The once-tidy little room was now cluttered with all sorts of junk, from clothes to photographs.
Two teenagers were sorting through old clothes, trying to decide what to donate and what to sell at a thrift store, among friends.
The girl with the always-unruly blonde hair was the mistress of this mess, Mia Thatcher. Her friend Meg Mitchell volunteered to help, not only for the pleasant conversations but also to find unwanted diamonds for her own collection of junk.
The room was filled with the occasional conversation of "throw away, give it to me, take it back," a cartoon was playing in the background, the rest of the family was busy outside the door, and the scent of spring, real spring, hung in the air. The atmosphere was almost urging you to finally get off the couch and sort through the piles of junk that had accumulated throughout the three months of winter.
Meg, briskly flipping through the photos, suddenly gasped, her gaze lingering on one.
Meg: "Oh my god! I was wondering where that photo had gone, but it was always in your drawer."
Mia peeked out from across the room.
Mitchell unfolded the photo. From a distance, it was hard for the blonde to see the contents, so she crawled toward her friend, past her belongings like a sticky swamp.
Leaning on the other's shoulder, Thatcher sighed with delight.
Mia: "I thought that picture was lost forever... Well, it's the first Polaroid photo, a rarity!"
Meg: "A rarity, a rarity. If you kept your things more carefully, you'd find them all."
The gray-eyed young lady snorted mischievously, which elicited a similar reaction. They both stuck out their tongues, teasing each other. After the silly jokes, the girls began examining a regular photo, obviously taken by a third party. After all, how could such a perfect selfie be possible with a Polaroid without a crooked horizon?
Meg: "I remember that day, you did my hair so beautifully... I can't believe my perfectly dark, straight hair could curl so beautifully."
Mia: "It's actually not that hard, but it takes sooo long. Oh, see the bags under my eyes?"
Meg: "Yeah, you were practically studying then, and we still had to drag you out. Oh well, we had a good time, and that's what matters!"
The dialogue from the cartoon began to be drowned out by the friends' conversations. Looking through each photo felt like sifting through memories, each one bringing back a story, sad or not, the main thing is that it's yours.
Amid the ringing laughter, a warning sign appeared. Thatcher didn't notice the blood streaming from her nose, staining the parquet floor and the precious frames.
Wiping her face with her sleeve, she left sloppy marks all over her face, and the bleeding didn't even slow.
The world around her spun, her ears rang, her head felt too heavy.
Meg rushed to the blonde, trying to bring her back to her senses, her voice relentlessly screaming her name.
That was all she could make out amid the cacophony in her ears.
Gradually, the woman's voice faded further and further away, but the name grew louder.
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vaporwave
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2087
blakekathryn
snowghoul
kianamaiart
germansingergirl