Real Fiction; Kindled Skin
Title: Kindled Skin
Date: Written in June 2007
Purpose: A concrete imagery exercise for my Creative Writing class
A/N: I realize a lot of the imagery is wacky and kind of out there, but it's supposed to be that way. :)
She floats on the edge of a cliff, gazing down at the violet swirls below. As she smiles, a sense of comfort settles over her at the sound of the waves. Never before has she felt so happy, so beautiful, or so free. She lifts up her thin arms, one foot dangling delicately over the rocky fortress. A gentle breeze drifts across her skin; soft, luminous, perfect skin. It takes only this slight caress to push her and then she is flying, flying…suddenly the waves below turn orange and lick up at her...and she is falling, falling...
She wakes up. The sheets on her bed are suffocating; she kicks them off of her as if she’s fighting a vicious beast. Someone has opened the curtains in her bedroom, beckoning the sun’s scorching rays to melt through the windows and fry her skin. A harsh cry wrenches its way out of her throat and she dashes to the windows, snapping the curtains shut like a crocodile snaps its teeth. Her breathing is heavy - pant, pant, pant - and it's as if she’s run a mile and not just three feet.
She stands there, the cloud of darkness hiding her from her worst fear. A few seconds pass in the infinite abyss of time and everything seems all right again, but then, as a cloud shifts in the sky on a clear day, her blanket of black moves ever so slightly. The faintest of light sneaks in like a thief, stealing her solitude. She can see the silhouette of herself etched across the wall in gray shadows and it reminds her of those paintings ancient men used to scratch on the walls of their caves.
The muscled bomb inside her begins to speed up. Tick, tick is the sound she hears, ringing in her ears and through her skull. The room becomes lighter and lighter despite her unspoken pleas. The space around her glows with an apologetic sorrow and still she is unmoving, though she knows what is about to happen. Her eyes flutter shut the way a butterfly brings its wings together to fly, except she’s not flying anymore. Her dream has ended and now she’s faced with reality.
Though her eyes are closed she can still feel the room brightening around her. Her heart is pounding harder than ever - tick, tick, tick - even though her chest feels hollow. Tears hover at the corners of her eyelids just waiting to fall, but she doesn’t let them. Not until the room is fully bathed in sunrise does she allow those pearl-esque tears to stream down her face. A full-length mirror stands against the wall, her incandescent reflection glaring back at her.
The face in the mirror is a grilled steak mess, the black scars lining diagonally across her face. Hardly any of it is recognizable, this disgustingly charred face of hers. Her arms hang limply at her side, leopard spotted burns tatooed into the flesh. Only a few spots of pink flesh are visible, and they mock her, reminding her of how she used to look before the accident.
It had happened on a skyless night two months ago, when she was vivacious and carefree, living her life in a whirl of parties, boys, and designer clothes. She was driving back from a party, the alcohol she had consumed still swishing inside of her. Laughing gaily, she was dancing at the top of her high, not paying attention to the road in front of her. Then, all of a sudden - a scream from the backseat, spheres of blinding yellow in front of her, and a crash.
But it hadn’t stopped there. Somehow in the midst of metal twisting and glass breaking, the car rolled over (how many times she can’t be sure). When it had stopped, she struggled to release herself from the prison of her seatbelt, but was unable to. The next thing she knew, the front of the car caught on fire, orange-hot flames lighting it like the tip of a cigarette. Trapped inside the metal doughnut, she had been helpless as the bubble of smoke choked her and the blistering heat danced up - crackle, crackle, crackle - to meet her.
The salt from her tears burns her skin and she hastily wipes them away. There’s no point in crying, no point in doing anything anymore. If she cries, it hurts. If she smiles, her face stretches grotesquely and she gives off the distinct impression of a striped cat. There are no parties for her anymore, no boys who are interested in her, and no amount of clothes could cover up the marks on her body.
Now she has only her dreams; dreams of escape and release, dreams of cliffs and water waiting to welcome her as she lingers over the edge.
*
Loved it? Hated it? I'd love to know. :)
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SEE the complete list of all the writing I've done. Includes my own fiction/poems, plus fanfic.
Date: Written in June 2007
Purpose: A concrete imagery exercise for my Creative Writing class
A/N: I realize a lot of the imagery is wacky and kind of out there, but it's supposed to be that way. :)
She floats on the edge of a cliff, gazing down at the violet swirls below. As she smiles, a sense of comfort settles over her at the sound of the waves. Never before has she felt so happy, so beautiful, or so free. She lifts up her thin arms, one foot dangling delicately over the rocky fortress. A gentle breeze drifts across her skin; soft, luminous, perfect skin. It takes only this slight caress to push her and then she is flying, flying…suddenly the waves below turn orange and lick up at her...and she is falling, falling...
She wakes up. The sheets on her bed are suffocating; she kicks them off of her as if she’s fighting a vicious beast. Someone has opened the curtains in her bedroom, beckoning the sun’s scorching rays to melt through the windows and fry her skin. A harsh cry wrenches its way out of her throat and she dashes to the windows, snapping the curtains shut like a crocodile snaps its teeth. Her breathing is heavy - pant, pant, pant - and it's as if she’s run a mile and not just three feet.
She stands there, the cloud of darkness hiding her from her worst fear. A few seconds pass in the infinite abyss of time and everything seems all right again, but then, as a cloud shifts in the sky on a clear day, her blanket of black moves ever so slightly. The faintest of light sneaks in like a thief, stealing her solitude. She can see the silhouette of herself etched across the wall in gray shadows and it reminds her of those paintings ancient men used to scratch on the walls of their caves.
The muscled bomb inside her begins to speed up. Tick, tick is the sound she hears, ringing in her ears and through her skull. The room becomes lighter and lighter despite her unspoken pleas. The space around her glows with an apologetic sorrow and still she is unmoving, though she knows what is about to happen. Her eyes flutter shut the way a butterfly brings its wings together to fly, except she’s not flying anymore. Her dream has ended and now she’s faced with reality.
Though her eyes are closed she can still feel the room brightening around her. Her heart is pounding harder than ever - tick, tick, tick - even though her chest feels hollow. Tears hover at the corners of her eyelids just waiting to fall, but she doesn’t let them. Not until the room is fully bathed in sunrise does she allow those pearl-esque tears to stream down her face. A full-length mirror stands against the wall, her incandescent reflection glaring back at her.
The face in the mirror is a grilled steak mess, the black scars lining diagonally across her face. Hardly any of it is recognizable, this disgustingly charred face of hers. Her arms hang limply at her side, leopard spotted burns tatooed into the flesh. Only a few spots of pink flesh are visible, and they mock her, reminding her of how she used to look before the accident.
It had happened on a skyless night two months ago, when she was vivacious and carefree, living her life in a whirl of parties, boys, and designer clothes. She was driving back from a party, the alcohol she had consumed still swishing inside of her. Laughing gaily, she was dancing at the top of her high, not paying attention to the road in front of her. Then, all of a sudden - a scream from the backseat, spheres of blinding yellow in front of her, and a crash.
But it hadn’t stopped there. Somehow in the midst of metal twisting and glass breaking, the car rolled over (how many times she can’t be sure). When it had stopped, she struggled to release herself from the prison of her seatbelt, but was unable to. The next thing she knew, the front of the car caught on fire, orange-hot flames lighting it like the tip of a cigarette. Trapped inside the metal doughnut, she had been helpless as the bubble of smoke choked her and the blistering heat danced up - crackle, crackle, crackle - to meet her.
The salt from her tears burns her skin and she hastily wipes them away. There’s no point in crying, no point in doing anything anymore. If she cries, it hurts. If she smiles, her face stretches grotesquely and she gives off the distinct impression of a striped cat. There are no parties for her anymore, no boys who are interested in her, and no amount of clothes could cover up the marks on her body.
Now she has only her dreams; dreams of escape and release, dreams of cliffs and water waiting to welcome her as she lingers over the edge.
*
Loved it? Hated it? I'd love to know. :)
FRIEND this journal for updates.
SEE the complete list of all the writing I've done. Includes my own fiction/poems, plus fanfic.