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Whilst you would love to go for a walk right now, you've just gotten back from one. You can't just go back out on a walk moments after getting home. You have things to get to! Such as;
- There's a game you're going to play with some friends tonight.
- You should probably talk to your friends about setting the game up, too.
- Your sister asked you to defrost a chicken to cook while she's between her second and third jobs.
- And you're still yet to check out your new Sylladex, a gift you received for Christmas. Two months ago.
But before all that, you better get your stuff into your room. Your stuff being a bag, full of leaves, and a tarot deck.
You walk through the messy and unorganised hall towards the stairs, stepping over boxes of old photos and fallen piles of diaries and journals. The rest of the house is like this, too - not dirty, mind you. Just cluttered. Both you and your sister are often too busy or tired to do much about it.
You feel like you have less of an excuse, though. You have three jobs less than her, after all.
Despite your internal dialogue on the matter, you continue walking past the mess. You'll do some tidying later. Tonight will be a long night, after all. You'll have plenty of time.
You continue up the stairs and pass more clutter, before entering your bedroom - the second door. The first being a bathroom, and the third being your sister's room.
You close the door behind you as you enter. Immediately, you come face-to-face with your reflection. A cheap mirror stands on the opposite wall to you, revealing your current state to you.
Your hair, short and black with a side-swept fringe, is a tangled mess of sticks and leaves. Your skirt, long and grey, is covered in dirt. Your shirt is in no better of a state, with even the blue flower printed on the front smudged in mud.
The only things that remain unstained are your glasses, deep-blue oval frames, and your buck-toothed grin plastered on your face. Which is great. You don't particularly want to taste the mud.
You take a step further into your room, careful not to knock over the mirror. The white desk behind your mirror holds your computer and your various art supplies, as well as various mugs you've been meaning to go wash. A small window sits above it, casting orange light over your shitty desk chair. Behind the chair is your bed, made neatly with your navy-blue sheet set. And beyond that is a bedside table, on which sits a pile of pencils and a sketchbook.
A bookshelf and a chest of drawers are hidden from view by the slight doorway. Or by you not bothering to properly notice them. Whichever takes your fancy.
Your walls are adorned in many a poster, showing off many, though not all, of your interests.
A tarot and moon-cycle themed tapestry hangs above your bed, framed by various movie posters. The Addams Family and A Series of Unfortunate Events stick out to you most, being some of your favourites. You're a sucker for movies about misfits.
On other parts of your walls, pictures your friends have made for you and proudly framed and hung, not unlike an art gallery. Though their skills in art are varied and amateurish, the emotions and themes are striking and clear. You could read the pencilled meanings, intentional or otherwise, like a well-crafted book.
You also love your friends and are glad they decided to send you art they made.
You now stand in the middle of your room, completely filthy and observing it like you've never seen it before. You should do something else instead.
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