Sookie Stackhouse (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justsookie) wrote2011-04-08 09:54 am
justsookie) wrote2011-04-08 09:54 am
Entry tags:
my heart's like a wheel, and my head's just a stone
The moment I step into the Winchester for my weekly cooking shift, it's pretty clear: people know. If you think that gossip spreads quick in a town like Bon Temps, you should remember that there are still a whole more people in that podunk town than there are on the island— a couple thousand, last I checked. So it takes a whole lot less for everyone on the island to know that Sookie Stackhouse, one of their Council members, isn't at all acting herself these days. Most people probably know about the fact that I got attacked, too. Nothing serious, nothing really even leaving more than a bruise here and there, and I certainly didn't have to go to the clinic. (Actually, I adamantly refused, because there are people that need the attention more than me, and because I was definitely used to coping with threads by then.)
But still enough to all stare at me like I'm this time bomb waiting to go off. I kind of hate it.
The thing is, though, that when the whole town starts looking at you like they think you're crazy, sometimes that just makes you want to prove them wrong. So I head into the Winchester with my head held tall, glad that I get to be in the back today, that I don't gotta put on a smile for everyone and pretend like everything's alright just so that they can have their peaceful meal. By the time I reach the kitchen, though, it's getting pretty clear that my hands are shaking just a bit.
Not a big issue, right?
Until I drop one of the porcelain bowls I keep around to make oil and water easy to reach, and it shatters on the ground, my breath immediately catching as I try to blink and calm the heck down.
"Shit," I say anyway. My eyes squeeze shut and my hands ball into fists, and suddenly I just can't hold it back. "Shit, fuck, son of a... motherfuck."
I sit down on one of the step stools and just run my fingers through my hair, feeling ragged.
[Note: I was thinking of setting this to March 30th, but if you'd like for it to be April 6th instead, that's totally fine!]
But still enough to all stare at me like I'm this time bomb waiting to go off. I kind of hate it.
The thing is, though, that when the whole town starts looking at you like they think you're crazy, sometimes that just makes you want to prove them wrong. So I head into the Winchester with my head held tall, glad that I get to be in the back today, that I don't gotta put on a smile for everyone and pretend like everything's alright just so that they can have their peaceful meal. By the time I reach the kitchen, though, it's getting pretty clear that my hands are shaking just a bit.
Not a big issue, right?
Until I drop one of the porcelain bowls I keep around to make oil and water easy to reach, and it shatters on the ground, my breath immediately catching as I try to blink and calm the heck down.
"Shit," I say anyway. My eyes squeeze shut and my hands ball into fists, and suddenly I just can't hold it back. "Shit, fuck, son of a... motherfuck."
I sit down on one of the step stools and just run my fingers through my hair, feeling ragged.
[Note: I was thinking of setting this to March 30th, but if you'd like for it to be April 6th instead, that's totally fine!]