Unrest (#SSE1)

What’s the word? The SASS here. As I announced before, there would be some sprinkles of Short Story Excerpts (#SSE) here and there. These are works that can be found in other anthologies I’ve participated in. After a bit of thought, I chose to zoom in on Continuous Drips first.

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Yes, it’s still true that I tend to not play well with others but I was invited to be a part of this by a fellow author Queen of Spades. She wanted to see how well our writing styles would complement each other based on our individual philosophies on what a good write represents. What makes it “continuous” if you will. Since the concept sounded intriguing, I was like, “Sign me up.”

Before giving you a glimpse of “Unrest”, let me plop down an overview of my writing philosophy.

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All is Dripping Black

Many in the world are fans of colors. They twirl and play in the pastels, cooing over the different shades. I’ve always been a more simplistic animal. The absence of color brings me more joy—or at least the closest I’ll ever come to it.

My ink drips black, for the darkness that lurks in the crevices of every human soul. People may act disgusted by it, yet no matter how horrific, they cannot turn away. Rather than throw stones and wear the badge of hypocrisy, I take the images as fodder and let readers lap up what remains

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Unrest (#Excerpt)

Spywrit kneels in front of the bottom dresser drawer. As she pulls it out, she notices her trembling hands. Fear sets in but it’s too late to turn back. Spywrit is a person of her word, just like her dad Martin. At this moment, word is bond feels more like weakness than strength.

After careful deliberation, Spywrit opts for the white ensemble. White is a color she usually shuns but she may as well be a cavalcade of changes. The lace detailing makes this lingerie intriguing, yet innocent. He should be a fan. The molded cups and the flowing satin contour perfectly to Spywrit’s body.

You are born to wear it.

“Where are you?”

At our hideaway. I grow impatient.

“You know what they say about good things-”

Spywrit expects his laugh but silence is her greeting. She must make haste. Is she getting cold feet? No, it is only dressing in this fancy attire. She starts to put on the red ballet slippers—they are almost a match to the wreath of flowers she places on her head. Yet she remembers the footwear is of no use on this trip.

Spywrit takes a deep breath and canvases the bedroom. Nodding her approval, she opens the window and descends down the huge adjacent tree.

Anxiety causes every step on the blades of grass and tiny branches to crackle in her ears. By the time Spywrit arrives at the lake, tiny streams of blood trickle from her ears and drip from the earlobes. She is near tears at the thought of this beautiful white outfit being ruined when she feels something hot and rough slurp at the red stains.

Darling…

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Stay tuned this coming Friday for the next Short Story Excerpt.

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