Sta.sh
Her sunburn really freaking hurts. The story itself isn't actually exciting, she was at the beach and either forgot sunscreen on her right shoulder or her inept left hand couldn't manage the act of applying it. It's gone from the initial pain stage to itching like hell. She scratches it lightly with the pads of her fingertips and applies aloe lotion every forty-five minutes.
She never really appreciated sun and sand and lake water. Mix it all together and it just makes really warm mud. On a normal day, she would be perfectly satisfied sitting underneath a tree, wearing light clothes that cover every inch of skin and a brimmed hat to cover her face. Being red-headed and allergic to mosquito bites, she was not built to go outside.
The burn runs down her arm, nothing she does will soothe it. She runs a cold washcloth over it, the water dripping down her arm and onto everything around it. The frustration burns in her throat as she applies ice cubes wrapped in towels.
But fear of charred skin and mud take the backseat to the summer-inspired foolish feelings. The ones that make you feel free, or alive, or loved. She runs through the sand and swims through the mossy water and laughs in the sunshine.
She claws at her skin, believing that it might even feel better if she could peel it off down past the muscle to the bone at the core. She stands with her arm underneath the cold shower. The frustration that she feels makes it past her throat and escapes through her eyes.
Very rarely are the thing that makes one cry and the thing that one is crying about the same thing.
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