(no subject)
I have failed so hard at writing this weekend. It's not even funny. Though I did realize that the reason I'm having trouble with the Alicia Wright story is because I already kind of wrote it. So I think I'll just link to The Blue, Blue Sky and leave it at that. Because if I am able to crowbar anything out of my head it would be a lot like that, just with more tattoos and suicidal tendencies..
hiyacynth's brain really is amazing. And awesome.
But if I do manage to write it will probably go a little like this:
The rustle of raven's wings and the angel was gone. Alicia wanted to vomit, she wanted to scream, she wanted to hurl herself out the window and break on the ground beneath. It came back. It was always going to come back. She would never be free.
Her eye caught on the knife laying on her kitchen counter. Light gleamed off of the blade. She could see her hand picking it up, she could feel its familiar weight. Pushing it through her skin, through sinew and flesh, would hardly take any pressure at all. The red of her own blood burned the inside of her mind.
It would be so easy to take those few steps through the kitchen door, to lift it and be done. No more fear, no more panic clawing at the back of her throat.
She closed her eyes and breathed. As she opened them something white fluttered at the edge of her vision. She turned her head and watched the piece of paper softly settle onto her threadbare carpet. It layed there, waiting for her. Without thought, operating on pure instinct, she knelt and picked it up.
A symbol drawn in black burned across her eyes. She knew what she needed to do.
hiyacynth's brain really is amazing. And awesome.
But if I do manage to write it will probably go a little like this:
The rustle of raven's wings and the angel was gone. Alicia wanted to vomit, she wanted to scream, she wanted to hurl herself out the window and break on the ground beneath. It came back. It was always going to come back. She would never be free.
Her eye caught on the knife laying on her kitchen counter. Light gleamed off of the blade. She could see her hand picking it up, she could feel its familiar weight. Pushing it through her skin, through sinew and flesh, would hardly take any pressure at all. The red of her own blood burned the inside of her mind.
It would be so easy to take those few steps through the kitchen door, to lift it and be done. No more fear, no more panic clawing at the back of her throat.
She closed her eyes and breathed. As she opened them something white fluttered at the edge of her vision. She turned her head and watched the piece of paper softly settle onto her threadbare carpet. It layed there, waiting for her. Without thought, operating on pure instinct, she knelt and picked it up.
A symbol drawn in black burned across her eyes. She knew what she needed to do.