On snowflakes . . .
Okay, I think I fixed the piece of writing that was bugging me last night . . . though I've still barely made a start on the prompt story. I think it's finally starting to spark for me, though. So maybe I'll make progress . . . .
Should be interesting to see where this story goes, it keeps shifting into something else every time I pick it up. Well, I'll just have to hold on for the ride . . . and then we'll see what sort of monster onnawufei created when she gave me the prompt ;)
It went from being intended to be a story in modern times to fantasy. But I think I write fantasy best anyway. Or at any rate it comes easier. I like world building.
The snow was falling harder now than it had been in the morning, in blankets of snowflakes and ice which were deceptively beautiful. They could easily kill a man, covering him as he slept his way to death. Aerik knew this, and so he also knew it was not a good idea to give in to the drowsiness slowly creeping over him, but he had also given up long before he staggered into the snow drift.
"Beautiful," he whispered to no one in particular, gazing up at the snowflakes that were slowly covering his body.
The cold had begun to numb him, and that was a blessing in itself because he could no longer feel the wound in his side. He supposed there were far worse ways to die. It would likely be either the cold or the blood loss that got him in the end, but it would at least be painless. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the cold of each tiny snowflake seeming to kiss his cheeks even as the cool air burned his lungs. It was more of a welcome than he had received in some time, which, he reflected, was really quite sad.
Aerik stopped fighting the drowsiness, letting unconsciousness overtake him with a sigh. His very last thought was to wonder just who would find his body out here in the cold and if they would just leave him here for scavengers. Probably, it was not like he was valuable enough to afford a proper burial. He was not awake when the winds picked up, sending snowflakes swirling about him and throwing up snow from the ground till he was obscured from view. And then his body was gone, leaving only a vague outline of his body in the snow and blood, like the imprint of a fallen snow angel.
Aerik was prone to twitching as he woke, as he slowly passed through that half state that is neither waking nor dreaming. This time he came awake suddenly from one of his twitches, a cry of pain on his lips and the nerves on the left side of his body on fire. It was only a few minutes later that he remembered being stabbed there, and then staggering away only to collapse in the snow. Now he was somewhere warm and wrapped in blankets, if it were not for the pain he would be quite comfortable. As his head began to clear he wondered where he was.
He made to shift off the bed, deciding that no amount of pondering was going to procure answers for his questions. However, his wound quickly stopped him, twinging painfully as his movements pulled at it. He doubled over, clutching his side as he let out a low grunt. When his hand came away faintly red and he frowned. The wound had started to bleed again and had soaked through the dressings that had been wrapped around his chest-and just when precisely had those gotten there anyway? He cursed faintly and settled back upon the bed. He supposed that he was going nowhere anytime soon.
He let out a sigh and stared at the ceiling, narrowing his eyes when he noticed something peculiar. It was as if the ceiling sparkled as he watched the light dance upon it, almost like someone had strewn glitter across it. He blinked a few times, but it was still sparkling at him. It appeared it was no illusion, unless he was far sicker than he felt. The effect on the ceiling looked familiar, though he could not quite recall where he would have ever seen such a thing before. Not even the most gaudy of the nobles for whom he had once played ever thought to go so far as sparkly ceilings, though he was sure that was simply because they had not yet thought of it. Aerik stared at the ceiling pensively for a while longer before he realized it reminded him of the way snow reflected the light. Perhaps this was what happened when you laid in the snow too long, he reflected wryly, you started to see it everywhere. He hoped not, even if it might explain the phenomena of the ceiling. He would like to think he at least retained his sanity when he had nothing else.
At least the writing itself is no longer driving me up a wall. For now, at least.
Should be interesting to see where this story goes, it keeps shifting into something else every time I pick it up. Well, I'll just have to hold on for the ride . . . and then we'll see what sort of monster onnawufei created when she gave me the prompt ;)
It went from being intended to be a story in modern times to fantasy. But I think I write fantasy best anyway. Or at any rate it comes easier. I like world building.
The snow was falling harder now than it had been in the morning, in blankets of snowflakes and ice which were deceptively beautiful. They could easily kill a man, covering him as he slept his way to death. Aerik knew this, and so he also knew it was not a good idea to give in to the drowsiness slowly creeping over him, but he had also given up long before he staggered into the snow drift.
"Beautiful," he whispered to no one in particular, gazing up at the snowflakes that were slowly covering his body.
The cold had begun to numb him, and that was a blessing in itself because he could no longer feel the wound in his side. He supposed there were far worse ways to die. It would likely be either the cold or the blood loss that got him in the end, but it would at least be painless. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the cold of each tiny snowflake seeming to kiss his cheeks even as the cool air burned his lungs. It was more of a welcome than he had received in some time, which, he reflected, was really quite sad.
Aerik stopped fighting the drowsiness, letting unconsciousness overtake him with a sigh. His very last thought was to wonder just who would find his body out here in the cold and if they would just leave him here for scavengers. Probably, it was not like he was valuable enough to afford a proper burial. He was not awake when the winds picked up, sending snowflakes swirling about him and throwing up snow from the ground till he was obscured from view. And then his body was gone, leaving only a vague outline of his body in the snow and blood, like the imprint of a fallen snow angel.
Aerik was prone to twitching as he woke, as he slowly passed through that half state that is neither waking nor dreaming. This time he came awake suddenly from one of his twitches, a cry of pain on his lips and the nerves on the left side of his body on fire. It was only a few minutes later that he remembered being stabbed there, and then staggering away only to collapse in the snow. Now he was somewhere warm and wrapped in blankets, if it were not for the pain he would be quite comfortable. As his head began to clear he wondered where he was.
He made to shift off the bed, deciding that no amount of pondering was going to procure answers for his questions. However, his wound quickly stopped him, twinging painfully as his movements pulled at it. He doubled over, clutching his side as he let out a low grunt. When his hand came away faintly red and he frowned. The wound had started to bleed again and had soaked through the dressings that had been wrapped around his chest-and just when precisely had those gotten there anyway? He cursed faintly and settled back upon the bed. He supposed that he was going nowhere anytime soon.
He let out a sigh and stared at the ceiling, narrowing his eyes when he noticed something peculiar. It was as if the ceiling sparkled as he watched the light dance upon it, almost like someone had strewn glitter across it. He blinked a few times, but it was still sparkling at him. It appeared it was no illusion, unless he was far sicker than he felt. The effect on the ceiling looked familiar, though he could not quite recall where he would have ever seen such a thing before. Not even the most gaudy of the nobles for whom he had once played ever thought to go so far as sparkly ceilings, though he was sure that was simply because they had not yet thought of it. Aerik stared at the ceiling pensively for a while longer before he realized it reminded him of the way snow reflected the light. Perhaps this was what happened when you laid in the snow too long, he reflected wryly, you started to see it everywhere. He hoped not, even if it might explain the phenomena of the ceiling. He would like to think he at least retained his sanity when he had nothing else.
At least the writing itself is no longer driving me up a wall. For now, at least.