earnest? Do you think I’m pretty?” She asked. This was a very unordinary question to be heard from Tabitha Buckley; one could easily assume that she knew the answer herself.
The boy chuckled and opened his pale blue eyes. He smiled.
“I don’t think I’m the right boy to answer that question.” He replied.
The girl looked away and nodded quickly as she sharply inhaled from the thick cigar and blew out another puff. The house now smelled less dusty; it smelled like the harsh sweetness of tobacco.
“Well, then.” She sighed towards the sagging couch.
The two teenagers hauled themselves to their feet and brushed themselves off. The cigar was thrown onto the floor and ground appropriately into the rug by a shiny red shoe. The girl reached out and grabbed the boy’s hand.
“This way.” She said and she gave him an encouraging tug of the arm before letting go and walking towards the door. The floorboards creaked as they took each of the five steps, before she stopped and reached for the rusting knob.
“Tabitha?” Said the boy suddenly. She turned to face him. He was looking at her left cheek.
“I think you’re beautiful.” He said with a slight smile. He couldn’t see the blush she gave in reply. Neither spoke for a few moments, they simply stood in the gentle haze of the cigar.
“It tasted like dust and molasses.” She said suddenly.
The door was opened, and the two left the grand old house for another day.