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message 51:
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Brigid ✩, No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.
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Jan 08, 2014 09:22AM
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Saru (Queen of Bookland) wrote: "I'D LOVE WHAT YOU WROTE EVEN IF IT DESCRIBED STARING AT A WALL SO POST SOMETHING"WHY ARE YOU SO NICE
Emily wrote: "Saru (Queen of Bookland) wrote: "I'D LOVE WHAT YOU WROTE EVEN IF IT DESCRIBED STARING AT A WALL SO POST SOMETHING"WHY ARE YOU SO NICE"
I'M NOT NICE. I'M HONEST.
Kriss wrote: "The world tipped and rocked. Even as he lay flat against the mattress Judas felt as though he were on a boat in some untamed sea; in his mind it pitched sideways, rolled, and was sent spiraling out..."Oh, Kriss. If anyone could ever destroy my confidence of ever having a successful writing career, it would be you. I should tell you that that scene was lovely, but I don't know if that would make any difference, seeing as everything you write is lovely.
Dude, I need to post something on here. I need to sit my butt down, finish my NaNo novel, and POST SOMETHING, darn it!
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FFF don't say things like that!@ You are a wonderful writer!
But thank you so so much <3 You are the best at compliments. I am glad you liked it!
((Thing from a WIP that I'm doing partly for fun and partly to put off studying for finals. I'm not a good role model, kids.))"Have you had enough, then?" said Kalfu.
"Quite enough, thank you. Now I'm suffering a headache and my voice is all scratchy. That girl is a human magic repellent," Leona heaved a sigh, then lifted her arm a fraction to peer at Kalfu from beneath it. "Why the wardrobe change?"
The voodoo god of bad luck was wearing shorts and a well-worn tee shirt, clothing so garishly normal that Avery balked. "I look better in human clothes, don't you think?" said Kalfu, and he grinned self-consciously. A sharp black canine tooth extended over his lower lip when he smiled. Leona's mouth curled up at the corners despite herself.
"Excuse me, damsel in distress over here," said Avery, as pulled herself into a sitting position. "Could you possibly find a way to magic this duct tape off of me without ripping my skin off? I'm itching like crazy and I have to pee."
Kalfu stepped closer to peer at the tape. "Looks like I wrapped you up pretty tight. Maybe some steam would do the trick? Which reminds me, I finished making jambalaya while you two were chatting. Care for a bowl?"
"Jambalaya in New Orleans? What a cliche," Leona sneered.
"You don't want any?"
"On the contrary, I'm starving," said Leona, and she followed Kalfu into the kitchen.
Avery tossed her head to get a lock of hair out of her eyes and groaned. She resolved to demand freedom from the duct tape when Kalfu and Leona returned.
Leona's cat lingered. "I don't suppose you could chew through this duct tape?" asked Avery.
"No, thank you. I'm sure it'll taste disgusting," said the cat.
Avery fell off the table with a loud bang.
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Brigid *Flying Kick-a-pow!* wrote: "Haha, I'm curious to know what this story is about. XD I really like the dialogue!"Thank you! I'd tell you, but I don't really know where this is going, myself XP I'm planning on posting stuff when it has more structure.
Truth be told, I haven't worked on my NaNoWriMo'12 for aaages, but I've gone through bits and pieces of it lately and found some scenes I liked. They aren't edited, naturally.
Here's one between the MC and her brother, Nathan. I guess I like it because it just kind of happened; it wasn't a planned scene.
Sighing, I walk inside to the usual empty house. Except, I remember, it isn't empty anymore. Nathan is there. I wonder what he does all day.
"Nathan?" I call.
"In my room," he answers back. "The door's open. You can come in."
I meander down the hall and, sure enough, he left the door ajar. He sits on his bed, trying to look like he's been doing something since before I got here, but I can see through it. His room is still clean except for the rumpled covers on his bed. The walls are free of posters and pictures, which was not true when Nathan slept here on a regular basis.
"Are you alright?" I ask him.
He presses his lips together and sighs through his nose. Absently, I wonder how many times I've heard someone sigh today. "I don't... not really, no. I guess I'm not."
"Would you want to talk about it? Or am I not the right person to talk to?"
"No, I wouldn't mind talking to you. There's not much to say, that's all."
I notice some free space on his bed and take a seat there. "Is it... Bethany?" Should I have asked? What if his sadness isn't related to Bethany and the only thing I did was remind him of something worse?
But he nods, not appearing much more upset than before. "I haven't even told Mom or Dad that we broke up. I figure they already know." He scratches the back of his neck, staring at the floor. "That's not the problem. Not really." There's another pause, long enough that it would warrant a rambling paragraph or an impassioned speech, but all he says is, "I miss her. A lot."
Everyone around me is so sad. When Meg started crying today, I almost envied Kayleigh for being close enough—both in terms of friendship and location—to give her a hug. Now that I'm nearby and with someone I know well, I can't help it. I wrap my arms around Nathan and tell him, "I'm sorry."
"Thanks."
The emptiness remains in his voice. I'm not a total idiot—I know that hugs don't fix everything, and there aren't many things they can fix at all. This is no different. It shouldn't bother me. But for some reason, the fact that I can't do anything to help makes it all worse. I want to hug him more and continue not helping, which would do nothing for him and would only be for the sake of my feeling like I may have done some good. It's a selfish thought, I know.
"Can I get you anything?" I ask, setting my hands in my lap.
He shakes his head. "No. But thanks for the hug."
Here's one between the MC and her brother, Nathan. I guess I like it because it just kind of happened; it wasn't a planned scene.
Sighing, I walk inside to the usual empty house. Except, I remember, it isn't empty anymore. Nathan is there. I wonder what he does all day.
"Nathan?" I call.
"In my room," he answers back. "The door's open. You can come in."
I meander down the hall and, sure enough, he left the door ajar. He sits on his bed, trying to look like he's been doing something since before I got here, but I can see through it. His room is still clean except for the rumpled covers on his bed. The walls are free of posters and pictures, which was not true when Nathan slept here on a regular basis.
"Are you alright?" I ask him.
He presses his lips together and sighs through his nose. Absently, I wonder how many times I've heard someone sigh today. "I don't... not really, no. I guess I'm not."
"Would you want to talk about it? Or am I not the right person to talk to?"
"No, I wouldn't mind talking to you. There's not much to say, that's all."
I notice some free space on his bed and take a seat there. "Is it... Bethany?" Should I have asked? What if his sadness isn't related to Bethany and the only thing I did was remind him of something worse?
But he nods, not appearing much more upset than before. "I haven't even told Mom or Dad that we broke up. I figure they already know." He scratches the back of his neck, staring at the floor. "That's not the problem. Not really." There's another pause, long enough that it would warrant a rambling paragraph or an impassioned speech, but all he says is, "I miss her. A lot."
Everyone around me is so sad. When Meg started crying today, I almost envied Kayleigh for being close enough—both in terms of friendship and location—to give her a hug. Now that I'm nearby and with someone I know well, I can't help it. I wrap my arms around Nathan and tell him, "I'm sorry."
"Thanks."
The emptiness remains in his voice. I'm not a total idiot—I know that hugs don't fix everything, and there aren't many things they can fix at all. This is no different. It shouldn't bother me. But for some reason, the fact that I can't do anything to help makes it all worse. I want to hug him more and continue not helping, which would do nothing for him and would only be for the sake of my feeling like I may have done some good. It's a selfish thought, I know.
"Can I get you anything?" I ask, setting my hands in my lap.
He shakes his head. "No. But thanks for the hug."
And here's another passage that just kind of happened. The MC is in a sort of low-key therapy group, listening to a character named Meg's update. Slight trigger warning for mention of suicide.
"I can go next," Meg says in a matter of fact tone akin to a less than eager groan. She crosses her legs, and when she does I steal a glimpse of her drawing. It looks new, as if she already finished the other one she was working on. This one is in pencil rather than pen. It shows the beginnings of a forest, with flowing pencil strokes that make all the roots and branches blend together in a way that still leaves them—I can't pretend I'm not proud of that pun—standing as individuals. Most of the foliage isn't there yet; it's all branches and trunks. I wonder if she's drawing a scene from outside. Despite being unfinished, it evokes images of the almost barren trees on my street against a gray sky.
"Leigh says I had to drag her here, which is sort of true. But not totally true because I'm in such a bad mood I don't think I could have really dragged anyone. I barely dragged myself." She streaks her pencil across the page in front of her, and this time, instead of wondering what she's drawing, I can imagine what the stroke added. The anger in her voice doesn't match the smooth lines in her art. "First off, this weather is killing me, and second, the visit to my mom and dad's house was not worth the time. I wish we had stayed in our apartment and just let the belligerent family tension simmer until Thanksgiving."
Her voice suggests that there is more to say on the matter, but she doesn't continue. "What was so bad about it?" Grayson prompts.
"It's like Leigh said. They still don't understand. I don't know if they ever will, because we aren't their legal responsibility anymore. That just gives them more reason to pretend that there isn't a problem and there's nothing I can do to convince them otherwise and I just hate being around them and they're half the damn reason I moved out in the first place." After a sentence like that, I would think she'd need a few seconds to catch her breath, but her face remains stern and unchanged. "I don't know if they've ever really cared, at least not enough to do something about it back when the problem started."
"I don't think you give Mom and Dad enough credit," Leigh says. "They sent me to a treatment center, didn't they?"
"Yeah, they sent you," Meg accuses. "They did nothing about me because they think that the older sibling has some magical ability to deal with whatever life throws at them."
Leigh narrows her eyes, gripping the bottom of her chair until her knuckles turn white. "Don't get mad at me. It's not my fault I was born later."
"I know, I know. But it's still not the best example of parenting done right," Meg mumbles.
Why isn't Grayson saying anything? Do most therapy groups let these confrontations continue like this? Suddenly, it's like Monday afternoon again, with me wishing I could vanish from the room. Well, maybe not that extreme, but I do think it would be nice if I had some way not to witness this.
As if sensing what I just thought, Grayson does speak up after all. "Is this something you would rather settle on your own time?" he asks. "Or would you prefer to keep going? The choice is yours. I just would like to know."
Meg scowls. "Sorry, I know that was immature. It doesn't matter to me. Maybe we should save it for another time." She sighs yet another time. "I'm not mad at you, Leigh, but I'm really mad at almost everything else." She turns to Grayson, her eyes straying to other members of the group every few seconds. "I'd better be done for the day. Let's just keep going."
"If you're sure," Grayson says, his voice gentle. "But if you need to let some more out, this is the place to do it. We all understand, don't we?"
A thought strikes me with a startling clarity. Meg and Leigh just said that they don't live with their parents, but with each other. They each have to deal with the other's antics twenty-four seven. There's no way to truly hide. If they have issues with one another, they either have to admit it outright or let it simmer inside of them without any assurance that they can find some sort of resolution. For all I know, Dominic's little sister might be all he has. Does Grayson have anyone to go to? Does Kayleigh? Most of these people seem so lonely.
This realization continues to gain force until it knots up my stomach and clenches at my throat. At the same time that I feel guilty for ever thinking I was lonely, this unseen connection seems to forge between Kayleigh, Meg, Leigh, Grayson, Dominic, and me. I might be the only one who senses it. It's unreal; not like a flimsy string that ties us together or binds us until we can't move, but like there's a fierce storm outside and we've all taken shelter underneath the same tree.
The tree drawing that Meg is working on makes more sense to me now. Her art gives her the same kind of refuge.
It takes me several seconds to register that Meg is talking again. The way her sentences are going, it seems like I've only started listening in the middle of a paragraph. "Leigh is right that I don't give them enough credit. But they didn't give me much credit either, not when I tried to tell them I needed help. It took a suicide attempt for them to believe something was wrong, and by that point, I had long given up on them understanding."
For a while, she doesn't say any more. Tears leak from her eyes. "Thanks. I don't know if I've said that out loud before. I hope that didn't trigger anyone, but... yeah, thanks." She sniffs, rubs her eyes, and looks at Grayson. Her pencil sits on the paper, not in use for the first time today. "On that note... My happy thing today is that I got to set all of this free."
"I can go next," Meg says in a matter of fact tone akin to a less than eager groan. She crosses her legs, and when she does I steal a glimpse of her drawing. It looks new, as if she already finished the other one she was working on. This one is in pencil rather than pen. It shows the beginnings of a forest, with flowing pencil strokes that make all the roots and branches blend together in a way that still leaves them—I can't pretend I'm not proud of that pun—standing as individuals. Most of the foliage isn't there yet; it's all branches and trunks. I wonder if she's drawing a scene from outside. Despite being unfinished, it evokes images of the almost barren trees on my street against a gray sky.
"Leigh says I had to drag her here, which is sort of true. But not totally true because I'm in such a bad mood I don't think I could have really dragged anyone. I barely dragged myself." She streaks her pencil across the page in front of her, and this time, instead of wondering what she's drawing, I can imagine what the stroke added. The anger in her voice doesn't match the smooth lines in her art. "First off, this weather is killing me, and second, the visit to my mom and dad's house was not worth the time. I wish we had stayed in our apartment and just let the belligerent family tension simmer until Thanksgiving."
Her voice suggests that there is more to say on the matter, but she doesn't continue. "What was so bad about it?" Grayson prompts.
"It's like Leigh said. They still don't understand. I don't know if they ever will, because we aren't their legal responsibility anymore. That just gives them more reason to pretend that there isn't a problem and there's nothing I can do to convince them otherwise and I just hate being around them and they're half the damn reason I moved out in the first place." After a sentence like that, I would think she'd need a few seconds to catch her breath, but her face remains stern and unchanged. "I don't know if they've ever really cared, at least not enough to do something about it back when the problem started."
"I don't think you give Mom and Dad enough credit," Leigh says. "They sent me to a treatment center, didn't they?"
"Yeah, they sent you," Meg accuses. "They did nothing about me because they think that the older sibling has some magical ability to deal with whatever life throws at them."
Leigh narrows her eyes, gripping the bottom of her chair until her knuckles turn white. "Don't get mad at me. It's not my fault I was born later."
"I know, I know. But it's still not the best example of parenting done right," Meg mumbles.
Why isn't Grayson saying anything? Do most therapy groups let these confrontations continue like this? Suddenly, it's like Monday afternoon again, with me wishing I could vanish from the room. Well, maybe not that extreme, but I do think it would be nice if I had some way not to witness this.
As if sensing what I just thought, Grayson does speak up after all. "Is this something you would rather settle on your own time?" he asks. "Or would you prefer to keep going? The choice is yours. I just would like to know."
Meg scowls. "Sorry, I know that was immature. It doesn't matter to me. Maybe we should save it for another time." She sighs yet another time. "I'm not mad at you, Leigh, but I'm really mad at almost everything else." She turns to Grayson, her eyes straying to other members of the group every few seconds. "I'd better be done for the day. Let's just keep going."
"If you're sure," Grayson says, his voice gentle. "But if you need to let some more out, this is the place to do it. We all understand, don't we?"
A thought strikes me with a startling clarity. Meg and Leigh just said that they don't live with their parents, but with each other. They each have to deal with the other's antics twenty-four seven. There's no way to truly hide. If they have issues with one another, they either have to admit it outright or let it simmer inside of them without any assurance that they can find some sort of resolution. For all I know, Dominic's little sister might be all he has. Does Grayson have anyone to go to? Does Kayleigh? Most of these people seem so lonely.
This realization continues to gain force until it knots up my stomach and clenches at my throat. At the same time that I feel guilty for ever thinking I was lonely, this unseen connection seems to forge between Kayleigh, Meg, Leigh, Grayson, Dominic, and me. I might be the only one who senses it. It's unreal; not like a flimsy string that ties us together or binds us until we can't move, but like there's a fierce storm outside and we've all taken shelter underneath the same tree.
The tree drawing that Meg is working on makes more sense to me now. Her art gives her the same kind of refuge.
It takes me several seconds to register that Meg is talking again. The way her sentences are going, it seems like I've only started listening in the middle of a paragraph. "Leigh is right that I don't give them enough credit. But they didn't give me much credit either, not when I tried to tell them I needed help. It took a suicide attempt for them to believe something was wrong, and by that point, I had long given up on them understanding."
For a while, she doesn't say any more. Tears leak from her eyes. "Thanks. I don't know if I've said that out loud before. I hope that didn't trigger anyone, but... yeah, thanks." She sniffs, rubs her eyes, and looks at Grayson. Her pencil sits on the paper, not in use for the first time today. "On that note... My happy thing today is that I got to set all of this free."
Mod
message 66:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
Wait, maxy, you write? XD
Sam~ on sleepless roads the sleepless go~ wrote: "Wait, maxy, you write? XD"
Heh. I try. This NaNovel from 2012 was the last thing I made a decent amount of progress in and I'm trying to save it.
Heh. I try. This NaNovel from 2012 was the last thing I made a decent amount of progress in and I'm trying to save it.
Mod
I clear my throat, hoping not to startle her. She doesn't turn around. "Are you okay?" I ask her.
She still doesn't acknowledge me. Now that I'm standing closer, I can see she has her forehead leaned against the bars, and her face is deathly pale in the morning light.
My heart plunges into my stomach. "Juliet?" I fall on my knees next to her, put a hand on her shoulder ...
She's saying something, I realize. Whispering something I can't hear.
"What? Juliet, what is it? Are you all right?"
"I thought she was you," she says, her voice clearer now.
"You ... what?" I move closer to her, so I'm sitting right next to her. "What are you talking about?"
She slowly lifts her head, opens her eyes. Her hands slip from the bars and fall onto her lap. "Maria."
“Maria?”
She’s not making any sense. Is she going into shock? Is she losing her mind? I don’t know what to do, how to deal with this …
Now she’s leaning over, pressing a hand to her forehead. “It––It was dark. I saw her die, I saw it kill her … and I thought …” She stops.
“You thought …” It’s all piecing together now, and it’s making my skin feel cold. “Juliet … Oh, my God.”
She doesn’t sit up or even look at me. I still have my hand on her shoulder and I can feel her shaking. “I didn’t realize until I was trying to pull her away, until it was too late.”
There’s a sudden lump in my throat. I drop my hand from her shoulder, and turn away so I’m facing the row of black metal bars in front of us. “It wasn’t your fault,” I say at last. I don’t know what else to say.
“I felt relieved,” Juliet says, as if she didn’t hear me. “When I realized it was her, and not you. How f***ing sick is that?” She sits up very suddenly, turning to look at me. Her eyes are ablaze, filled with some kind of expectation like she wants me to give her an answer. But I don't know what to say.
"What kind of person does that make me?" she says, when I just stare at her. As abruptly as she looked at me, she looks away again, out to the sunrise-painted sky. "I mean, I ... I'm not saying I was glad she wad dead, because of course I'm not. It's horrible. I was just ... Damn it." She rubs the heel of one hand against one eye and then the other. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to ..."
Juliet falls silent again, as she stares fiercely out at the dawn.
"You weren't supposed to what?" I ask.
I hear her take in a deep breath and let it out again.
"I wasn't supposed to start caring about you."
Brigid *Flying Kick-a-pow!* wrote: "I don't think I've posted anything for a while so here is a part of I Chose the Monster that I wrote like two days ago. Nina and Juliet are my BROTP (except ... the girl version of that, whatever i..."That was so sweet and sad! Love it.
Brigid *Flying Kick-a-pow!* wrote: "I don't think I've posted anything for a while so here is a part of I Chose the Monster that I wrote like two days ago. Nina and Juliet are my BROTP (except ... the girl version of that, whatever i..."
I must add them to my list of BROTPs. This makes me want to read more of the story so I can understand the context and everything. <3
I must add them to my list of BROTPs. This makes me want to read more of the story so I can understand the context and everything. <3
message 72:
by
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
(new)
I really need to read your whole thing in order, Brigid. That was so good.
Mod
Something short from my WIP, the entirety of which you can read here! https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/... :Avery continued staring at the inn. All of the people inside were part of the same tour group. The tour group which had bought all of Kalfu’s magicked charm bags.
More noises from the inn. Now all of the lights were open, there was more shouting. “What was in those charm bags?” Avery demanded. “Kalfu, what the hell did we do?”
He was not responding, but his white mask was still turned towards the inn. “I suggest you hurry on inside, little witch,” said the loa of bad luck.
“Why?”
“Because in under a minute, someone is going to die.”
The next few moments were a blur, and then Avery found herself tearing through the swamp. Her thoughts were racing, and Kalfu’s words kept ringing in her ears. Her shoe got caught in mud; no time to rescue it, she half-ran, half-hopped to the door of the inn. Locked, of course it was locked. Avery bounced on her feet on the front porch and banged on the door as loudly as she could. The whole time, she was thinking, Die die die someone’s going to die.
And it will be all my fault.
Because Kalfu didn’t sell charms to the tourists. Avery did.
Another scene from my NaNo'12. Context: the members of this unofficial therapy group are visiting a member who's in the hospital for overdosing.
... The scene inside of Landon's hospital room is a little shocking. It's nothing like when I saw Aaron as a baby. Half a dozen machines line the back wall, and one of them is an IV hooked up to Landon's wrist. A plastic plant sits by the window as if trying to brighten the room. While I appreciate the attempt, it's still not very inviting and not a place I would like to spend much time in. It manages to feel crowded and empty at the same time.
And then there's Landon himself. I've heard his name so often that, no matter what he ended up looking like, it would surprise me. When I heard that he was Kayleigh's boyfriend, I imagined this tall, handsome guy with a contagious smile and bright eyes and nice clothes. Maybe he looked like that before he was in the hospital. Now? His light brown eyes have pronounced bags underneath them, as if a little sister of his went through a make-up phase and brushed layers of black eyeshadow there. He has blonde, rumpled hair something between yellow and white, falling almost past his eyebrows. Pale skin, emphasized by the florescent lighting. And not normal pale, like he was born with it. Pale like he hasn't seen the sun in months and doesn't plan to. The freckles on his nose seem to insist on a giddy happiness that isn't there anymore.
Kayleigh steps over to his bedside and sits, scooting the chair closer to him. “Hey, love,” she says, a twinge of hesitance in her voice. I wonder how it would feel to have this kind of interaction with my boyfriend—if he existed—in front of so many people. “We wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.”
I shuffle to the back of the cluster we've formed in front of his bed and try look as invisible as possible. Various heys and hellos fill the room. I wave, but don't do much else.
“Thanks for coming,” Landon says. His voice sounds younger than I expected. I'm not sure how old Kayleigh is, but I assumed Landon would be in his mid or even late twenties. He barely sounds older than Dominic. “You guys are awesome.”
He reaches for Kayleigh's hand, taking it in his, and I have to work really hard to keep from saying “aww”.
"We're glad to see you,” Grayson replies, stepping forward a little. “How are you holding up? Can you give us an update?”
Landon tilts his head from side to side. "Could be better, but definitely could be worse. Have been worse. You're lucky you didn't catch me a few days ago. You wouldn't have recognized me." His eyes stray to the back of the group. "Speaking of which," he says to me, "I don't recognize you."
"I'm a newbie to the group," I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster. In reality, I'm quite nervous about answering. "My name is Missy."
His eyebrows scrunch together in the slightest in a way that reminds me of Kayleigh, except I sense a bit of animosity there, but he just replies with, "Oh. Hi. In that case, thanks for showing up for a random stranger. Sorry you have to see this." His grin is lopsided.
Kayleigh leans closer to him, a genuine smile on her face. "You sound so much better," she beams. "I'm so glad."
"Most of the drugs and alcohol are out of my system," he informs us. I could be wrong, but it seems like he's enjoying some of the attention he's getting. I can't really blame him. Spend a week with only nurses and machines as my companions and I would ache for attention, too. "I went through some crazy withdrawal for the last few days. It's starting to get better, but man. No wonder people get hooked for their entire lives. Sometimes, it seems like stopping the bad habit is worse than just going on with it. I hope I never touch drugs for the rest of my life. But that's... easier said than done." He runs a hand through his hair. The motion looks somewhat jerky because of the IV tethered to his hand that interferes with some of his movements, not to mention the exhaustion that he must feel.
It all brings this sinking feeling into my stomach. In this environment, although I still harbor so much anger about it, I can see why my parents are the way they are. They didn't want me to end up like this. Even then, I have no clue what kind of family Landon comes from. Maybe his parents cast him out and that's what started all of this.
Or maybe he's what I could have been—a boy with restrictive parents who rebelled against their standards.
... The scene inside of Landon's hospital room is a little shocking. It's nothing like when I saw Aaron as a baby. Half a dozen machines line the back wall, and one of them is an IV hooked up to Landon's wrist. A plastic plant sits by the window as if trying to brighten the room. While I appreciate the attempt, it's still not very inviting and not a place I would like to spend much time in. It manages to feel crowded and empty at the same time.
And then there's Landon himself. I've heard his name so often that, no matter what he ended up looking like, it would surprise me. When I heard that he was Kayleigh's boyfriend, I imagined this tall, handsome guy with a contagious smile and bright eyes and nice clothes. Maybe he looked like that before he was in the hospital. Now? His light brown eyes have pronounced bags underneath them, as if a little sister of his went through a make-up phase and brushed layers of black eyeshadow there. He has blonde, rumpled hair something between yellow and white, falling almost past his eyebrows. Pale skin, emphasized by the florescent lighting. And not normal pale, like he was born with it. Pale like he hasn't seen the sun in months and doesn't plan to. The freckles on his nose seem to insist on a giddy happiness that isn't there anymore.
Kayleigh steps over to his bedside and sits, scooting the chair closer to him. “Hey, love,” she says, a twinge of hesitance in her voice. I wonder how it would feel to have this kind of interaction with my boyfriend—if he existed—in front of so many people. “We wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.”
I shuffle to the back of the cluster we've formed in front of his bed and try look as invisible as possible. Various heys and hellos fill the room. I wave, but don't do much else.
“Thanks for coming,” Landon says. His voice sounds younger than I expected. I'm not sure how old Kayleigh is, but I assumed Landon would be in his mid or even late twenties. He barely sounds older than Dominic. “You guys are awesome.”
He reaches for Kayleigh's hand, taking it in his, and I have to work really hard to keep from saying “aww”.
"We're glad to see you,” Grayson replies, stepping forward a little. “How are you holding up? Can you give us an update?”
Landon tilts his head from side to side. "Could be better, but definitely could be worse. Have been worse. You're lucky you didn't catch me a few days ago. You wouldn't have recognized me." His eyes stray to the back of the group. "Speaking of which," he says to me, "I don't recognize you."
"I'm a newbie to the group," I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster. In reality, I'm quite nervous about answering. "My name is Missy."
His eyebrows scrunch together in the slightest in a way that reminds me of Kayleigh, except I sense a bit of animosity there, but he just replies with, "Oh. Hi. In that case, thanks for showing up for a random stranger. Sorry you have to see this." His grin is lopsided.
Kayleigh leans closer to him, a genuine smile on her face. "You sound so much better," she beams. "I'm so glad."
"Most of the drugs and alcohol are out of my system," he informs us. I could be wrong, but it seems like he's enjoying some of the attention he's getting. I can't really blame him. Spend a week with only nurses and machines as my companions and I would ache for attention, too. "I went through some crazy withdrawal for the last few days. It's starting to get better, but man. No wonder people get hooked for their entire lives. Sometimes, it seems like stopping the bad habit is worse than just going on with it. I hope I never touch drugs for the rest of my life. But that's... easier said than done." He runs a hand through his hair. The motion looks somewhat jerky because of the IV tethered to his hand that interferes with some of his movements, not to mention the exhaustion that he must feel.
It all brings this sinking feeling into my stomach. In this environment, although I still harbor so much anger about it, I can see why my parents are the way they are. They didn't want me to end up like this. Even then, I have no clue what kind of family Landon comes from. Maybe his parents cast him out and that's what started all of this.
Or maybe he's what I could have been—a boy with restrictive parents who rebelled against their standards.
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There's suddenly a long silence, and none of us seem to be able to look at each other. Juliet and Gavin both look out at the river, and I do the same. All I can do is watch the water tumbling past, as I try to sort out what's going through my head.
I sink to the ground, draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. My vision blurs as tears start to leak out of my eyes again. A choked noise comes out of me and I’m not sure whether I’m laughing or crying. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
“Nina?” Juliet says.
I wipe my hand across my eyes, trying to control myself. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I just …”
I look at the two of them, both sitting on the ground a few feet away from me. Now they’re both turned towards me, watching me, waiting for me to finish what I was saying. But I don’t even know how to put the feeling into words.
I have to take a deep breath before I continue. “I thought … you were both gone. I thought I’d left you up there on that bridge and I just … I can’t believe you both jumped after me.”
Neither of them says anything. I sniff, wiping at my eyes again. But I realize that I’m laughing, after all. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just, it’s kind of funny. Because it’s like that thing people say, you know … ‘If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you do it, too?’”
They both just stare at me for a second, and I’m sure they both think I’m losing my mind.
“If it would mean saving my friends from drowning,” Gavin says at last, “then … yes, yes I would.” He laughs again. “Although, I kind of failed at that, I guess.”
“Also, the bridge was crawling with zombies,” Juliet points out. And then she laughs, too.
It’s kind of weird, the three of us just sitting here and laughing about how we all could have died. But then again, we didn’t. We survived, and I guess that’s all that matters for now.
Aww. And I love that bridge quote, because I used to hear that all the time as a kid. Hehe.
message 79:
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Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
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Brigid *Flying Kick-a-pow!* wrote: "I wrote for the first time in like three months today and I'm proud of myself so I'm going to post something yaaaaaay.There's suddenly a long silence, and none of us seem to be able to look at ..."
so cute. <3
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There's suddenly a long silence, and none of us seem to be able to look at ..."
Me gusta! I've missed Brigid's writing 8D
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I'm trying to rewrite the first chapter of my novel. This is my third attempt. What do you guys think?________________________________________________________
I didn’t know how long I had been walking, by the time I got past the last of those looming trees. I could have been walking for an eternity with no memory of it; since the lake, I had been moving like in a daze.
‘The lake. Daddy.’
I shook the thoughts away, forcing myself to concentrate on the path before me. The grass, already drying in the heat of the summer sun, had begun to fade before the black road. Dirt solidified beneath my bare feet. Burned them.
I quickly stepped back, confusion piercing the haze of my mind. The surprise created an opening; all at once, my thoughts rushed in. ‘The icy water… Hot sun… No air… Daddy…!’ I gagged, the memory of salt burning my throat. I began to shake before I even realized it, trembling uncontrollably with the weight of what had just happened.
I remembered nothing before this morning. Daddy had been there when my whole world came crashing down. The only person I had ever known, turning away and leaving me to die. He had raised me. He must have, though I had no memory of it, because he was everything to me. He had been my world, the only thing that had held me together.
And then…
“I’m sorry.” In a choked voice. A light shove, pain in hazel eyes. “Please don’t hate me for this, J-”
His words had cut off, left me with nothing. No excuse, no warning. Just an icy grave, as he turned and ran.
I hadn’t been able to swim. He never taught me. The water had just dragged me down, flowed freely into my lungs as I screamed, choked, sobbed. Darkness had come swiftly in the depths of the lake. I had been blind, helpless, as currents crushed me, pinned me to the rocky floor. Trapped, sure to die. Confused, hurt, scared.
But I had gotten out of it, hadn’t I? I stood before the burning ground now, the black streaked with paths of white and yellow. How had I managed that?
The memory, at first so clear, began to blur the closer I got to my present.
I remembered a coldness burning me from the inside. I remembered pain spearing through my hands. I remembered being trapped, climbing something solid, not liquid, to escape. I remembered the trees looming over me, goblin faces hidden in the bark. Their leaves had blocked out the sun; behind me, they still did.
But that was where the memory ended. That was where the world began to blur, my head began to spin. I held it, shook my head slowly from side to side to try and clear it. But the blurring, the spinning, only got worse.
After a confusing moment – seconds melting into minutes – I started forward again. There was nothing left for me at the lake; I couldn’t go back there, not after I had almost drowned. Though the black ground burned my feet, it wasn’t unbearable. I had to suffer through it, had to get past it. On the other side, there were more trees. If I could just get past them all…
‘Easy now,’ I reminded myself, as I inched forward. ‘Just take it one step at a–’
A noise outside of my own thoughts, outside of the eerie silence. It jolted me from my counting. I looked up, frowning, in the direction it came from, but saw nothing. Were my ears playing tricks on me?
Shaking my head, I dropped my gaze to my feet once more. Shards stuck out, faint trails of blood sliding down them. Odd, that I hadn’t noticed that pain, only the burning of the road. I bent down and put a finger to one of the shards. It wasn’t in very deeply; pushing it further in took no effort at all. A faint hint of pain flickered through me. My frown deepening, I added my thumb and worked on easing out the now trapped splinter.
Ah. So that’s where the pain was.
My hand dropped away immediately as it jolted through me, spiking through my nerves and making me flinch. Blood, uncomfortably warm as it stained the ground beneath me, overwhelmed me with its sickly metallic scent. Saliva filled my mouth as I choked back a gag.
And still the noise continued. As I struggled not to vomit right there on the burning road, it got louder. Closer. Even when it was right on top of me, I did not recognize it. But I saw it – the monster – in all its metallic hued, four-wheeled glory, for the briefest of seconds, before it rammed into my side.
I heard something shatter as the pain swooped in, tossed me backwards. Words, colorful and explosive, burst out into the night, almost blending with the screeching of tires. By the time the car spun to a stop, I too stopped, slamming to the ground and losing all the air that was left in my lungs.
My thoughts in shambles, my pulse pounding in my ears, the heat rushing through my veins, I struggled back to my feet. The remaining shards dug in deeper as I stumbled forward. Though pain shot up my neck as soon as I tried to lift my head again, I somehow managed it. And I saw the damage.
It had been one of those trees that had stopped the car. The monstrous face hidden in the bark was now splintered, spewing wooden fragments all along the dented hood. Glass, not unlike the shards still buried in my feet, decorated the dark ground. Those headlights – golden eyes that blinded me – were shattered. Their glow flickered for a moment, then cut out suddenly. Darkness rushed in, swallowed us up.
I squinted at the car. Watched, frozen, as two figures emerged from it.
They were huddled together, as though from cold. But the summer heat brought sweat, not shivers. In the girl’s eyes – dark, frightened – I saw pain. She was limping as the boy led her forward, away from the wreckage.
Though it was hard to make out anything, the moon above radiated just enough light to reveal the change in the girl’s eyes, as she finally turned her head and – mid-sob – caught my gaze.
Fear.
Confusion.
And then, bit by bit, the faintest flicker of anger’s flame.
She pulled away from the boy and stepped towards me as I took a frightened step back. Her voice was rough, maybe as rough as the road that still burned my feet. “Hey!” she began, her eyes narrowing, her hand reaching out. “You!”
Just two words, but that was enough. The anger – You wrecked our car! – the fear – She’s going to kill us! – the confusion – How did you do that?; all implied, but clear nonetheless. The emotions suffocated me.
I stumbled backwards again. My foot met cool dirt, a relief from the burning road. My gaze dropped, watched as the droplets of crimson followed me away from the road. Slivers of quickly melting ice (that which had saved me before?) continued sprinkling the ground with every step. They seemed to come from nowhere, no longer stuck in me.
Realizing this caused another thought to surface, one that made me shudder. Maybe… Maybe they hadn’t been stabbed into me from the outside. Maybe they had always been inside me, and only now begged for their release.
But if that was so, then what did that make me? A human couldn’t do that. At least, not a normal one…
Again, the girl spoke up. A question, and yet also a demand. “Who the hell-!”
Confusion and fear overwhelming my senses, I had no time for words. I bit my tongue lightly to force them back and – as the metallic tang choked me – I turned and fled back into the bushes, just as the blond raised his gaze at last, to the direction that the girl was now pointing.
Did he see me? No time to look back, to make sure that he hadn’t. My gaze was locked to those same looming trees, as I darted into the darkness.
message 84:
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Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~
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Tesni wrote: "This thread hasn't been used in like...forever but I just looked to see when I last posted anything from T2010NNWTCCT and it was over three years ago! What a mess. So I really should let some of ..."TESNI I THINK THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I HAVE EVER SEEN YOUR WRITING.
(i don't know why that was in caps. ignore that part.)
Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~ wrote: "Tesni wrote: "This thread hasn't been used in like...forever but I just looked to see when I last posted anything from T2010NNWTCCT and it was over three years ago! What a mess. So I really shoul..."It could well be! For a group called Young Writers I don't post an awful lot of writing. I do get a lot written, actually, but I suppose that because I only write for myself and not with, like, an audience in mind or anything I'm just very shy about having others see it.
I've always been fond of your writing, Tesni. It's very unique and refined.
Hayden wrote: "I've always been fond of your writing, Tesni. It's very unique and refined."that's such a lovely compliment, thank you ;~; I don't think anything I've done has ever been called 'refined' before!
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I started that verse novel I was discussing like two days ago (and I decided it's going to be autobiographical and not fictionalized). I'm going to post an excerpt here because I want to hear your reactions. I've never written a verse novel before so I want to make sure what I'm doing is okay.Only under a spoiler because it's long and I hate scrolling through long posts.
(view spoiler)
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