same as it ever was; [OTA]

[teen_angst_bullshit]

WHO: Veronica Sawyer
WHERE: Front porch of bungalow #22
WHEN: BACKDATED to September 19
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Closed to new threads

---

Dear Diary,

I am 18 years old and I am a horrible person.

The words just came out, and now everybody knows: I'm a murderer. I'd like to give you some line about it being a big relief, that my inner turmoil has finally been soothed, but I just wish I'd kept my fucking mouth shut. I'm stuck in this place with an apparent rogue's gallery of broken people, but it still bothers me that they look at me differently now. Like an asshole, I'd spun some prom queen fantasy that only Cougar knew wasn't true, and in true masochistic fashion, I've blown it up in my own face.

But that isn't even the worst of it.

Diary, you exist because today I got a box with my name on the top, and inside were three beautiful, fat packs of paper. So much paper. If I'm careful, if I force myself to write small, it'll last me a long time. There's enough to share, more than enough to donate some to the cause of record-keeping. But I don't want to share.

I told you, I'm a total fuck.

Is this simple greed or sabotage? It's like I don't even know myself anymore, Diary. But I do know this: If I woke up tomorrow back in Sherwood, Ohio, I'd really miss some of the people here.

Oh, and I missed my 18th birthday. I don't even know why I care.

Frustrated, Veronica clamps her fingers hard around her pencil with a low huff and resists the urge to throw everything across the yard. She may be a greedy shit, but the paper is too precious, and too much of her time was spent in sewing it into a little journal to treat it like garbage.

So many things are frustrating her anymore, it's difficult to pinpoint a single one as being the cause for how she feels. The water situation definitely doesn't help, Heather at Veronica's shoulder when she looks at her wilted and greasy reflection every morning, congratulations, I didn't know it was possible to fall this far. Vanity rearing its pointless, ugly head.

Settling the little book and pencil in her lap, Veronica leans back against the steps of the house she shares with Cougar and Jake. What would be really incredible right about now would be a drink. It's kind of, sort of her birthday, right? You'd think the benevolent gods of this place could provide some libations.

Comments

[lastofthekellys]

"I would love to sit," she says, gratefully. "I don't get all that much chance to at the Inn." It is, occasionally, a guilty pleasure, sitting down in the daylight hours.

The little cakes are still warm, thanks to the pillowcase, firm and coloured from the strawberries.

"Strawberries boiled with Mountain Sorrel, then cooked on a hot skillet," she explains. "Apparently it's something the American Indians did, so I decided to try it.

I'm fairly certain it won't kill us."

That's a joke, but also a cook's pre-emptive self-depreciation in case it turns out bad.

[teen_angst_bullshit]

"You know that you can," Veronica points out as she unwraps one of the cakes and breaks it in half. "Sit down sometimes, I mean." She holds half of the cake Kate's way with a knowing arch of her eyebrows. "You don't have to do everything all by yourself all the time."

There are several people like herself who volunteer to help with the lunch everyday at the inn, but it's definitely Kate who runs the show. And Kate who apparently gets up everyday and feeds the furnace, and Kate who keeps everything spotless, and god knows what else.

"We'll survive if you take a break, I promise."

[lastofthekellys]

"I know," Kate admits, taking the offered cake. "I guess I just don't feel right, unless I'm workin'. And it gives me somethin' to do, at any rate."

It stops her from feeling useless. She's not clever in the ways of other people here, the ones who finished their schooling and seemingly have a wide experience of strange occurrences like these. She knows farming, but she knows farming with tools and in a dry place, and she knows she's missing things. Important things.

But she knows how to cook and she knows how to keep a stove going and she knows how to clean and how to sew.

Normally, she'd leave it at that, although she's also here to reach out to Miss Veronica, in a way. So she adds, "And, if I'm bein' honest, workin' hard like this means it's more likely I can sleep. So, I keep busy."

[teen_angst_bullshit]

"I guess I get that," Veronica says, glancing away to the cake in her hands. "I think a lot of us do that, to be honest. I know I do. I apparently completely forgot my own birthday, but weirdly, I'm not sure if that bothers me or not."

Back home it probably would, in some deeply-seated part of her concerned with order and the status quo. Here, though, all of that stuff seems to go out the window.

"This is really good," she says after swallowing a bite. "Thanks for sharing."