- B L A I R E -
11.20.16 // 3:37 p.m.
WE ARE IN A dimly lit kitchen. The brown wallpaper is peeling away, the light at the top swings back and forth, and I am sitting in a hard wooden chair. Old pots are scattered around the area, the table is sticky against my hands, and the room smells horrid.
T hums to himself lightly as he stirs some kind of soup in a pot. Across from me are three young kids, all around the ages ten to thirteen. The little boy with dark hair absently plays with his fingers under the table as he looks up at me through long lashes. He smiles sweetly and it makes me want to cry.
Then, there is a girl with dusty, blonde hair. She has soft brown eyes that are hidden behind the bangs that fall from her forehead. She bites her lip nervously as she stares at T's back.
But
