On the 7th Day
Saturday, August 16, 2008, 6:43 PM

...and on the 7th day, she slept in 'til nine o'clock and even then, woke up reluctantly.

I don't want to write about me. I just want to...write.

I'm totally winging it here. I haven't dared to write in weeks, other than mindless stream-of-thought crap. My brain's been tied in knots.

This is nothing, but I want to write it here anyway. Just because.

Update, 08/17/08, 3:00 p.m.
Oh, what the hey. I've decided to try my hand at an online series. Plotting, worrying, and over-thinking what I write hasn't worked out so well, so I'm going back to the way it was when I first began writing. I'm totally winging the writing of this story, and have no idea where it's going to go or how it's going to end.

For now, the title is Fairy Tale.



It was almost impossible to slow my heartbeat, to try and stop it when it was racing so. Stupid even to think about it. I didn't know if I would breathe again if I was successful in dying, but there was nothing to lose. And oh! If I was successful....

Guh-gungh. Guh-gungh. Guh-gungh.

I couldn't think about that and what it meant. I'd never wanted to die, at least not in the literal sense of the word, but then I'd never been licked from the inside out by the rainbow of need, excitement, curiosity and power that me left me gasping in wonder in its wake. Nothing else mattered but becoming another shade that comprised that rainbow.


It wasn't the pot of gold I thirsted for. It was the so-called troll who protected the gold. His magic. His siren call. I wanted his powers. For the first time in almost two centuries, my family was in position to recall our lost power.


He'd kill me if I didn't die by my own means first. He'd kill me, as the legends foretold, as gently as a kiss.


Some troll he was--reputed to kill with a kiss?


But some small part of me couldn't help being afraid. A Goth monster whose eyes bespoke of his evil nature would be less terrifying than an archangel who downplayed his intentions.


I welcomed the forest's bone-chilling dampness, its utter darkness. Take me. I couldn't afford a human's vulnerabilities in this moment. I was here to die, to be born again. Please. Please.


If I died first, his kiss would be reversed; kind of like the resurrecting power of the Prince's mouth against Sleeping Beauty's.

Only that'd be where his story ended and mine began.


And the troll--the troll who terrified me more than the thoughts I employed to deliberately still my heart--wouldn't know his mistake until it was too late.


Or so I hoped.


Interested in reading on? See the next part here.

Labels: ,

11 Did the Unhingey Jiggy Engage in Unhingenosity
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .