w-h-i-m-s-i-c-a-l [original fiction]
(Image Credit: Magnolia Bakery Cupcakes by Karen Cheung on Flickr)
her roommate laughs and calls her whimsical
the weight of the word falls onto her shoulders, she’s startled by the unexpected burden.
w-h-i-m-i-s-c-a-l
she tries the word, tasting it
instantly, she’s reminded of cotton candy, sugar hearts, and twirly pink poodle skirts.
whimsical: the taste is stuck her mouth
it turns into something heavier– like thick buttercream icing on a cupcake from Magnolia’s Bakery
the word, it suits you, her roommate informs her
whimsical settles, weighing down her tongue with crayola crayons, newly sharpened and fresh out of the box
she smiles, tucking a strand of dirty blond hair behind one ear, and tries the word languorous on her tongue next. she likes the word. it’s cat-like and seductive, utterly different from the whimsical.
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