Half-hearted NaNoWriMo

When she awoke, the apartment had been reduced to a black scar on the building's facade. Light bathed the destroyed scene, a soothing balm in the wake of terror. Her clothes were in tatters, but she hardly notices as all she knew was the shadow of her living nightmare. Her mind, still pulsing with a frenzied adrenaline told her to run. Anywhere. Quickly. And so she did.

Street blended into street until she was forced to take to the alleys, hiding from the blazing cacophony of the world. Her strength seemed to ebb and flow, first pushing her forward towards and unnamed destination, only to suddenly disappear, leaving her clinging weakly to the nearest rusted trash cans. All the while, she continued moving, guided by some internal compass that promised safety.

Eventually the city faded into the protected forest that had been its pride and joy. Her shoes had traded the grate of concrete for the soft crushing of leaves and grass, though she never would have known it. Delirium had long since taken her beyond conscious control, pulling her ever forward guided by instinct alone. Brown, green, purple, red. Streaks of color that barely registered were her only signs that she was not yet dead. And when the desperate spirit that had possessed her finally allowed her body collapse under the weight of her exhaustion, she faded into an iridescent nothingness and dreamed.

Tired...Again

I am...tired. Of life, liberty and everything.

I've felt alone, Abandoned. I've admitted my pain.  I met a man today who told me he was emotionally dead inside. And then, I realized, I was looking into the mirror.

I want to write more, but instead, there is a yearning in my wrists, for the skill of metal and the dance it can do across the thin membrane of my skin, freeing my blood to escape and release the poison that lies within.

Don't Want To Call You

I don't want to call you baby
because I don't love like a child
I'm not going to spoon feed you my story
or clean up your messes
I'm not going to hold you when I'm hurting
and lose sleep over your demands
I don't want to call you baby
because I don't want to love you like a child

I won't call you sweetie
Because sugarcoated nothings will still mean nothing
promises dipped in chocolate will still cause cavities
space between us filled with lies and rot
lollipop lies still make me sick
sucrose saturated statements
soon made profane by the pretense of affections
delicious confections made sour

NaNoWriMo 2014-Day 1

I'm doing it for real this year! The topic? Well, I'm sort of still working on that. Basically, it's about a heroine whose powers lie in the manipulation of basic laws of physics (i.e. Newton's Laws).

_____

Blackness jarred by violent bursts of light. Each one creating larger fissures in the quiet sanctuary. The blackness stretched to cover the gaps that each pulse created until it could no longer bridge the chasm. A loud tearing sound ripped the blackness apart and threw its occupant into an explosion of color. And color, in this world, meant pain.

Desperate to escape the feeling of anger fueled knuckles digging into her body, Akara tried to force her mind to return to that distant place where feeling could not exist, but it could not. Hot tears, broken pleas, saliva and blood mixed in an ancient concoction of misery.

He had lost control again. Yet, in this moment, neither one of them considered his inevitable apology or the fact that he never meant to do the things he did. All they could see if the flare of his rage and the reactive bursts of pain that exploded over her skin.  The overlap of bruises created an artificial tapestry over butterscotch skin, documenting regrets as well as any tattoo.

Akara's brain clung to whatever vestiges of sanity had survived the most recent attack, collecting those pieces for what little protection they could provide. Her breath, ever weakening, told the tale of her pain and, blow after blow, sang as a testament to her sacrifice.

It was not the first beating. Not the worst beating. But Akara swore to herself that it would be the last.


One fist followed another until, as with the first burst of life in an engine, a something burst inside Akara. Power long contained flowed from ancient storehouses, only multiplying in intensity once released from its prison. The being within Akara awoke to defend its temple, roaring defiance at all who would seek to destroy it. The small apartment that had once confined Akara's life to a barely livable space had ceased to exist, consumed in the flames of the unnatural flame that began to consume all that was temporal.