It didn’t exactly feel like a breakfast. Not that breakfast time felt like anything, but there were so many things on the table that didn’t fit together. There was a box of cereal, a carton of milk, several bottles of something (alcohol maybe?), a flute, a hookah from where blue smoke curled into the air, and several decapitated dolls wearing napkins. She wasn’t alone, though. At the other end of the table there was a girl with a tangled nest of hair sitting with her feet up on the table, bare and black with dirt. She was carving something into a potato while mumbling incoherencies under her breath. Mhm. She brought another spoonful of cereal into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, her eyes glued on the girl’s feet the whole time. There was a smiley face tattooed on her big toe. Mhm. Laura set the spoon down, leaned back against the chair and looked down at herself. She was wearing one of David’s weird dresses. Mhm. Nothing fit. Not the table, not the girl, not the dress she was wearing, not Laura in the house. Her ears twitched. There was someone approaching from the back, their feet light against the carpeted floor. Under normal circumstances, her claws would have been out already. But she knew she didn’t need them. Everyone in the house was too disconnected from their brain to actually cause her any harm. “Morning.” She said simply, still looking at the girl’s feet.
@breakfastsqueen
