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Writing Snippets!
Writing Snippets!
Inspired by a thread that Curio made about a year ago (wow, time flies), this is a place to post bits of writing— Snippets of stories, scattered poem lines, anything that strikes your fancy. I always love reading these, the lack of context makes them so much more fascinating.
I haven't posted my writing on here in ages, and I think I've improved a ton since I last did, so enjoy this little window into my current style! (I write basically everything in 3rd person present these days haha I'm so pretentious. Also, some of this is fanfiction but sHshHHshHh)
This got really long, sorry about that!!
——
It’s a Sunday, and Noah is seven. The day has long since settled into morning, sticky sunshine seeping through the walls and the cracks under the doors and filling the house with a hazy, lethargic heat that is near-impossible to break through. The air conditioning hasn’t worked in months, and even with all the windows thrown open, the air remains thick and stagnant, only occasionally broken by the faint rustle of a breeze.
The girl that lives across the street, the nice one, the one who often plays pretend with Noah and lets him be the princess, has gone somewhere, perhaps to church. Noah had watched through the front window as her family climbed into their car and drove away. Their car is big and grey and shiny and doesn’t have kicked-in brake lights or duct tape wound around the bumpers.
——
“Was— Was I not worth sticking around for?”
His father blinks at him, stunned, for a moment before sighing and leaning back in his chair. He looks too young to be as tired as his eyes are.
“Sometimes, kid… you get into a place where nothing is.”
——
nothing gold can stay, writes robert frost, and this isn’t quite right, because roman is the only thing that does and roman is gold, all of him, flashing eyes and brittle bones, a heart drenched in dreams, heavy and dripping with potential.
——
“Have you ever been in love, Noah?”
Noah thinks about his best friend's face, the way his mouth tilts up higher on one side when he smiles. He thinks about running through sprinklers and ghostlike faces behind curtains of cigarette smoke and lemon yogurt and the sad little kids that become sad adults.
And he thinks maybe he has.
——
“I’m being serious, Logan. What do I have to be to get him to like me?”
Gosh, Logan thinks, why do you run around in circles chasing who you aren’t when who you are is more than enough for him? Do everything you normally do, and he’ll love you like he already does, like the world already does, because you understand the one thing I don’t— how to love and how to be loved.
But Logan doesn’t say this. He and Roman are not honest kind of friends.
“Just be yourself,” he says lamely. The words sound hollow even to him.
Roman huffs out a breath, a not-quite laugh, but says nothing.
——
time is a slippery thing. it exists without existing, and in all the lifetimes that logan has walked through in search of his own he has never been able to understand it.
he learns things, though, rules to make more sense of it all. first and foremost.
love hurts.
it hurts so much to realize that every person he loves will leave him, whether or not they want to. he’ll have to stand, frozen to his seat, and watch the world turn around him, watch his friends die and then watch them die again when their names stop being spoken.
their memories drift into the wind until he’s the only one left to cling to his half-forgotten snippets— the soft edge of a smile, the bright burst of a laugh. they’re not gone, he tells himself, as he places flowers on countless graves, they’re not gone until i forget. (he’s so afraid to forget. they’re counting on him to know it all.)
it hurts and so he tries to be cold. he tries so hard to block it all away, to push his emotions down, to numb himself into a machine— something inhuman. something that doesn’t get attached. something that can just be.
but his soul is human, despite it all, and he loves anyway. he falls in love with people and places and empires and cobbled alleyways and musty libraries and the way the sky looks after the rain, and it always ends up leaving.
——
“Hey, love,” mom says tiredly. She’s washed her makeup off and changed into faded jeans and a long sleeve top with the sleeves rolled up. She looks nicer this way, softer, more human. “Mind getting the forks?”
“Sure,” Quinn says, heading for the drawer. She’s thinking about eye lines and what she might look like when she’s older and absently grabs four forks. She realizes it as she’s starting to close the drawer, and she holds it for a moment, watching the light dance on its silvery surface. Overcome with a sudden, irrational anger, she tosses it into the drawer and slams it shut so hard she feels it rattle under her hand. He may have gone, there may be less shoes by the front door, but in that moment she knows, with frightening certainty— he will never truly leave them.
——
Sometimes, it’s no more than a passing thing. I’ll be pouring myself coffee in the morning before class and the curtain will flutter even though there’s no breeze and, I’ll say, half-asleep, “Eva?” and my roommate will look at me like I’ve got a screw loose.
Other times, I’ll wake up in a cold sweat at three am, and projected across the wall is a familiar figure, all lanky arms and gaping grin, lower half dissolving into swirling tendrils of smoke. I’ll slap a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming and close my eyes and when I open them, I’ll see that it’s just the shadow of the rickety lamp atop my bedside table. Those times, I’ll hide under a pile of blankets and try to go back to sleep and that’s when I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll wonder, half asleep, about reality and the imagination, and how maybe the only thing that’s Not Real is the line that divides them.
Do you think about it? That’s a silly question, of course you do. But I wonder, how much? How deeply? Is it like me, are you like me— Do you keep on walking across a blackened pond, frozen over, the ice so thick you can pretend it’s solid ground? Or have you done what I can’t and stepped away?
submitted by Abigail, age Old enough, Inside my head
(September 26, 2018 - 8:19 pm)
(September 26, 2018 - 8:19 pm)
Those are really good, Abi! I especially like the last one. I'll probably post something later when I have more time.
(September 27, 2018 - 11:36 am)
WAIT by fanfiction do you mean "Sanders Sides Fanfiction" because if you did I automatically will love anything you write. (I'm a Thomas Sanders fan XD)
ANyway, here we go!
~
The gap was twenty feet. There was no way Cara could get across just by jumping.
But she couldn't go back. So she jumped as far as she could, feeling herself falling as gravity took its toll.
And then she was on the ground again, wrapped in someone's arms. She stood there for a moment, shaking. She didn't need to look at his face to see who it was. But she knew she was safe.
~
Vallys dragged Callie out into the field, an expanse of long grass and a few trees scattered around. She opened her wings, and pulled Callie into the air with her.
"What's happening?!" Callie yelled, her words almost lost to the wind.
"You're a guardian! We're going to Angelis! You can meet my friends!" Vallys replied, grinning.
"I don't even know what you're talking about! Put me down!"
But the two were already in the clouds, and the city of Angelis surrounded them.
~
I have more but I have to go...See you later!
(September 27, 2018 - 12:06 pm)
Ooh, those are really good! I especially like the first one. And yes I did mean Sanders Sides fanfiction, I'm so obsessed right now. I post it on some other sites which I obviously can't link but maybe you could find them somehow? I'm not sure. :P
(I just realized how LONG that original post was. Like, embarrassingly long. Whoops.
(September 27, 2018 - 6:25 pm)
MY QUEEN!
I'll definitely post on here later, but I can't right now.
(September 27, 2018 - 3:54 pm)
Oh, cool! This sounds amazeballs! I'll post later though. I'm blank. Dream says oher. Oh, her? *looks questiongly at CAPTCHA* Ummmm, ok???????
(September 27, 2018 - 5:23 pm)
Neat idea! Here are some snippets of a couple stories I started a long while back.
~ ~ ~
Caelith crumpled the letter angrily, not bothering to even read it, and yet already knowing what it said.
That she had to come back. That she HAD to.
The pieces of parchment fluttered to the earth, one side of writing shows. "Alone", it read.
Ha. They thought she was Alone.
How ridiculous is that?
Caelith was FAR from being alone. As her animal family --a family she loved far more than she ever could have loved her Trollish one-- scattered in the trees and bushes around her, wondering what the thing that smelled of Troll was, Caelith turned away from them.
If her adoptive parents knew where she was, knew where to send their pathetic letters, then she had to leave.
So she left.
Never looking back.
Yet not Alone.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
She zipped through the forest, the scent of her comrades whispering through the air behind her. They were close, but not close enough. She would have to be faster, to become faster. Her hoofed limbs turned into furred paws and the rest of her body shifted into that of the lithe body of a silver wolf. She changed from her loping gate to a sprint, the smell of her objective, her prey, filling her nostrils. Meanwhile, the smell of her partners slowly faded away...
~~~
And then there's this one, which is a sort of Pixi Hollow/Tinker Bell fanfiction:
~~~
Kymberleigh awoke with a start. Wanda, her best friend, and lady-in-waiting was shaking her violently awake and shouting her name over and over. Kym sat bolt upright.
"What?! What's wrong? Where's the fire?" She asked Wanda. But looking at Wanda's tear-stricken face, Kymberleigh realized that it had to be something much worse than a fire to make her so upset.
Wanda sniffed loudly and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Kym... Kymberleigh..."
"That's my name, don't wear it out," said Kymberleigh with a bit of annoyance. Then, taking her friend by the shoulders, Kym said clearly and slowly, "What is wrong?"
Any composure Wanda might've had completely slipped away. Sobbing into her hands, Wanda told Kymberleigh, "It's your parents, the king and queen. They... they're dead."
All of time seemed to come to a screeching halt. My parents? Dead? Impossible. I saw them both just last night and they were completely healthy. They were... they're... dead?
Gulping in a deep breath of fresh air, Kymberleigh gaped at Wanda, not believing what she had just told her.
"Kym," Wanda whispered, more tears streaming down her face afresh. "I'm sorry."
Kymberleigh continued to stare, unblinking, at the wall behind Wanda. Then, sliding off of her bed and careful not to crush her wings beneath her, Kym stood. She swayed on her feet for a moment, still not grasping everything that her friend had said. Swallowing hard, she managed to say weakly, "How?"
Shaking her head slightly, Wanda said, "Something happened to the branch canopy above their chambers, the framework was rotting or something. I don't know. They were... they were crushed in their sleep."
Breathing heavily and staring at Wanda once again, Kym raced out of the room to see for herself, her nightgown flapping out around her. She tried to fly, but her wings were most still half-asleep and didn't respond to her commands. Kymberleigh rounded the corner to her parent's bedroom, but then stopped in her tracks.
There was no bedroom anymore.
All that remained was the branch canopy like Wanda had said, scattered around the room in humongous chunks. Kym could just make out the faint outline of the frame of her parent's bed. But then she looked to her left. Where two forms laid on leaf stretchers, a blanket gently thrown overtop of them.
A wave of grief washed over Kymberleigh like a flood, and she sank to her knees. When the tears started coming, Kym didn't even realize it. There was only one thought going on in her mind, repeating over and over again.
Mom and Dad are gone. They're dead.
~~~
(September 28, 2018 - 2:27 pm)
(September 30, 2018 - 12:15 am)
Painted With Grey
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I slither out of the house, the cold night air slapping my face. Molten fear bubbles in the pit of my stomach. I ignore it best as I can. I stride down the driveway, quickly and purposefully. When I get to the sidewalk, I sneak a tiny glance backwards- good riddance, prison cell. If a goes as planned, that will be my last look at that place. My strides last eons, dispite my speedy pace, my feet yearning to grasp this moment that has been building up in my soul for years.
I've reached the bus stop- hallelujah- keeping my hands jammed in my pockets to protect them from the bitter November air. Peeking down the street, I spy the bus. Oh, god. This is it. It rolls to a stop, spewing pollution into the air from its rear end. The weather-beaten, bored-to-death blue doors screech open, welcoming me to my way home.
I take a deep, rattling breath and step on.
I press my money into the bus driver's hand, and, making sure my hood covers my whole head, speed-walk to the very back. After making sure that there's no gum on the seat, I slide in, slinging my backpack on the floor in front of me. I take several deep breaths, then put my face in my hands. I did it. After five years, I did it. I'm going home. I barely notice a boy slipping into the open seat next to me.
I completely ignore him until he whispers in my ear, "Are you running away too?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(September 30, 2018 - 11:10 am)
Why am I here - oh. Yes. Now I understand. Yes, I'll answer your questions.
...
Well, to answer your first question, she told me. She didn't know it at first, but she was tired. Extremely, utterly, tired. She was fading inside. You could see it in her eyes. There was a certain... Vacancy in them. They didn't shine in the sun or in the moonlight, like they used to. She just seemed to absorb the light, either that or it simply past straight through her. It was a terrifying sight to see, her empty soul smiling sadly through her weary eyes. The day of the carnival, she was so... So thin. Not physically, but you could see that she was SO close to losing herself. The very tension and sadness with which she carried herself easily showed what was left of her once-beautiful soul really looked like. Her dull eyes were red from crying so often, and her hair, although brushed, was missing its usual lustre. The night she was killed, she was walking with me to the carnival, and she stopped and turned to me, saying "I really can't do this. I hope you understand... It's just... I'm so tired. I feel so stretched and worn, like I could die at any minute, merely because my heart was crushed under the weight of this body and this world. I need to go back to my people... To my home." I didn't know what she meant at the time, but now I do.
... Sorry. Just a second...
Sorry about that. I'm good now.
...
Ah, yes. When the attacker pulled out their gun and she charged towards them, I tried to stop her. I knew she would die if she stopped the killer. Now, thinking back, I believe that's exactly what she wanted. She shook me off, fire blazing in her eyes for the first time in I-don't-even-know-how-long. When she tackled the shooter, knocking them unconscious, their gun went off... And the bullet went through her. For a split second, purely white wings appeared on her back and a halo hung above her head. Then they disappeared as though nothing had happened. Before she fell to the ground, I heard her whisper to the unconscious attacker "Thank you." She was dead even before she hit the dirt...
...
...
...
Sorry again. I'm really quite fine, I promise... I know why she sacrificed herself. She took it for an opportunity. Now, she's back where she came from, with her people, in her home. What? You don't understand? Oh. Well, she's back with the angels in Heaven, that's for certain.
(September 30, 2018 - 6:31 pm)
ROGUE THAT WAS SO GOOD
And sad, but in the best way. I love it!
'Kay I need to listen to some happy music now and watch some videos of kittens playing with each other... *sob*
(That wasn't an insult, btw. I mean, it's got feels, which I appreciate.)
(October 1, 2018 - 5:15 pm)
@Agent Winter, thank you! I tried to make it seem as though the speaker kept losing their composure... :)
(October 4, 2018 - 6:54 pm)
Emily pulled me into her room. She locked the door, ignoring Annemarie’s yells and threats. “Emily, what are you doing?”, I ask. “Saving your life. You’re welcome.” She continues, “ Avanna, there is something of a secret that I must tell you. Not even Annemarie knows this.” She took a deep breath, then resumed. “ Emily Ashes does not exist.” “But you’re Emily Ashes!”, I say, stupidly. “ I am Elisabeth Rose, the secret and real queen of Emeraldon!”
*Please note that this took courage to present. I am still writing this, but the climax has been planned out.
(October 8, 2018 - 8:42 am)