Appilcation Post
Name:: Julia
Age:: 23
How long have you been writing? Since I was about 14
Have you ever been published? Yes! I'm getting published in an Anthology through the website authornation.com
Who is your favorite author? God too many to choose, but right now Laurie Halse Anderson
Anything else? If you need another mod, I'm way way way interested :-)
I couldn't decide which story to put up as a sample of my writing so I'm putting two up.... hope no one minds! I'm also a comment/feedback whore. lol
Deadly Intentions
The alley is desolate, a low fog hanging on the rubbish strewn across the street. Rats scurry across the gravel making their way into the sewers below. I avoid the garbage and the puddles the best I can, my stiletto boots clicking sharply in a disjointed staccato. The tight leather conforms to my legs disappearing beneath my knee length black suede jacket. The wind whips around my ankles billowing under my coat. It chills me to the bone, wrapping the coat tighter around me I second guess the decision and open it wide, allowing the wind, as well as the people in the streets to see my outfit. The dress is skin tight, and blood red barely covering … anything. Gooseflesh breaks out across my skin and my search becomes a bit more fanatic, before I freeze to death.
The outfit elicits leers from the various lowlifes gathered around the various trash bin fires. The end of the alley comes into view I swirl around stalking down to the other end.
Perhaps Anderson was wrong; perhaps he won’t be here tonight.
A grimy hand wraps around my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. I turn slowly, looking over my shoulder at the man covered in dirt. His eyes travel my body slowly it sends chills over my spine, my legs twitch with a desire to run screaming from this alley. This life. I swallow once, pushing the building scream into my belly.
“Let go.”
My voice tinkles along like bells, it like the rest of me, honey and caramel shroud the truth. His other hand traces slowly down my neck closer to the cleavage of my dress. I count to five slowly in my head taking a breath with each drawn out second.
My grip is in just a way to maximize my leverage flipping the drunk head over heels. My shoe fits just over his throat, the arch pressing into his Adam’s apple; the stiletto biting into his neck. He writhes amongst the broken bottles cussing loudly. I push harder cutting off his air supply, silencing him.
“No means no, asshole.”
It’s then I see him, at the end of the alley I just came from. That suit is as out of place here as the Porsche that can’t be more than a block away. He is just finishing his transaction, giving me perfect time to place myself in his pathway. The drunk was unknowingly helpful.
My face transforms into a carefully practiced cross between “come hither” and indifference. I walk past him glancing over my shoulder and biting my lip lightly. The tiny giggle bubbles up and out even as I suppress the urge to gag.
His arms are not grimy in the slightest as they wrap around my waist and pull me into a shadowed alcove. There is brandy on his breath; it is hot as it travels down my neck the chills simply add to the charade. He’s either too drunk, or doesn’t care enough to notice the wrinkle of my noise. His hands are rough and calloused as they caress the six inches between boots and dress, sliding deftly under the inch of my dress to caress my barely covered ass. I grimace and gag, quickly turning the noise into a growl.
“I was hoping to see you Roxanne.” The growl in his voice and rise in his pants are all indications that this will, thankfully, be over quickly.
The drive to my hotel takes only minutes. His hands never leaving my body pinching and caressing. I moan and whimper in all the right places, I’m an extraordinary actor after all these years.
Once inside he throws me against a wall stripping the jacket from my body and pulling up my dress so that it settles around my waist. His lips and hand travel over my sun kissed skin, rough hands wind into my chocolaty hair yanking it roughly back.
A strangles cry breaks free and seems to entice him more. He lifts me from the floor, tearing at my clothes, ripping and nipping at my skin and hair. His clothes are a forgotten memory moments later. Violently, sadistically he uses me. I barely have to play, to act. I doubt he’d notice if I’d disappear entirely.
We’ve grown to close and I barely have to concentrate on him to know. It is etched in every fiber of his body but mostly the intensity of his shoulders is the greatest give away. I lock eyes with him at the exact moment. Orgasms are the best moment for breaking down the defenses, for complete exposure and with ease, I dive into his mind sorting through the useless trivial thoughts searching for the one I need. The one to finally put this bastard behind bars.
His bulky frame collapses on top of me crushing the air from my lungs. Sweat pours from his body covering me in his stink, and stickiness. His seed oozes from between my legs. Bile rises in my throat and I swallow it down willing myself to have control.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Right on cue, he pulls himself off me and out of the bed.
The man is nothing if not scheduled.
He dresses quickly without a backwards glance at me, tossing a few bills on the little table.
“Thanks, kid.”
Without another word, he’s gone.
I run to the bathroom barely making it to the toilet before becoming sick. With one hand, I turn on the water. Hot. Only. I step under the spray wincing from the scalding stream. Steam fills the little bathroom; it’s unbearably hot and hard to breathe. I stand in the spray my skin turning red. I press my forehead against the shower wall letting the spray berate my back, and finally let the tears from the evening fall. It’s the only place I allow myself to cry, convincing myself the tears are merely water from the faucet overhead. I use an entire bottle of soap scrubbing my skin raw washing my hair a dozen or more times. I wash and scrub and cry until the water turns to ice; then standing under the ice until my teeth begin to chatter.
When I finally turn off the water and step from the shower my skin is red raw and blistered. It matches the color of my eyes. Bloodshot and ringed in red. I change into normal clothes. Plain black and full coverage; pass the table leaving the money were he left it. That’s always the worst part, when he pays. It makes me feel like a whore more than his thoughts do. I take small refuge in the memories I’ve collected tonight. Enough, finally, to save a few lives, and to end his.
Many in the bureau frown on my means of gaining information. It doesn’t matter how many crooks and killers I put behind bars with there own thoughts as evidence against them. I’m still a whore to them. I wonder for the thousandths time why I do it.
Cause I’m the only one that can.
The question remains; at what point does this gift become a curse?
Silence
“Evy! Evelyn!”
My eyes bore into his, rage races through my veins. I try to form words, any in my head. This isn’t the place to have this argument, racing down the road at over 90 miles an hour. I’m too mad to slow however, too mad to do much of anything but feel the pulse of blood through my body.
“Evelyn! The road!”
My attention so completely diverted from the actual act of driving snaps back into focus. We are coming quickly, much too quickly upon a near U-turn in the road.
“Oh.” I’m not sure if I whispered or shouted that word. My ears aren’t functioning properly. Time seems to be under the same glitch as my hearing.
My arms are too heavy, not moving nearly as fast as my brain. I down shift, skipping several gears hoping to stall out the engine. The turn approaches much too quickly, I turn the wheel until it can’t turn anymore. My body slams into the door just as the car stalls out. Yet we’re going too fast for it to do any good. I pull the emergency brake and pray.
The car tips on to two wheels teetering for a tedious second. My throat is raw, ripped open with the force of my scream yet I can’t hear it.
The radio has gone silent. I look to my right, Nicoli’s stormy eyes lock on to mine. His lips move and I can’t hear that either. My vision blurs as the tears fall.
There is a sickening thud that I feel more than hear. Sparks fly around us as we skid along the concrete. Excruciating pain rips through my shoulder and arm. Red flows freely and I shudder as bones snap beneath the weight of impact.
Blackness creeps in at the corners of my vision. Strong fingers weave through mine, cutting off circulation. Seconds, minutes, maybe even years pass. All I feel is his fingers intertwined through mine, electricity flowing from him to I and back again.
Suddenly sound comes crashing back. Metal screeches across the ground. A strangled cry rips from my throat. The pain that a moment ago was replaced with electricity flashes back ten times greater than before.
The darkness creeps back in closing in quickly, I take a breath, my first since the crash. Nicoli’s eyes are the last thing I see.
Age:: 23
How long have you been writing? Since I was about 14
Have you ever been published? Yes! I'm getting published in an Anthology through the website authornation.com
Who is your favorite author? God too many to choose, but right now Laurie Halse Anderson
Anything else? If you need another mod, I'm way way way interested :-)
I couldn't decide which story to put up as a sample of my writing so I'm putting two up.... hope no one minds! I'm also a comment/feedback whore. lol
Deadly Intentions
The alley is desolate, a low fog hanging on the rubbish strewn across the street. Rats scurry across the gravel making their way into the sewers below. I avoid the garbage and the puddles the best I can, my stiletto boots clicking sharply in a disjointed staccato. The tight leather conforms to my legs disappearing beneath my knee length black suede jacket. The wind whips around my ankles billowing under my coat. It chills me to the bone, wrapping the coat tighter around me I second guess the decision and open it wide, allowing the wind, as well as the people in the streets to see my outfit. The dress is skin tight, and blood red barely covering … anything. Gooseflesh breaks out across my skin and my search becomes a bit more fanatic, before I freeze to death.
The outfit elicits leers from the various lowlifes gathered around the various trash bin fires. The end of the alley comes into view I swirl around stalking down to the other end.
Perhaps Anderson was wrong; perhaps he won’t be here tonight.
A grimy hand wraps around my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. I turn slowly, looking over my shoulder at the man covered in dirt. His eyes travel my body slowly it sends chills over my spine, my legs twitch with a desire to run screaming from this alley. This life. I swallow once, pushing the building scream into my belly.
“Let go.”
My voice tinkles along like bells, it like the rest of me, honey and caramel shroud the truth. His other hand traces slowly down my neck closer to the cleavage of my dress. I count to five slowly in my head taking a breath with each drawn out second.
My grip is in just a way to maximize my leverage flipping the drunk head over heels. My shoe fits just over his throat, the arch pressing into his Adam’s apple; the stiletto biting into his neck. He writhes amongst the broken bottles cussing loudly. I push harder cutting off his air supply, silencing him.
“No means no, asshole.”
It’s then I see him, at the end of the alley I just came from. That suit is as out of place here as the Porsche that can’t be more than a block away. He is just finishing his transaction, giving me perfect time to place myself in his pathway. The drunk was unknowingly helpful.
My face transforms into a carefully practiced cross between “come hither” and indifference. I walk past him glancing over my shoulder and biting my lip lightly. The tiny giggle bubbles up and out even as I suppress the urge to gag.
His arms are not grimy in the slightest as they wrap around my waist and pull me into a shadowed alcove. There is brandy on his breath; it is hot as it travels down my neck the chills simply add to the charade. He’s either too drunk, or doesn’t care enough to notice the wrinkle of my noise. His hands are rough and calloused as they caress the six inches between boots and dress, sliding deftly under the inch of my dress to caress my barely covered ass. I grimace and gag, quickly turning the noise into a growl.
“I was hoping to see you Roxanne.” The growl in his voice and rise in his pants are all indications that this will, thankfully, be over quickly.
The drive to my hotel takes only minutes. His hands never leaving my body pinching and caressing. I moan and whimper in all the right places, I’m an extraordinary actor after all these years.
Once inside he throws me against a wall stripping the jacket from my body and pulling up my dress so that it settles around my waist. His lips and hand travel over my sun kissed skin, rough hands wind into my chocolaty hair yanking it roughly back.
A strangles cry breaks free and seems to entice him more. He lifts me from the floor, tearing at my clothes, ripping and nipping at my skin and hair. His clothes are a forgotten memory moments later. Violently, sadistically he uses me. I barely have to play, to act. I doubt he’d notice if I’d disappear entirely.
We’ve grown to close and I barely have to concentrate on him to know. It is etched in every fiber of his body but mostly the intensity of his shoulders is the greatest give away. I lock eyes with him at the exact moment. Orgasms are the best moment for breaking down the defenses, for complete exposure and with ease, I dive into his mind sorting through the useless trivial thoughts searching for the one I need. The one to finally put this bastard behind bars.
His bulky frame collapses on top of me crushing the air from my lungs. Sweat pours from his body covering me in his stink, and stickiness. His seed oozes from between my legs. Bile rises in my throat and I swallow it down willing myself to have control.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Right on cue, he pulls himself off me and out of the bed.
The man is nothing if not scheduled.
He dresses quickly without a backwards glance at me, tossing a few bills on the little table.
“Thanks, kid.”
Without another word, he’s gone.
I run to the bathroom barely making it to the toilet before becoming sick. With one hand, I turn on the water. Hot. Only. I step under the spray wincing from the scalding stream. Steam fills the little bathroom; it’s unbearably hot and hard to breathe. I stand in the spray my skin turning red. I press my forehead against the shower wall letting the spray berate my back, and finally let the tears from the evening fall. It’s the only place I allow myself to cry, convincing myself the tears are merely water from the faucet overhead. I use an entire bottle of soap scrubbing my skin raw washing my hair a dozen or more times. I wash and scrub and cry until the water turns to ice; then standing under the ice until my teeth begin to chatter.
When I finally turn off the water and step from the shower my skin is red raw and blistered. It matches the color of my eyes. Bloodshot and ringed in red. I change into normal clothes. Plain black and full coverage; pass the table leaving the money were he left it. That’s always the worst part, when he pays. It makes me feel like a whore more than his thoughts do. I take small refuge in the memories I’ve collected tonight. Enough, finally, to save a few lives, and to end his.
Many in the bureau frown on my means of gaining information. It doesn’t matter how many crooks and killers I put behind bars with there own thoughts as evidence against them. I’m still a whore to them. I wonder for the thousandths time why I do it.
Cause I’m the only one that can.
The question remains; at what point does this gift become a curse?
Silence
“Evy! Evelyn!”
My eyes bore into his, rage races through my veins. I try to form words, any in my head. This isn’t the place to have this argument, racing down the road at over 90 miles an hour. I’m too mad to slow however, too mad to do much of anything but feel the pulse of blood through my body.
“Evelyn! The road!”
My attention so completely diverted from the actual act of driving snaps back into focus. We are coming quickly, much too quickly upon a near U-turn in the road.
“Oh.” I’m not sure if I whispered or shouted that word. My ears aren’t functioning properly. Time seems to be under the same glitch as my hearing.
My arms are too heavy, not moving nearly as fast as my brain. I down shift, skipping several gears hoping to stall out the engine. The turn approaches much too quickly, I turn the wheel until it can’t turn anymore. My body slams into the door just as the car stalls out. Yet we’re going too fast for it to do any good. I pull the emergency brake and pray.
The car tips on to two wheels teetering for a tedious second. My throat is raw, ripped open with the force of my scream yet I can’t hear it.
The radio has gone silent. I look to my right, Nicoli’s stormy eyes lock on to mine. His lips move and I can’t hear that either. My vision blurs as the tears fall.
There is a sickening thud that I feel more than hear. Sparks fly around us as we skid along the concrete. Excruciating pain rips through my shoulder and arm. Red flows freely and I shudder as bones snap beneath the weight of impact.
Blackness creeps in at the corners of my vision. Strong fingers weave through mine, cutting off circulation. Seconds, minutes, maybe even years pass. All I feel is his fingers intertwined through mine, electricity flowing from him to I and back again.
Suddenly sound comes crashing back. Metal screeches across the ground. A strangled cry rips from my throat. The pain that a moment ago was replaced with electricity flashes back ten times greater than before.
The darkness creeps back in closing in quickly, I take a breath, my first since the crash. Nicoli’s eyes are the last thing I see.