Graph Paper and pencil
Olivia listened to the pulsating thunder tear through the summer air as a blanket of humidity clung to her skin. The aged ceiling fan attempted to alleviate the room’s oppressive atmosphere, weakly aided by slivered openings of two windows. Her left hand began to tingle as it hung over the side of the bed. Voices downstairs in the kitchen buzzed like a tuning symphony in rhythm with the fan’s percussive counter-clockwise ticking.
The smell of summer rain floated in on a new breeze, cool and fresh. The grass had been in want of a drink. Olivia noticed that yesterday as she tended the lawn. After taking the day off today shut up in her room, she lay bare arms and legs reading in the heat. Every time she managed to pick up a book she regretted the time it had taken to get back to it. A pang of disgust and anguish formed in the pit of her stomach over a loathsome character and each page passed with intense focus. A break from the chapter for a glass of water or to answer the phone left her trapped in a rapt haze. Her emotions felt muggy like the room in which she read. Reading brought a contentment founded in the warm of individual intellectual security. As much as she wished to share the discoveries she’d made between the paperback, perhaps that is what made it all the more exciting–they would have to take her word for it.