Semi-Daily Scribbles

Autumn dropped its jewel-toned leaves onto the busted cement in front of Zoë's apartment. She sat in her bay window and admired the vibrant carpet spread out just for her. She loved the time of year when death dressed in pretty colors, and wanted nothing more than to walk out into the fresh decay. Autumn was open for possibilities, but Zoë was shut up inside her beige-painted walls. She couldn't risk being seen among the living. Of course, Zoë wasn't dead, but she was stuck. One foot was planted in reality, while the rest of her went wandering off to experience life as something else. It was a painful existence, inhabiting the role of a ghost, but it was also a satisfying release from the ordinary. Evening was gaining strength, adding murkiness to red and yellow, and robbing brown of all its warmth. Zoë counted the number of acorns on the stoop missing their snug little caps, and wondered if all the pieces would fall into place if she, too, remained detached from herself.