Senses Study

Just testing out some things with a rather basic storyline. Trying to put a spin on an Odjaante exercise I've done before. It didn't come out amazing, but I'll refine it more later.

• The first taste she remembered was also the first time she remembered hearing the word ‘no’. It had been gritty, thick, kind of pasty. The stuff had smelled hot, and smoky(although at the time it was just pungent to her young mind). It clung to the back of her teeth and underneath her tongue, a layer of grime. She dipped her fingers in the tray again- “NO.” She was jerked away, wrist stinging from the slap and the frighteningly tight grip of her mother’s hand.
  “Rick, clean up your cigarette trash when you’re done!”
  He never did.
• The girls on the playground always made fun of her hair and clothes. She took to shredding their hair bows when she found them left on tables or backpacks. She joined the boys in harassing them during recess. It was during a game of Cops and Robbers that she learned what hatred was. Max stabbed at her with a stick as she chased him, the faithful cop going to catch the wily robber. Joey stuck out his foot to help his buddy, as Max thrust his stick at her one more time. She tripped and fell eye first, hearing the screams but not recognizing them. Hatred bloomed in her head to mirror the pain gushing from her eye. If only the girls hadn’t been so mean, she would have been playing house with them instead of wiping the blood off of her cheek. 
  “GOGETTHETEACHERGOGETTHETEACHER.”
  She sat inside for the rest of the year, alone. 
• He was slick with sweat, full of ridges and curves that delighted her fingers. She loved how she could elicit the smallest of whimpers and deepest of groans from him, all by a little brush or graze here and there, a pinch and scratch there.  There was a bump on his right wrist from a bone not healed right, and when she explored his mouth with her tongue, she found the raw gum in the back where he was missing a molar, the too-sharp point of his canines, the thinness of his front teeth. She relished his heavy hands on her hips, calloused fingers brushing her n*****s.
  “Take off your eye patch.”
  He never grabbed her waist again.
• It smelled of alcohol and rotten food and s**t. Rank urine covered the floor in the stall next to her, toilet paper trailing into the mess as the liquid slowly made it’s way up. The seat was warm from her cheek having been pressed against it for an hour, saliva beading in the corner of her mouth. The whiskey burned her throat, stomach, and chapped lips. It wasn’t even worth the temporary numbness that it had bought. The water in the bowl was a mix of unpleasant colors, and she hocked and spat into it again, not bothering to move her head. A door creaked open as someone click-clack-clicked across the tile. A polite inquiry accompanied by a wave of perfume. She gagged, sat up, and emptied more bile into the toilet.
  “F**k off.”
  She never could stand the smell of Dolce and Gabbana perfume after that.
• “Chelsea, go smoke that s**t outside, I don’t want ash all over my carpet. Why don’t you get a job or do something productive. Do you want to end up like your father?” 
• She never came home again.