one drop to spare.

Three good movies worth seeing:
- Sydney White
- Crash
- Shawshank Redemption

Sure, they are all totally different films - but they all circle around individuality and how it's hard to be yourself during any circumstance.


The snow hit the pavement like pieces of broken glass - nails trying to break through the ground to reveal the inside warmth. There was always warmth hidden inside such a cold exterior - as if ice never melted until someone walked by with a flickering orange flame. Each flicker of the flame represented existance and the fire represented the cruelty behind it.

My bare feet fell upon the broken glass, the snow feeling as clever as fire. My skin felt raw, numb. My body became as hollow as an empty bottle being thrown to the side with one drop left to spare. No one ever finished that one drop for it never tasted as refreshing as the ones that came before it. That last drop never had the time of day, never breathed in that dose of fresh air for it got used to the hard, cold ground as it's substance.

It wished too for warmth in an environment so frozen with fright.

My feet scraped the ground, pebbles calling my skin their home. The snow fell onto my eyelids - one, two, three flakes taking a moment to rest. I turned my palms upright, trying to grasp onto the realism that the snow was creating - or trying to at least. I felt the realism. I felt the warmth behind the cold. I felt the fire within the ice. I wore the snow like a silver coat.

But that coat couldn't protect me from being the last drop in the bottle. Only a flickering flame could dry me up.