thoughts of a dying atheist

here's something i'm doing for my literary journalism class tomorrow, with my future ex-girlfriend. anyways, the point of this writing excercise is to write about someone at rest or lounging around, just at leisure. i didn't know who to do the story on, so i just did it on this random chick who sat in front of me while i was waiting for class to start. haha i'm weird, i know, i'm sorry, but i don't think she knew i was doing it, so that makes it ok..i hope?

She wore sunglasses on a cloudy, foggy, cold, damp day. They were the Donatello Versace type glasses, massive tinted translucent turtle shell colored orbs that covered over half of her already tiny face, obviously overdressing for such a chilly morning. Today though, they served another purpose other than the blocking of the sun, for there was no sun to block. Today, her huge, Andy Warhol era glasses blocked the world out from her, and her from the world. Streaks of blonde and golden jolted through her auburn brown hair, as it sat over her ears and threatened to cover her enormous eyepieces should the bone-chilling wind pick up any further. In her heather grey hoodie that read “Grad Night,” covering a black tee shirt of a skulking cartoon ghost, she was comfortable in her own skin.

She wore a pair of sea crystal colored light blue jeans, with huge holes exposing her knees. Their edges weren’t frayed enough to appear to be done on purpose. Her legs hung over the steel chairs that adorn the small court outside of the Humanities Instructional Building, her head tilted forward, and focused intently into a large fake leather portfolio. Aside her sat a half empty bottle of Starbucks Frappucino. This was not the coffee that is freshly brewed to order, but the coffee that is brewed in Seattle, or Iowa, or Cincinnati, or some other remote city in the Heartland of America, like Kentucky, packaged in unassumingly dangerous glass bottles and shipped off for consumption, chilled and at the drinker’s discretion. She was a busy girl, and obviously had no time to wait for some underpaid and underappreciated Barista to make her a Frappucino, calling her name out, whatever it may be, when it was ready for her enjoyment. She had to settle for the glass bottle version.

On the table in front of her, next to the portfolio which captivated her attention so, laid a grayish green messenger bag, upon which sat a muffin. The muffin went well with her premade coffee. She nibbled at it and pulled pieces out from the middle first, allowing a cone of pastry to reside where the muffin had once been. As she sat back, swallowing the remaining bits of muffin in her mouth, she reached for the bottle of Starbucks and brought it to her lips. She threw her head back and took a deceptively small gulp, relative to her movements, of the coffee and returned her head to its natural position. As the Starbucks left her mouth, she let out a silent, inaudible sigh of enjoyment. Her eyeglasses did well in hiding her satisfaction, or any emotion for that matter.

Yet, for this moment, with her subpar pre-brewed, pre-packaged, conglomerated bottle of Starbucks Frappucino, and her de-muffined muffin, she enjoyed a moment of silence and solitude, devoid of the worry of work, school, money and most importantly, boys.

let me know what you thought of it, what i could have done more or less of, and what you felt i left off. thanks ya'lzzzzzzzzzzz