Writing

Emma and Loki

And I am feeling lost. Staring at my computer. The words have left, taken their ball and gone home. And here I sit and stare. This is nothing new. All writers know this. And I feel the push, the drive to create something brilliant and insecurity that simmers under the surface saying, “it will be crap.” And so I sit and stare. Lost in my circle. Create. I can’t. I have to. It’ll suck. Time slowly ticking. And I sit and stare. All the characters that I danced with yesterday, even during breakfast, have moved on with their day, gone to their jobs, met their lovers at seedy hotels, boarded airplanes for paradise. And I sit and stare. Tick tock goes the clock. Eyes fade and the screen is a blur of white like staring into the sun. Trying to fight time, like a boxer trying to get the last punch in before the bell. Trying to find inspiration, like an artist sees the world. I look over my outlines. Over my ideas. My list of projects. And nothing comes. Time has stopped like watching the clock on the last of day of school before summer vacation. Eternity has set in. My mind wanders like a leaf in the wind. My creative gone and forgotten like a prisoner on death row.  So, I sit and stare. Force myself to wait. To be patient. Like a child waiting for mailman. Like a dog waiting for dinner. Like people waiting for the bus. I know it will come. I just have to wait. Patiently.

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Waiting- part of the very short story series

Her hands were sweaty. Her heart raced. Her stomach turned its empty contents. Her thoughts spun a million magnificent webs, none of which reflected rays of reality. There she sat, staring out the window. Questioning herself. Doubting herself. Fingers tapping the table. Legs bouncing. Watching the people rush by. Wishing at this moment, she could be one of them. One of the million people hurrying elsewhere. She wanted to be anywhere but here. She felt sick. Her empty stomach revolting. The feelings crawling up into her throat. Was the bathroom close? Swallowing it all down. Waiting and wishing she had said no.

whisper part 2

It was like a long lost friend. This whisper. The whisper that promised her the world. How could she refuse. The years of suffering. The years of pain. It promised her the one thing she couldn’t achieve on her own. Relief. She dreamt of relief. Contemplated suicide. A way out. She hated herself for being too weak to take easy way out. She lived with her demons. They never left her. And now, there was a whisper of hope. An escape. Anything to get away from the way she felt.

Tired of numbing the pain. Hiding from it was futile. It always caught her.

They are alive

“I am telling you, you have to believe me.  Listen to me!  They are alive.  They are waiting.  Please!”

No one ever listened to her.  Noticed her.  Cared for her.

On this night.  This dark and dreary, rain soaked night.  Water puddling around her ankles, she pleaded with the rush of people running here and there.  She tugged on their coats, grabbed at their ankles.  They didn’t notice.  They rushed with their umbrellas, their papers, their heads covered.  They rushed, pushing and hurrying.  The only thing on their minds was getting out of the rain.

She knew the rain was just the beginning.  But as usual no one saw her.  No one cared.  They just rushed by.  Lost and oblivious.

Naked a very short story

Laying naked on the cold tile floor. The coolness from the tiles against her damp skin. Her body too weak to move. She enjoyed the feeling of the cold tiles against her skin. It was real. Perhaps the only real thing. She could cling to this. This feeling. The feeling of wet skin against cold tile. She could enjoy this moment. This moment. This brief moment which offered relief. Relief from life. From suffering. Relief from thoughts, feelings. The world. She laid there, relishing in the feeling. Her cold wet skin again the cold tile as her skin began to prickle and her body shivered. This feeling. This feeling for a moment stopped everything else. Until slowly, everything started to invade her world again. Sirens. Voices. Madness. If only she could hold on a minute longer. A second longer. It was too late. Life had made its way back to her. She opened her eyes. Stared at the door. Wishing somehow she could sink into the floor. Disappear. Vanish. She could hear the footsteps approaching. She forced herself up. Grabbed a towel and begin to do what she did best. Pretend.

Cinderella’s revenge

Yesterday’s prompt for Write yourself alive was to rewrite the ending to a favorite book or movie.  The first thing that came to mind was Cinderella, not the Brother’s Grimm version but the Disney version.  Not a a favorite but I liked it and enjoyed it as a child.  What child doesn’t dream of having a fairy godmother rescue her?  Or to marry prince charming? Hope you enjoy fresh from my mind to you 🙂 (first draft)

Cinderella had had it. She was done. Clutching the knife in her hand she flew out of the kitchen ready for the hunt.
Step sister number 1 was in her closet, feverishly throwing dresses off their hangers. She had to find the perfect dress, nothing less than perfect would do. The first strike ripped open her flesh, torn through the muscle until it stopped at the bone. She shrieked.
“It’s not that bad. Stop your whining and get ready!” Cried a voice from the other room.
Step sister 1 wheeled around as Cinderella pulled the knife out. Before the step sister could talk, Cinderella shoved a pearl necklace into her mouth, causing her to choke and spasm until final she collapsed lifeless on the floor.
She didn’t care about being quiet. She had had enough. She was done. Rage consumed her being.
It was step sister 2 who would fall victim to Cinderella’s wrath next. Brushing her hair, Cinderella stood behind her.
“What do you want? You little bitch?”
Cinderella grinned, grabbing the back of step sister’s number 2’s head and slamming into the mirror, over and over again. Until her step sister didn’t move.  Blood ran down her emotionless face pooling on the golden table.

Cinderella could feel the rush of satisfaction. Why hadn’t she done this years ago?
“Girls, Girls! Hurry up. The coach will be here any minute!” Cried her step mother from down the stairs. “Cinderella! Ciinderella! Where is that horrible girl! Cinderella! Cinderella!” Her step mother screamed.
Cinderella followed her. Paced her. Silently.  Her step mother was out near the pigs.

“Cinderella! There is no time to be feeding the livestock. Come out from your hiding. I know you are out here! You can’t hid here forever!”
Cinderella sprang on top of her step mother. Knocking her off her balance. Falling into the mud face first went her step mother, with Cinderella on her back. Cinderella sat on top her, holding her head in the mud while her arms and legs flailed. Trying to escape. It was useless. Her body finally relaxed, motionless in the mud.
“One more to go.” Step sister number 3, the cruelest of them all was in the kitchen.

“There you are you little tramp. What have you done?” Cinderella smiled and started to laugh. Grabbing a piece of wood from the fire, she threw it at her step sister. Her dress immediately caught fire. She screamed. Spun in circles.

“Please! Please spare me and I will be your slave, forever!”

“Forever?”

“Forever!”

Cinderella grabbed the pot of boiling water and flung in on her step sister who was now curled up on the floor crying.
1 Year Later
Cinderella married the prince. She a beautiful daughter and always at her side was her horribly disfigured and ugly hand maid, forever loyal and duteous. The hand maid never went far for she was always followed by the mice and birds, making sure she said in line.