What is this I see before me? Fic?!
So, I've taken initiative and written something. Go me! I'm anxious about the ending, but I can't think of anything else to do with it. Argh. I wish I was a better writer... ((Must persevere!))
Here's a sample, there's more under the cut.
My final days pour through a sieve, as though the fates could no longer be bothered to sort Monday from Friday with ancient fingers.
My final days pour through a sieve, as though the fates could no longer be bothered to sort Monday from Friday with ancient fingers. My double-crossing body acts as my compass towards the end. Every awakening finds my body more unwilling to belong to me. The hands before me write pictures in the air, murals I cannot perceive. I try to speak one morning, only to realize that from my lips come words without my permission. I am left to sit and watch as my laboring tongue puzzles out words in an impossible language. My mind refuses to release me from this wretched incarceration. I am not allowed the bliss of death or the eternal sleep of princesses. No dashing prince is ready with a kiss on his lips to save me from my poison apple. No. I am the helpless bystander, watching the Titanic sink, its passengers’ expressions encased in unforgiving ice. I watch in horror as the atomic bombs tear Hiroshima apart. Who will save the spectator, when the victims are so clearly in front of them? Who, will save me?
Here's a sample, there's more under the cut.
My final days pour through a sieve, as though the fates could no longer be bothered to sort Monday from Friday with ancient fingers.
My final days pour through a sieve, as though the fates could no longer be bothered to sort Monday from Friday with ancient fingers. My double-crossing body acts as my compass towards the end. Every awakening finds my body more unwilling to belong to me. The hands before me write pictures in the air, murals I cannot perceive. I try to speak one morning, only to realize that from my lips come words without my permission. I am left to sit and watch as my laboring tongue puzzles out words in an impossible language. My mind refuses to release me from this wretched incarceration. I am not allowed the bliss of death or the eternal sleep of princesses. No dashing prince is ready with a kiss on his lips to save me from my poison apple. No. I am the helpless bystander, watching the Titanic sink, its passengers’ expressions encased in unforgiving ice. I watch in horror as the atomic bombs tear Hiroshima apart. Who will save the spectator, when the victims are so clearly in front of them? Who, will save me?