Food tasted different. Even her family recipes, when she cooked long past midnight. at her apartment because she couldn’t make herself sleep.
The air felt different against her skin. Too moist, too heavy against her face as she ran in the morning. Nothing like the dry air of her childhood, when she and her sister would race each other home.
The sounds were wrong. English had different rhythms, the cadences not what she was familiar with. Voices in the distance still turned into nonsense, a gibberish backdrop that she strained against each day.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2008-01-08 11:17 pm (UTC)The air felt different against her skin. Too moist, too heavy against her face as she ran in the morning. Nothing like the dry air of her childhood, when she and her sister would race each other home.
The sounds were wrong. English had different rhythms, the cadences not what she was familiar with. Voices in the distance still turned into nonsense, a gibberish backdrop that she strained against each day.
Ziva was a long way from home.