I thought it a sign that on that wintry morning through the stentorian screeching of salt trucks and waves of heavy snow and sleet, a violescent blanket of soft light led us all the way down the highway safely to the place we needed to be.
I was confident that my violescent garb would finally grant me a one-way ticket to the inner circle of populars, but as I marched into the cafeteria that day I was greeted with the stentorian chant that cursed me throughout high school: “EGGPLANT BUTT! EGGPLANT BUTT! EGGPLANT BUTT!”
Lila was erethreal, otherworldly, her skin pale with an almost violescent glow, her hair shimmering, silver and nearly liquid in appearance, her entire being was delicate, almost aloof, almost silent, save her cunt fart, which bellowed in a stentorian roar, emitting odors as loud as the sound, the gas visible, like your hot breath against a frigid black night, the stench reaching the farthest corners of our quiet hideaway, I swallowed my vomit and laid back next to her, so nearly perfect.