Wow, April crept up! I joined this challenge a little while ago, and since have been caught up in various aspects of trying to grow as a writer. This challenge will be great, because it will make me write EVERY DAY. I am also determined to make it fun and creative for me, stuff that I WANT to write instead of stuff I’m trying to make money off of =) Sound okay? I hope to build a story, one piece leading to the next. I am already a day late — eek! Expect two…
Annie was an exceptional specimen, all sharp, chiseled angles with soft curves interjected in just the right places. Her face was a heart surrounded by a tangle of blondish curls that cascaded down her back and tumbled around her shoulders like a waterfall, and two pools of aquamarine peered out from under a fringe of dark eyelashes. Her pink mouth was full and soft and kissable, and the way she pouted with it gave one the impression that she used it often for expressly that purpose. It was this mouth, along with that unruly mass of curls and the soft, mocha tint of her skin that made many a passerby do a double-take, and alluded to her grandfathers African roots.
Annie was eighteen years old, freshly an adult with the world at her whim. She knew more than she should about the pain and torment that had a tendency to run rampantly through the darker underbellies of large cities, for she had grown up clinging desperately to that underbelly with hopes that she could grasp it tightly enough to avoid tumbling off and being trampled by the beast. At eighteen, Annie finally felt equipped to jump off without falling, and run like hell to put as much distance between herself and it as she could.