my own novella~

Sweltering hot days are not good days.

Anne sat numbly in one of the sleek plastic seats of the shuttle bus, feeling the dramatic jerk and buck of the abberrent bus beneath her precariously sliding butt, and shifted in sync with the crest of the next hump in the road. Her head snapped back on her neck on the downslope with a resonant crack and she winced.

What a shitty day, she muttered in the dissonant chords of the average frustrated, bored and angsty freshman. The remark drew a knowing smile from her neighbour, a punk in a purplish-tinged mohawk hairdo that was fifteen decades too late for today. The acid look that Anne favoured him with promptly dissolved the "by the way you're an eyeful and I really wanna chat you up" grin into a bitter grimace.

Outside, the whipping bus turned the rapidly whizzing landscape into a psychedelic swirl of variant greens enmeshed in grey concrete. Replete with the occasional splash of neon orange and yellow, it made the university campus mirror a bloated model of a kindergarten playground, or the day room of an asylum.

A colour-vision challenged asylum, Anne thought glumly.

And nobody would challenge it if she had said, it really looks like a day when the heat would kill you. but even then you won't get any rest from dying, oh no. Even in an airtight gasket-type casket (all the better to ferment you in, mah deeah) you'd bake and rot and bubble little oozing boils of p-

But at that very instant the neon blue-and-orange whirlpool stopped momentarily, and hiccoughed, and the world that Anne knew went up in impossibly neon orange flames.

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hah. i knew i couldn't write a novel. oh well what the hell. maybe i'll publish a collection of poems, and a collection of short stories. haha :) comment, people!