Lillith

Continued. part three.

I take a final glance in the mirror, admiring my work. Short, choppy, pixi cut hair. My hair. Me. I sigh solemnly and walk to my bedroom. Evading mounds of clothes on the floor, and the scattered books, I make my way to the closet and begin rifling through the clothes. After about 10 minutes of this I finally settle on a black, low v-neck tank top as well as a pair of gray, flair legged jeans. I lay them neatly on my bed and cross to the vanity/dresser, pulling out a pair of thigh high black socks with purple candy cane spirals. Slipping them on my small feet I smile and laugh a little.

Socks have always been a weakness for me. Socks and candy. I don't know for sure when it started, but I remember as a kid I always had to have ankle socks. Anything else, and I'd throw a fit, but over time my sock drawer held less ankle socks, and more knee-high and thigh-high socks. None of them very professional looking, mostly crazy designs like multicolored spirals, or rainbows, or little themes and some even have settings; my favorite pair are tan, with tall trees going all the way up and elephants and giraffes and lions at a watering hole.

I get dressed quickly and walk to the kitchen realizing how hungry I've become. Frowning and annoyed at the fridge, as if it was the fridges fault it was empty, I shut the door and grab my keys off the counter. Clipping them to my belt with one hand I grab my knee-high black boots with the other. I slide one on after the other, zipping them up the back of my calves. Quickly padding them down to make sure everything is in the hidden pocket of which it should be.My mothers butterfly knife, top left outside: check. 4 inch knife, middle inside left: check. .375 magnum Rhino, inside right: check.

I grab a dagger holster from under my couch and tie it to my left leg tightly. Jumping up I can feel the weight of the 6 handle-less dagger blade attached to my thigh, finding my trench coat and sliding it on I gently pat the left side, making sure my .22 pistol was still on the inside hidden pocket. It was, of course. Lastly I grab my Nokia cell phone off the counter, taking pause only to check the new message as I walk out of my apartment into the brisk air outside.

'Lil, 1470 knoll way. 6pm. tuna melt. Martta sina re.-Jake.' I glance at my watch to check my time, "SHIT! SHIT FUCK SHIT!" I holler, slamming the door on my way out. Quickly stealing my keys from my belt loop I jam the key into the door, and then into the ignition of my BMW Z3. The tires squeal and I smile at the sound as I leave the parking lot.

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completely off topic. FUCK WRITERS BLOCK!