I'm a-sceered! (not really) Xþ~
Mmm, at least a bit worried. As many might already know, I've been banging my head against that reinforced wall called Writer's Block. Recently, I picked up my current favorite story and pecked away at the keyboard. In three sessions, finally a chapter, (even if it does have a smaller word count than some previous chapters).
I've reread it several times now and still the lingering doubt. Is this one up to the previous chapter's standards? Have I really lost that Magical something that I strive for when writing. That thing called inspiration? Maybe it's a good thing I can't update the story on AFF yet. Maybe it's not ready to go up. The doubt and worry is eating at me as it always does; I put my heart and soul into my writing.
Since I can't update on AFF right now, I'm putting up the first five paragraphs up here. Mind, this is chapter eight, so anyone reading this might be confused coming into the story a bit late, but I hopefully that shouldn't matter. The working title is Pretty Street Boy, which isn't really that fitting, but I absolutely detest titleing things. Funny how hard a good title can be. lol
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The sky was awash with the color of blood as the sun made it's way to the edge of the horizon. Night capturing the heavens in it's star spangled embrace. I looked out the window of my 26th floor apartment. The view of the city was breathtaking, and I often found myself enthralled by that vista.
As I frequently did, I thought of my life before coming back to the earthen realm. Of Michael. The day had broken just as gloriously as this one was falling. That day I ran away from Him. Away from the only one with whom I had sought solace. I chuckled at myself. I had been an idiot, of course.
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I ran headlong into the woods, the ghosts chasing me into the striations of light and shadow created by the canopy of leaves and branches above. Stumbling repeatedly on roots as I drove further away from Him and everything I'd come to reluctantly accept in this place beyond the void. I wanted to go back. Back to my old life or back into the emptiness of the void. I didn't care, either way. As long as I could be rid of the emotions constricting my chest as my heart pounded fiercely as I ran. I didn't know how far, exactly, I ran, but I finally collapsed from exhaustion in a small clearing. The fog was all but dispersed and the bright morning sun was warm on my sweat-sheened skin. The chill from the ground was seeping into my bones as I laid on the ground, eyes closed tight against the memories, the emotions and the words Michael had spoken. I could still hear the barely concealed pain behind those words. The words I had forced from His lips. Words He had not wanted to speak.
"Michael..," I whispered His name like a ward against all the despair that was making my heart clench so tightly that tears spilled steadily down my cheeks. "Why?" I sobbed. I wondered, being dead already, if I could die again. The birds overhead were chirping as joyfully as ever. The beams of sunlight washing everything in paint-brush strokes of golden light in the verdant woods. It was as perfect as a dream. I hated it. It should've been gray and raining.
I stayed there the rest of the day and into the night. Laying with my face toward the sky, staring inwardly. I reached for the coldness that lurked inside. The barren waste that froze everything. Not even the memory of His violet eyes piercing me right through to my soul could touch me again. But in the wasteland that was my apathy, I was alone. I knew it now. No matter how many times I seared away every stray feeling that tried to break through, I couldn't be rid of that one. Alone. And with it the aching emptiness...
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Anyway... It's March. I've never been so ready for Spring in my entire life. The winter has gone so painfully slow. It's excrutiating! Where's the warm weather already? lol
I've reread it several times now and still the lingering doubt. Is this one up to the previous chapter's standards? Have I really lost that Magical something that I strive for when writing. That thing called inspiration? Maybe it's a good thing I can't update the story on AFF yet. Maybe it's not ready to go up. The doubt and worry is eating at me as it always does; I put my heart and soul into my writing.
Since I can't update on AFF right now, I'm putting up the first five paragraphs up here. Mind, this is chapter eight, so anyone reading this might be confused coming into the story a bit late, but I hopefully that shouldn't matter. The working title is Pretty Street Boy, which isn't really that fitting, but I absolutely detest titleing things. Funny how hard a good title can be. lol
--------------
The sky was awash with the color of blood as the sun made it's way to the edge of the horizon. Night capturing the heavens in it's star spangled embrace. I looked out the window of my 26th floor apartment. The view of the city was breathtaking, and I often found myself enthralled by that vista.
As I frequently did, I thought of my life before coming back to the earthen realm. Of Michael. The day had broken just as gloriously as this one was falling. That day I ran away from Him. Away from the only one with whom I had sought solace. I chuckled at myself. I had been an idiot, of course.
**************
I ran headlong into the woods, the ghosts chasing me into the striations of light and shadow created by the canopy of leaves and branches above. Stumbling repeatedly on roots as I drove further away from Him and everything I'd come to reluctantly accept in this place beyond the void. I wanted to go back. Back to my old life or back into the emptiness of the void. I didn't care, either way. As long as I could be rid of the emotions constricting my chest as my heart pounded fiercely as I ran. I didn't know how far, exactly, I ran, but I finally collapsed from exhaustion in a small clearing. The fog was all but dispersed and the bright morning sun was warm on my sweat-sheened skin. The chill from the ground was seeping into my bones as I laid on the ground, eyes closed tight against the memories, the emotions and the words Michael had spoken. I could still hear the barely concealed pain behind those words. The words I had forced from His lips. Words He had not wanted to speak.
"Michael..," I whispered His name like a ward against all the despair that was making my heart clench so tightly that tears spilled steadily down my cheeks. "Why?" I sobbed. I wondered, being dead already, if I could die again. The birds overhead were chirping as joyfully as ever. The beams of sunlight washing everything in paint-brush strokes of golden light in the verdant woods. It was as perfect as a dream. I hated it. It should've been gray and raining.
I stayed there the rest of the day and into the night. Laying with my face toward the sky, staring inwardly. I reached for the coldness that lurked inside. The barren waste that froze everything. Not even the memory of His violet eyes piercing me right through to my soul could touch me again. But in the wasteland that was my apathy, I was alone. I knew it now. No matter how many times I seared away every stray feeling that tried to break through, I couldn't be rid of that one. Alone. And with it the aching emptiness...
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Anyway... It's March. I've never been so ready for Spring in my entire life. The winter has gone so painfully slow. It's excrutiating! Where's the warm weather already? lol