Is this it?
An intro of my writing style. POV of an unnamed character
Is this it? I'm not sure.
My back arches against the hardwood floor as I strain to pull the ceiling into focus. It's not a cold room necessarily, but something about the blank walls and plain furniture makes the air sharp. I breath in.
There is a plant next to me. There are plants everywhere. Juzi always waters them; it looks sad and neglected in her absence. Its leaves droop pathetically and crack with thirst. Maybe they hate the room as I do.
I lie like this for a long time, taking in the dips and crevices of the parts of the house no one ever really looks at. The ceiling around the lights, the hinges of the door, the fading paint opposite the windows. It's not a bad house - it's definitely big and spacious. But with hardly any life to fill it with, what's left is an empty, marble, echoey shell. I should be grateful for what I have really. A well paying corporate job plus my inheritance (a small fortune left to me from my mother) leaves me the ability to live rather comfortably. But the thing is, living comfortably and truly being alive are very different things. I used to be alive. Now, I am not.