(no subject)
How it works: Post the first sentence (or three) from every WIP you're currently working on, even if it's very short. Then invite people to ask questions about your WIPs. With any luck, you'll get talking about writing, and the motivation to take that WIP one step closer to completion will appear as if by magic!
This started as a Ville fanfic, but I changed my mind and took him out. And I don't know why I keep picking Danes for my male characters.
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It is getting cold again in this city I call home. New York. I came here years ago to escape a past I still don't care to remember; branded as an outcast in a new Society and other tragedies I’m not letting surface . In a city this large, I could get lost in the millions of people who called it home.
The hard part about it wasn't leaving the family I didn't have, the comfortable home I didn't live in; no, the hard part about running from my life is the fact that no matter where I ran to, the pain and despair I was running from always dogged my steps, always clouded my mind. But at least here, here I could melt in with society. All the other freaks were here too.
I'm not saying I look like a freak; in fact, I've always been appreciated because of my looks. Pale skin, dark hair, vibrant green eyes... they would serve for a short time to make the only money I could- on a pole in a slimy club, frequented by seedy customers who more than once got more than what they wanted to pay for from me. I handled it in the winter, when it was coldest and I needed shelter, but in the summer time, I didn't answer to anyone. My home was a mattress in a back alley, my dining room any dumpster in New York. That's how I wanted to be; responsibility had proven to be a disaster when placed in my hands.
This started as a Ville fanfic, but I changed my mind and took him out. And I don't know why I keep picking Danes for my male characters.
____________________________________________
It is getting cold again in this city I call home. New York. I came here years ago to escape a past I still don't care to remember; branded as an outcast in a new Society and other tragedies I’m not letting surface . In a city this large, I could get lost in the millions of people who called it home.
The hard part about it wasn't leaving the family I didn't have, the comfortable home I didn't live in; no, the hard part about running from my life is the fact that no matter where I ran to, the pain and despair I was running from always dogged my steps, always clouded my mind. But at least here, here I could melt in with society. All the other freaks were here too.
I'm not saying I look like a freak; in fact, I've always been appreciated because of my looks. Pale skin, dark hair, vibrant green eyes... they would serve for a short time to make the only money I could- on a pole in a slimy club, frequented by seedy customers who more than once got more than what they wanted to pay for from me. I handled it in the winter, when it was coldest and I needed shelter, but in the summer time, I didn't answer to anyone. My home was a mattress in a back alley, my dining room any dumpster in New York. That's how I wanted to be; responsibility had proven to be a disaster when placed in my hands.