Well, I don't think I'm going to finish my NaNoWriMo. I tried posting it here, but Blogger has horrible formatting (the text went off the page, unless I removed the formatting, then went through every individual paragraphy to remove the extra spaces, and even then, it didn't have the indents). Instead, I'm just going to link to a public cleaned up Google Doc for it.
I liked how everything was going, but I still need to work more on my character development skills. I did love including little notes at the beginning of each chapter though. I also switched back and forth between two storylines in each chapter, and I wish I could have connected them more, since here they didn't affect each other much. Anyways, here's the little synopsis before I start:
On a planet that doesn't spin, human life is forced to live at the mild equator, stuck between the harsh deserts and freezing glaciers in a permanent twilight. To expand their population, huge pipe systems are built to pump the extreme air across to the other side, creating small pockets of livable climate. But, when one of these pipes becomes blocked, the entire town begins to slowly freeze to death, trapped in a shrinking pocket of winter. They must seek out what's causing the block and destroy it before time runs out.
I love the world that this is set in, so hopefully there will be more stories set in this universe in the future. Hope you enjoy!
Here's the Link:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Cw1iMrN3mcY8oqw74AY4dPnKfR7UI22_JBU_mqFPMJI/edit?usp=sharing
Saturday, July 20, 2019
Monday, March 18, 2019
They Hit a Cloud and It Shattered
While walking around campus, I overheard a phrase that I loved enough to make it a story. "They hit a cloud and it shattered." I'm not sure what it meant in the real world, but I thought of so many possibilities that I couldn't pass up writing it down for later. I might write more versions, but here's the one I've written so far:
Me and my Dad used to launch model rockets from our backyard all of the time. We lived in a small town, grew our own food, and nobody ever came to visit, so it's what we did to have fun. We would mix our own sugar engines, filling little tubes of paper with the explosive substance. The rocket body would be an old paper towel roll, painted beige with the old house paint we had lying around. The fins were the house's accent brown, and I always made a point to write both of our names on the side in a red sharpie. When the weather was clear and the day was warm, we extended the long silver legs of the launch pad, the circular platform crusted with a black layer of exhaust. He would connect the wires for me, as I hated when the ignition failed and we had to waste time in making sure it didn't explode in our faces. As I grew older, we kept building our rockets to be bigger than the last. They would fly longer, fly higher, and get smaller in the sky before deploying their parachute and drifting back to the ground. I remember clearly that last rocket we launched together. It was our biggest yet, carefully designed to fly higher than ever before, although honestly, we just made everything huge. We set it on the pad with high hopes that it would wow us with its strength. So, it was set up on the pad, the ignition was wired, and we could barely be seen hiding behind a brick wall, the red stones singed from past launches. We counted down the ignition, then watched as the rocket disappeared from sight. It soared higher than we could have imagined, reaching the fluffy white clouds above. But then, it hit a cloud, and the cloud shattered. Shards of glass fell from the sky, leaving a dark hexagonal hole in the sky. The rocket's parachute failed and it dove back to Earth, burying itself deep into the dirt. That didn't matter much though. We weren't going to ever try to fly it again. In fact, this was the last time we would be launching anything at the sky.
Me and my Dad used to launch model rockets from our backyard all of the time. We lived in a small town, grew our own food, and nobody ever came to visit, so it's what we did to have fun. We would mix our own sugar engines, filling little tubes of paper with the explosive substance. The rocket body would be an old paper towel roll, painted beige with the old house paint we had lying around. The fins were the house's accent brown, and I always made a point to write both of our names on the side in a red sharpie. When the weather was clear and the day was warm, we extended the long silver legs of the launch pad, the circular platform crusted with a black layer of exhaust. He would connect the wires for me, as I hated when the ignition failed and we had to waste time in making sure it didn't explode in our faces. As I grew older, we kept building our rockets to be bigger than the last. They would fly longer, fly higher, and get smaller in the sky before deploying their parachute and drifting back to the ground. I remember clearly that last rocket we launched together. It was our biggest yet, carefully designed to fly higher than ever before, although honestly, we just made everything huge. We set it on the pad with high hopes that it would wow us with its strength. So, it was set up on the pad, the ignition was wired, and we could barely be seen hiding behind a brick wall, the red stones singed from past launches. We counted down the ignition, then watched as the rocket disappeared from sight. It soared higher than we could have imagined, reaching the fluffy white clouds above. But then, it hit a cloud, and the cloud shattered. Shards of glass fell from the sky, leaving a dark hexagonal hole in the sky. The rocket's parachute failed and it dove back to Earth, burying itself deep into the dirt. That didn't matter much though. We weren't going to ever try to fly it again. In fact, this was the last time we would be launching anything at the sky.
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
Secret: Leaving in a Snowstorm
Another day of Literary Buffs!
This day we put 'secrets' (things that sound cool out without context) into a bucket and swapped them around. The one I got was:
"I climbed a mountain in a blizzard in a storm & never returned"
Here's what I did for that:
I wasn't prepared to leave. I just wanted life to continue the same way that it had for so long. But the foreign lords wanted war, so war was forced upon us. I felt so young, even though I had to grow up so fast anyways. I could have stayed and adapted. But no, I wasn't able to handle it correctly. My poor Mom, she had to deal with my protests and tantrums when there was nothing that she could have done to protect me, even if she had agreed. So I had to take matters into m own hands. In the middle of the night, fighting against the gusting winds and freezing snow, I set the scene: blood and meat from a rabbit strewn across the lawn; an area compressed down where a struggle could have occurred; and bear prints in the snow leading to and away from the house. There wasn't actually a bear, but my mother never got to know that. She never got to know what truly happened to me. On that night so long ago, I climbed a mountain in a blizzard and never returned.
This day we put 'secrets' (things that sound cool out without context) into a bucket and swapped them around. The one I got was:
"I climbed a mountain in a blizzard in a storm & never returned"
Here's what I did for that:
I wasn't prepared to leave. I just wanted life to continue the same way that it had for so long. But the foreign lords wanted war, so war was forced upon us. I felt so young, even though I had to grow up so fast anyways. I could have stayed and adapted. But no, I wasn't able to handle it correctly. My poor Mom, she had to deal with my protests and tantrums when there was nothing that she could have done to protect me, even if she had agreed. So I had to take matters into m own hands. In the middle of the night, fighting against the gusting winds and freezing snow, I set the scene: blood and meat from a rabbit strewn across the lawn; an area compressed down where a struggle could have occurred; and bear prints in the snow leading to and away from the house. There wasn't actually a bear, but my mother never got to know that. She never got to know what truly happened to me. On that night so long ago, I climbed a mountain in a blizzard and never returned.
Tuesday, January 22, 2019
Cecilia and her Tears
I tried going to another writing club today. It felt a lot better than the other one, I think I like their sense of humor more than the other club. As a prompt, we picked a random book, random page, random line, and used that to write a story:
"Cecilia was not worth a single one of her tears"
I of course went dark, so here's the story:
Nobody really knew whether Cecilia was telling the truth or not. Her emotions were strong and passionate, but her story didn't quite follow. She might have forgotten from shock, or brain injury, or purposely tried to lose the horrible guilt. We all expected this though. The long nights spent out, returning home only after the sun began to rise. Her wild friendships with wild people, building off of each others energies. That night just happened to be the one. Driving along the highway, headed out to whatever was next, music blaring and laughs of ex-strangers flying out the open windows. Cecilia claimed that they were the one in her lane. But, she also claims a lot of things. Either way, the car wouldn't speed along any more highways, the ex-strangers were now ex-people, and Cecilia would have an experience she would forever regret. The tears didn't convince us. Whether or not they were real, Cecilia was not worth a single one of her tears.
"Cecilia was not worth a single one of her tears"
I of course went dark, so here's the story:
Nobody really knew whether Cecilia was telling the truth or not. Her emotions were strong and passionate, but her story didn't quite follow. She might have forgotten from shock, or brain injury, or purposely tried to lose the horrible guilt. We all expected this though. The long nights spent out, returning home only after the sun began to rise. Her wild friendships with wild people, building off of each others energies. That night just happened to be the one. Driving along the highway, headed out to whatever was next, music blaring and laughs of ex-strangers flying out the open windows. Cecilia claimed that they were the one in her lane. But, she also claims a lot of things. Either way, the car wouldn't speed along any more highways, the ex-strangers were now ex-people, and Cecilia would have an experience she would forever regret. The tears didn't convince us. Whether or not they were real, Cecilia was not worth a single one of her tears.
Monday, December 3, 2018
End of NaNoWriMo
Okay, it's over! Well, the story isn't, but the month is!
I definitely missed the mark, but that's okay! I'm intensely happy with how much I wrote.
I wrote 23,240 words out of the planned 50,000.
It's only half, but still, 23 thousand words! The story isn't done yet, so in the next little while I'm going to finish it, edit it, and hopefully post it here. I really like the story and I'm so glad that I did this.
I definitely missed the mark, but that's okay! I'm intensely happy with how much I wrote.
I wrote 23,240 words out of the planned 50,000.
It's only half, but still, 23 thousand words! The story isn't done yet, so in the next little while I'm going to finish it, edit it, and hopefully post it here. I really like the story and I'm so glad that I did this.
Wednesday, November 14, 2018
NaNoWriMo Progress
This Month I haven't been posting anything since I've been attempting to do NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month. It's been going surprisingly well, and I have about 15,000 words so far of a story that I'm actually really enjoying. I'm not sure if I want to post that much here, but maybe I will. Or, I might just link to a google doc of it, not sure yet. Either way, look out for it in the future!
Here's a little summary:
On a planet that doesn't spin, human life is forced to live at the mild equator, stuck between the harsh deserts and freezing glaciers in a permanent twilight. To expand their population, huge pipe systems are built to pump the extreme air across to the other side, creating small pockets of livable climate. But, when one of these pipes becomes blocked, the entire town begins to slowly freeze to death, trapped in a shrinking pocket of winter. They must seek out what's causing the block and destroy it before time runs out.
Here's a little summary:
On a planet that doesn't spin, human life is forced to live at the mild equator, stuck between the harsh deserts and freezing glaciers in a permanent twilight. To expand their population, huge pipe systems are built to pump the extreme air across to the other side, creating small pockets of livable climate. But, when one of these pipes becomes blocked, the entire town begins to slowly freeze to death, trapped in a shrinking pocket of winter. They must seek out what's causing the block and destroy it before time runs out.
Thursday, October 18, 2018
Murder Mystery
I've been working on this one for a while (while waiting in lines, mostly) but I decided to finally finish it rather than going to the club today. It's kinda fun, but I'm not that good at cop dramas soo
The pale lights above flickered uncertainly, questioning the user below and prompting him to return home for the night. He had been at work for hours now, completely absorbed in the piles of paper in front of him.
Eyewitness accounts, scene photos, folders of possible suspects. There was a serial killer on the loose, and he seemed to be the only one who cared.
He flipped through a stack of folders, the accounts and history of the each death. He hadn't had time yet to read the most recent through, but a note on the top reported a summary: some old woman, out late, attacked between the street lights.
His eyes stopped on the next detail, trying to clear the fuzz to make sure he read it right. There had been a gun this time. Neighbors around had reported hearing shots, but the department had yet to find the gun or the original owner. The poor lady had gotten shot several times.
"My god, this is gruesome" Officer Jack declared. "They just keep getting worse and worse."
He didn't know what to expect now that the killer had located a gun. Didn't know where from either. This town had seemed pretty quiet until they had shown up.
He rubbed his eyes again, then closed the folder. It would have to wait until tomorrow. His mind was too cloudy to see the answer.
He pushed himself away from the desk, the rolling chair rocking backwards slightly. With a sigh, he heaved himself up to a standing position.
"See you tomorrow" He called out to the stack of papers, now lying in the dark, a pale shadow being cast with the moonlight streaming through the window.
The parking lot was empty except for his car and one other. Someone likely forgot it there for some reason or another. Or, were camped out, waiting for the station to open in the morning to file some useless complaint. The neighborhood was safe, but that meant people didn't understand the severity of what they should report. Noise complaints, ugly lawns, even looking at their house at all had once brought someone storming in to the office.
But those weren't anything compared to what was happening. Through a lot of persuasion and favor trading with the press, they had managed to keep the publicity to a minimum. They had issued a warning to stay inside at night and lock your doors, but there was no need for a mass panic. The finger pointing and false witnesses would just throw off their already muddled trail. It's better for them, and better for the town if they kept the news to themselves.
Pulling in to the parking lot the next morning, the empty car was still there from the previous night.
The office was full of hustle and bustle, the crew always finding ways to make themselves look busy. Only a few were probably actually looking in to the murders.
Already waiting at his desk was Mary, his partner in this mess of a case. She was old, but the only difference he could tell was that she was one of their best. Sure she could be a little slow, but who needed speed when you've got a trained eye capable of following any trail? Certainly not them, with the little actual information they had.
He had only pulled out the chair when she stopped him though. There was an urgency in her voice, and more youth than he remembered.
"We gotta go, there's been another one"
"Then why haven't I heard about..."
"It doesn't matter, there's a chance we could catch them if we're quick enough"
Jack didn't need any more than that, so the two were soon blazing down the road with Mary's guidance, the station setting up a crew to soon follow.
"Turn off the sirens" she ordered, "we don't want to scare him away"
The sirens whined down and Jack slowed the car as well, keeping their profile to a minimum.
A little further, then Mary held up a hand.
"Here. Turn off the engine and be as quiet as possible"
"Mary, what kind of report was this? They'll be on edge whether they know…"
"Just trust me, okay?" The tone in her voice wasn't angry, but almost… desperate. The tip must have been early this time; they were about to catch the killer before the act.
Slowly, the two crept around the corner to reveal an alley with a dramatic scene. A dirty man stood in the middle, cackling at a woman huddled in a ball next to a pipe sticking out of the wall. He seemed to be getting pleasure from the terror, as he laughed harder when waving a gun in her direction.
"My god, that has to be him. Mary, I'm going in"
He fully walked out from the corner and confronted the man with a powerful shout. The laughter suddenly stopped, as many nights worth of consequences had very quickly appeared pointing a gun in his direction.
The stolen gun fired a wild shot and missed, not focused enough to actually aim.
Jack did aim though. The gun dropped out of the man's hand, a trail of red droplets following along behind.
He kept the gun aimed, unwavering.
In short time, a crew from the station arrived and took over the scene. They took away the killer and helped the poor victim. There didn't seem to be any physical damage, but the extreme terror was enough to cause some severe psychological damage.
Eventually, the team resolved almost everything at the scene, allowing Jack to pack up and return to the station.
Mary was already there, sitting in his chair, looking a little upset.
"Mary, you are amazing. I can't figure out how you did it. Nobody else had heard anything, yet you knew exactly what to do. I don't know what I would do without you."
"Well, Jack, I'm afraid you're going to have to figure that out pretty quick. You were a great partner."
"Wait, what do you mean?" He asked to the empty chair.
He looked around to find her, but she had completely vanished.
"Mary?"
A cool breeze blew from somewhere in the otherwise stale office, nudging the case file that still lay open on Jack's desk.
He never had checked who the last case was.
He checked the sticky note, an old woman shot multiple times.
He opened the folder and was greeted with a picture of Mary, lying in the road, between two streetlights, blood spilling out of several bullet holes in her chest.
The pale lights above flickered uncertainly, questioning the user below and prompting him to return home for the night. He had been at work for hours now, completely absorbed in the piles of paper in front of him.
Eyewitness accounts, scene photos, folders of possible suspects. There was a serial killer on the loose, and he seemed to be the only one who cared.
He flipped through a stack of folders, the accounts and history of the each death. He hadn't had time yet to read the most recent through, but a note on the top reported a summary: some old woman, out late, attacked between the street lights.
His eyes stopped on the next detail, trying to clear the fuzz to make sure he read it right. There had been a gun this time. Neighbors around had reported hearing shots, but the department had yet to find the gun or the original owner. The poor lady had gotten shot several times.
"My god, this is gruesome" Officer Jack declared. "They just keep getting worse and worse."
He didn't know what to expect now that the killer had located a gun. Didn't know where from either. This town had seemed pretty quiet until they had shown up.
He rubbed his eyes again, then closed the folder. It would have to wait until tomorrow. His mind was too cloudy to see the answer.
He pushed himself away from the desk, the rolling chair rocking backwards slightly. With a sigh, he heaved himself up to a standing position.
"See you tomorrow" He called out to the stack of papers, now lying in the dark, a pale shadow being cast with the moonlight streaming through the window.
The parking lot was empty except for his car and one other. Someone likely forgot it there for some reason or another. Or, were camped out, waiting for the station to open in the morning to file some useless complaint. The neighborhood was safe, but that meant people didn't understand the severity of what they should report. Noise complaints, ugly lawns, even looking at their house at all had once brought someone storming in to the office.
But those weren't anything compared to what was happening. Through a lot of persuasion and favor trading with the press, they had managed to keep the publicity to a minimum. They had issued a warning to stay inside at night and lock your doors, but there was no need for a mass panic. The finger pointing and false witnesses would just throw off their already muddled trail. It's better for them, and better for the town if they kept the news to themselves.
Pulling in to the parking lot the next morning, the empty car was still there from the previous night.
The office was full of hustle and bustle, the crew always finding ways to make themselves look busy. Only a few were probably actually looking in to the murders.
Already waiting at his desk was Mary, his partner in this mess of a case. She was old, but the only difference he could tell was that she was one of their best. Sure she could be a little slow, but who needed speed when you've got a trained eye capable of following any trail? Certainly not them, with the little actual information they had.
He had only pulled out the chair when she stopped him though. There was an urgency in her voice, and more youth than he remembered.
"We gotta go, there's been another one"
"Then why haven't I heard about..."
"It doesn't matter, there's a chance we could catch them if we're quick enough"
Jack didn't need any more than that, so the two were soon blazing down the road with Mary's guidance, the station setting up a crew to soon follow.
"Turn off the sirens" she ordered, "we don't want to scare him away"
The sirens whined down and Jack slowed the car as well, keeping their profile to a minimum.
A little further, then Mary held up a hand.
"Here. Turn off the engine and be as quiet as possible"
"Mary, what kind of report was this? They'll be on edge whether they know…"
"Just trust me, okay?" The tone in her voice wasn't angry, but almost… desperate. The tip must have been early this time; they were about to catch the killer before the act.
Slowly, the two crept around the corner to reveal an alley with a dramatic scene. A dirty man stood in the middle, cackling at a woman huddled in a ball next to a pipe sticking out of the wall. He seemed to be getting pleasure from the terror, as he laughed harder when waving a gun in her direction.
"My god, that has to be him. Mary, I'm going in"
He fully walked out from the corner and confronted the man with a powerful shout. The laughter suddenly stopped, as many nights worth of consequences had very quickly appeared pointing a gun in his direction.
The stolen gun fired a wild shot and missed, not focused enough to actually aim.
Jack did aim though. The gun dropped out of the man's hand, a trail of red droplets following along behind.
He kept the gun aimed, unwavering.
In short time, a crew from the station arrived and took over the scene. They took away the killer and helped the poor victim. There didn't seem to be any physical damage, but the extreme terror was enough to cause some severe psychological damage.
Eventually, the team resolved almost everything at the scene, allowing Jack to pack up and return to the station.
Mary was already there, sitting in his chair, looking a little upset.
"Mary, you are amazing. I can't figure out how you did it. Nobody else had heard anything, yet you knew exactly what to do. I don't know what I would do without you."
"Well, Jack, I'm afraid you're going to have to figure that out pretty quick. You were a great partner."
"Wait, what do you mean?" He asked to the empty chair.
He looked around to find her, but she had completely vanished.
"Mary?"
A cool breeze blew from somewhere in the otherwise stale office, nudging the case file that still lay open on Jack's desk.
He never had checked who the last case was.
He checked the sticky note, an old woman shot multiple times.
He opened the folder and was greeted with a picture of Mary, lying in the road, between two streetlights, blood spilling out of several bullet holes in her chest.
Friday, October 5, 2018
Fall Poetry
This week's writing club focused on Fall Poetry. Here are two little things I did:
High in the tree,
absorbing the sun,
feeling the cold blow by,
the sun going down,
the days getting shorter,
the wind getting harder.
Day and day,
the life draining away,
a brilliant green,
an orange,
then brown,
the colors fading,
stem withering,
friends dying
The wind never ceases,
tugging at the frail connection,
tugging at the last hope,
tugging at the last days of splendor
tugging the body through the sky
now tugging towards the littered ground below
Flat on the ground,
absorbing the dew,
feeling a machine blow,
the children coming out,
the days getting better,
the laughter getting louder
The swirl of the leaves,
as they fall to the ground,
The colors of trees,
as they shift all to browns,
Tiny pumpkins and ghosts,
a delicious ham roast,
cool, peaceful weather,
and family coming together
High in the tree,
absorbing the sun,
feeling the cold blow by,
the sun going down,
the days getting shorter,
the wind getting harder.
Day and day,
the life draining away,
a brilliant green,
an orange,
then brown,
the colors fading,
stem withering,
friends dying
The wind never ceases,
tugging at the frail connection,
tugging at the last hope,
tugging at the last days of splendor
tugging the body through the sky
now tugging towards the littered ground below
Flat on the ground,
absorbing the dew,
feeling a machine blow,
the children coming out,
the days getting better,
the laughter getting louder
And a second little one:
as they fall to the ground,
The colors of trees,
as they shift all to browns,
Tiny pumpkins and ghosts,
a delicious ham roast,
cool, peaceful weather,
and family coming together
Thursday, September 6, 2018
Prompt Generator
These two stories were written from sentences produced by an online prompt generator. The sentences I was given are in bold. The first one, I used all three unrelated prompts, and the second I only used one of the three given.
If I could change one thing, it would be killing Rambone.
His yappy bark, going on and on and on throughout the night. I just couldn't stand it.
Rambone was their newest addition. A small yorkie that loved to hear himself speak. While most dogs barked on and off throughout the day, Rambone was always barking. Even the ladies knew this, as they locked him outside. As if that helped. His bark would echo its way into my house however it could, through closed windows, thick walls, and what felt like magic as well.
Ever since we moved into this neighborhood, I haven't been able to get a good night's sleep. It was either him or the other dog Joel.
Joel was known for stealing sheep. All night long, he would go on and on.
It was those old ladies whose backyard touched ours. They were a foster home and were constantly bringing in new pets as the old ones were adopted. New pets who hadn't yet learned how to be quiet.
Now, since I'm new in the neighborhood, I guess they were trying to be extra friendly to me. Because one day while tending my garden, one of them came over to talk with me.
She went through all of the niceties that society forces upon us, but I could tell that she was hoping to talk about something else.
"If you ever need a little extra help" I offered, opening the gates far wider than I should have.
From here, I was exposed to an absolutely heart wrenching tale (or at least thats what it was supposed to be) about how she was leaving for the weekend and needed someone to watch her little horde of dogs.
I stupidly agreed.
Well, it was more stupid of them to ask me. It was an awful choice really. Because they left, I went to bed, Rambone began his nightly howls, and well, Rambone quickly stopped his nightly howls.
People trust me with their pets; they shouldn't.
I'm cursed. I just know it. There's no other reasonable explanation for these nightmares to keep coming back.
They were horrific too, leading me from a regular dream down into madness of pain and terror. I try to fight back, to wake up, to not sleep, but my body breaks down and forces me into slumber each day. I can't avoid them.
They've begun to repeat, and I don't know what that means. Is it a chance to make better choices? Can I beat these dreams? Or is my curse just getting tired.
Last night I dreamt I was fighting vampires again.
It began with one, who I managed to hide from. But it bit my friends. And they bit my family. And before long, everyone I knew had surrounded my house in swooping black robes and flashing their pointed teeth.
I had barred the door, but they smashed through the windows, the cuts in their arms oozing a sort of blackened blood. I ran upstairs and pushed a dresser across the path, but they managed to get through the upstairs windows as well. In the end, I was trapped cowering in my closet, trying to save myself from these beasts. But it wasn't enough. They ripped the door off of it's mounting and grabbed me by the arms.
I woke up screaming and thrashing around violently.
The other vampires in the room woke up at the noise and looked at me.
I smiled sheepishly, just barely showing my fangs.
"Sorry, just another dream"
If I could change one thing, it would be killing Rambone.
His yappy bark, going on and on and on throughout the night. I just couldn't stand it.
Rambone was their newest addition. A small yorkie that loved to hear himself speak. While most dogs barked on and off throughout the day, Rambone was always barking. Even the ladies knew this, as they locked him outside. As if that helped. His bark would echo its way into my house however it could, through closed windows, thick walls, and what felt like magic as well.
Ever since we moved into this neighborhood, I haven't been able to get a good night's sleep. It was either him or the other dog Joel.
Joel was known for stealing sheep. All night long, he would go on and on.
It was those old ladies whose backyard touched ours. They were a foster home and were constantly bringing in new pets as the old ones were adopted. New pets who hadn't yet learned how to be quiet.
Now, since I'm new in the neighborhood, I guess they were trying to be extra friendly to me. Because one day while tending my garden, one of them came over to talk with me.
She went through all of the niceties that society forces upon us, but I could tell that she was hoping to talk about something else.
"If you ever need a little extra help" I offered, opening the gates far wider than I should have.
From here, I was exposed to an absolutely heart wrenching tale (or at least thats what it was supposed to be) about how she was leaving for the weekend and needed someone to watch her little horde of dogs.
I stupidly agreed.
Well, it was more stupid of them to ask me. It was an awful choice really. Because they left, I went to bed, Rambone began his nightly howls, and well, Rambone quickly stopped his nightly howls.
People trust me with their pets; they shouldn't.
I'm cursed. I just know it. There's no other reasonable explanation for these nightmares to keep coming back.
They were horrific too, leading me from a regular dream down into madness of pain and terror. I try to fight back, to wake up, to not sleep, but my body breaks down and forces me into slumber each day. I can't avoid them.
They've begun to repeat, and I don't know what that means. Is it a chance to make better choices? Can I beat these dreams? Or is my curse just getting tired.
Last night I dreamt I was fighting vampires again.
It began with one, who I managed to hide from. But it bit my friends. And they bit my family. And before long, everyone I knew had surrounded my house in swooping black robes and flashing their pointed teeth.
I had barred the door, but they smashed through the windows, the cuts in their arms oozing a sort of blackened blood. I ran upstairs and pushed a dresser across the path, but they managed to get through the upstairs windows as well. In the end, I was trapped cowering in my closet, trying to save myself from these beasts. But it wasn't enough. They ripped the door off of it's mounting and grabbed me by the arms.
I woke up screaming and thrashing around violently.
The other vampires in the room woke up at the noise and looked at me.
I smiled sheepishly, just barely showing my fangs.
"Sorry, just another dream"
Thursday, August 30, 2018
A Night to Remember
Trying out a new writing club, we did a circle story to get to know people better. It involved each person adding on as much as they could in 1 minute to whatever the previous people had written.
Here is the original:
The night that he ran away was the night that she got hit by the bus. Little did he know that his first act of independence would be her undoing. He had never planned for anyone to get hurt. He had believed that nobody would have even noticed he was gone. For once in his life, he just wanted to feel alive, to feel like a person. It wasn't like he hated his mother, and it certainly had never been that he wanted her dead! The news only reached him that next morning
And here is my revised version:
The night he ran away was the night her heart stopped. His first act of independence was her undoing.
I just want one night on my own. I just want one night to be special for me.
He had never planned for anyone to get hurt, especially not her. He hadn't even believed anyone would notice he was gone.
I just want to feel alive for once. Is that really too much to ask for?
Day after day, he had sat in her room. Sat there watching her limp body lie in the bed.
She isn't going to wake up tonight. I never do anything anyway.
Her condition was worsening, and he had known that.
I want to wander beneath the moon and the stars. I want my childhood back.
When he had closed the door to leave, the door to his old life was also shut.
I'm doing it. I'll be quick. She'll be fine for an hour.
He knew it had been a mistake when there were doctors rushing in and out of her room.
She isn't getting better. I know they only say that to comfort me. I wish they would stop, it doesn't work.
He was now free from one chain, but another had clamped onto a different part of his life. His legs were free, but now his mind would never be his own.
Okay. Let's do this. What's the worst that could happen?
Here is the original:
The night that he ran away was the night that she got hit by the bus. Little did he know that his first act of independence would be her undoing. He had never planned for anyone to get hurt. He had believed that nobody would have even noticed he was gone. For once in his life, he just wanted to feel alive, to feel like a person. It wasn't like he hated his mother, and it certainly had never been that he wanted her dead! The news only reached him that next morning
And here is my revised version:
The night he ran away was the night her heart stopped. His first act of independence was her undoing.
I just want one night on my own. I just want one night to be special for me.
He had never planned for anyone to get hurt, especially not her. He hadn't even believed anyone would notice he was gone.
I just want to feel alive for once. Is that really too much to ask for?
Day after day, he had sat in her room. Sat there watching her limp body lie in the bed.
She isn't going to wake up tonight. I never do anything anyway.
Her condition was worsening, and he had known that.
I want to wander beneath the moon and the stars. I want my childhood back.
When he had closed the door to leave, the door to his old life was also shut.
I'm doing it. I'll be quick. She'll be fine for an hour.
He knew it had been a mistake when there were doctors rushing in and out of her room.
She isn't getting better. I know they only say that to comfort me. I wish they would stop, it doesn't work.
He was now free from one chain, but another had clamped onto a different part of his life. His legs were free, but now his mind would never be his own.
Okay. Let's do this. What's the worst that could happen?
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