Writing and butts

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by violetaz, Sep 11, 2014.

  1. Sorry for lying, but there are no butts here. =w= But now that I have your attention, you should look at my stuff! It's just a place to dump my writing (other than on tumblr anyways) and maybe get some feedback~ Praise is always welcome, too. ;3

    If I use a prompt that isn't mine, I will cite where I got it from so you, too, can find awesome prompts!!

    Here is a great blog for writerly things~ I absolutely love his prompts!

    And now for the debut piece!!

    She slowly flipped through the photo album, pausing at each picture to relive the moment captured. She savored the memories, letting them wash over her. Time was of the essence, she knew, but… when would she get a chance like this again? Never. She could already feel the fire inside of her clawing at her mind and body. Although it wasn’t literal fire, it felt like it. Like pain. Like fear. Like an uncontrollable, raging wild thing. Of course, it had a name, but to admit to it was to give it power, and so she avoided using its name. Still, its invasion was undeniable. She even sported physical marks from their battles for dominance: fresh cuts, gouges, burns, bruises, and other injuries marred her once-enviable skin. She looked down at her arms and hands, slowly turning them over to inspect the damage. A pang of sadness shot through her for all that she had lost. She caressed the photo album, taking one last look before standing.

    It was time.

    A few days ago, she had finally admitted that the fire was out of control, and it would soon consume her. As it was, her control on it was slipping. Although she had nearly come to terms with the fact that her body would not be her own if she let it consume her, an incident had occurred that caused her revelation. She had lost control of the fire. The effects were… disastrous, to say the least. And so she had decided that she would end the battle once and for all. She would rid herself — and the world — of the fire.

    Because the fire could not live if it did not have fuel.

    Unfortunately, her own body was the fuel. Her body and mind were giving life to the fire. Thus, she reasoned that if she robbed the fire of its fuel, it would die. She took one last look at her room, her tiny apartment. It hadn’t been what she would call home, having never really felt home there, but it was close enough. She was attached to it, to the clutter on the shelves and the attempted paintings stacked here and there… She would miss it. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of those thoughts. It was for the better. As she stepped to the window, she paused. She had been so absorbed in herself that she hadn’t noticed what the fire was feeling… until now. It was oddly calm. Sure, it was still prying at its boundaries and filling her head with its menacing whispers, but there was no anger or panic like she had expected. It had to know what she was doing. It knew everything she thought, after all. Fingers of unease crept their way through her stomach. Something was wrong. Or she was over-thinking it. After a moment of indecision, she decided that she was just over-thinking it. She took a steadying breath and opened the window. Fear clutched at her chest, but she didn’t allow herself time to think about what she was doing.

    She stepped over the ledge.

    Gravity took hold of her, pulling her down, down, down. With a crunch, she hit the ground. Pain immediately became the only thing she was aware of. So much pain… Why? When would it end? Was that what death was like — never ending pain? Or maybe she was in hell, dragged there by the fire.

    And then the pain started to ease.

    The fire ripped through her, laughing. It roared as it filled her body, screaming its victory. She was confused. Why would it be happy? And then she felt her body moving. No. No!

    It had won after all.