Krissy's mind was flowing with different thoughts she never fathemed she even had. The man on the beach... The apple red frisbee that decided to land on her of all people, the cute little boy with the dusty brown hair and freckles. When she thought about it, it sounded like destiny. Years back when she was younger, she believed wholly in destiny and that your future was unchangable. She was starting to remember that opinion as her Wal-Mart flip flops scuffed against the baking July asphalt. She was heading back home. The sun was going to kill her if she stayed out any longer. So why didn't she hang around? She asked herself.
Her beach bag was heavy on her thin-boned shoulder as she walked and walked. The sun beating down on her and bleaching the roots of her dry brunette hair. An ice-cold shower sounded just about right for the occation. She could see her home in the distance, small yellow house in the direct middle of the cul-de-sac. No plants, (except the few occational weeds)no bright and cheerful colors, and definitely no pets. She did have a love for dogs when she was growing up, but she figured another being to feed would be too hard and stressful for her to handle.
Her house grew bigger with every step she took, increasing size and mass. She adjusted the bag to fit the other shoulder which wasn't too tired to carry the weight of her journal, novels, sketch books,pencils, and the sparse fruits few and far between. She slowed her pace, not having a care in the world how long it took to get out of the hating sun. She felt her sweating forehead and let out a meaningful sigh of mercy. It must be at least 110 degrees, but torture was her only way of communicating and letting go. Along with writing down in her journal. When that wasn't enough, she'd purposely inflict pain on herself, just to prove that she could stand it.
The time eventually came when she walked her short walkway to her front door with the scolding knob. Grasping it tightly, she swung the unlocked door open. She hardly had to worry with the neighborhood she was in. Mostly little kids littered the area with responsilble adults who kept a good watch on their young.
The air inside was stuffy and almost unbearable, but she wouldn't have to put up with it very long. She guided herself over to the kitchen which had dirty dishes still lying in the double sinks. She bent over, throwing the cupboard open and pulled out the bleach that lay there innocently under the sink. The jug in hand, she opened up the top cupboard to grab a plastic green cup. The toxin lapped into the cup as she poured. The aroma of the liquid made her stomach quite queasy and gurgled with dispair. She held the cup up, looking down at her fate trapped in the hollow cylinder. The glass traveled toward her face as if it had a mind of its own. The cup touched her mouth, the strong base eating away her plump upper lip. The scent really came over her and she felt like her stomach would errupt like Mt. St. Helens. Just as her lips cracked open, the doorbell rang...
