thejoltz

A small, pale hand with dry knuckles raised a wooden pencil to lined paper.  It hovered thoughtfully for a moment, followed by a heavy sigh.  Then, the graphite came down hard and sudden, too quickly, too sloppily.  The snap of the lead breaking seemed all too loud in the room, silent except for the constant hum of the fan. The owner of the hand, an undersized girl with a pallid complexion adorned with freckles, somber green eyes, and dusty blonde hair that hung down to the arch of her ribcage, crinkled her face in frustration.  She lightly flicked the pencil off her desk and rested her lukewarm face in hand.  Not a single good idea was com