Said the Banshee

It's like gold dust~
Flowin' through your speakers.

Love that song. =u=

She reminded us of the wind.

Her clothes were loose. She wore bracelets upon bracelets that jingled and wrapped about each other. When she moved, it was as though even the flesh on her ivory stem pulsed with the sort of liveliness that was so akin to a breeze. Imperfect yet abruptly fluid, soft as moonlight and as smooth as the stones at the bottom of an aging river. Her face peered from beyond a veil of yawning curls, a spill of frost lost in autumn’s groves that gently tossed with the rhythm of her gait.

Her fingers silently darted through the air, orchestrating a symphony, tapping the keys of a piano, and plucking at the chords of a harp all at once. It was as though the song was endlessly building, tempted to shatter the host of its breadth, longing for a voice. Her digits sped along unseen stairs, soared in great curves, held tight, kissed the air—dwindled unceremoniously, and dipped into rest.

Satisfied, the musicians bowed and folded amongst themselves until next they had strength to continue the ceaseless piece which mingled in her palms.

Not neccesarily about me, but then again, it sort of is. I don't know. -shrugs. I've been in a really awesome mood lately so I decided to write something. Now that I think about it, my style of writing kind of makes me think of The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell. Can you see the connection or am I just being nutty? Either way, I love that story. (Figures it would be about murder, ne?)

On a side note: I hate it when I hear people tell their kids, "You can do anything!" For one, they limit you from the start, so technically. You can't. For two, let's use a simple example. I'm a young woman. And I'm gay. I could NOT be the president, no matter how hard I tried to work among the politicians of today. Maybe in a later year.. if presidents are even still an accredited office by then. (Not that I want to be president.)

That also brings to mind.. I wonder if the gay vote would win an election. O3O

Stupid Economics makin' me all depressed and introspective. Do you see the fault in your stupid graduation requirements America!?

.. Anyone feel like dancin'? Viva la swing~!

Question of the Day: Writers often use the first appearance of a character to display how they will later add to a story they are in. Do you ever like to think on how you would be perceived if you were a character in a narrative? Would you be flanked by cracking lightning or would you be lost among the crowd?

Takin' Names.

She woke with a strange ache in her throat, nose irritated as though she had laughed too hard while taking a drink. The pleather of the couch was hot; it stuck to her face and the underside of her arm which she had been leaning on. When she opened her eyes, a sleepy but rigid fear struck her. Everything was white. She blinked rapidly, but nothing changed. A cough.
Weakly, she drug herself off of the tired piece of furniture and moved through the living room blindly. Another cough. She could barely breathe. There was something wrong, every nerve of her being told her, sluggish as it was. She stumbled into the bathroom, a dinky little room with bright yellow walls—she could see the yellow. The white wasn’t as thick and she could breathe easier. She closed the door, still blinking as though that would help it to go away. The air carried a foul smell like cleaning chemicals—or…
Moving swiftly, she stepped out of the bathroom and immediately moved to the front door of the house. It was 3a.m. and yet it was unlocked. Why—but she didn’t have time to consider the implications. The door swung on its hinges and a stream of frothy smoke rushed out into the black night as though a vacuum had been situated on the other side of the frame. Without pause, she went to each of the four sliding windows in the kitchen and the living room, pulling them open as far as they would give.
More of the white that had been leeching the oxygen out of her lungs and making her choke now crashed through the branches of trees, over the porch and past the idle vehicles in the drive, vengeful spirits crying unto the hour. Crumbling she realized her chest was sour with the stench, her nose dripping as if it could dispel the torment. The front door was a square of grey cut up by fervent orange and dwindling shade. Her lips parted, flapping like that of a fish you might drag out of choppy waters.
It felt good. A chill bit at her arms, her cheeks and her toes, ushering her, boxing her into the house but she held. Shallow sips of the breeze nursed her sad state, ebbing back the resentful stings that proliferated by the moment.
When the living room had nearly cleared of the bog, she slipped into the kitchen, directly to the stove. A sixth sense directed her through her lingering wheeze to a small pot, perhaps able to hold no more than a pint. It looked deceivingly innocent as it housed the charred remains of something beyond recognition, nestled over a flickering blue flame. She found the knob, twisting away the miniscule blaze. A brief moment passed and her tire had finally inched out of her; she opened the back door and knocked on the wall, stirring the dogs which would bring forth her aunt from slumber.
Together, they completed the task of airing out the greater part of the trailer. None to little of the cloying smoke had edged into her aunt or cousin’s rooms. They had been safe, for the most part, but a frightening clear refrain at the back of her mind told her that they too would’ve succumb eventually. Or mayhap they would have woken to find her suffocated on that damned couch. Alone and piped full of ribbon… She laughed, thoughts fuzzy and thick as cotton, and found the smooth exterior of her cell phone against her palm.

~

So. Last night, I kicked Death in the ass and spat down his throat.
True story. Yeah.



Question of the Day: Ever felt an urgent need to tell your loved ones just how much you love them?

Letter I - Starry Eyed

Dear Blank,

This game of hide and seek is kind of funny sometimes. Then there are the times when it isn't quite so fun. I'm afraid that I might shoo you away without realizing it. Would you really be as stubborn as they say you would? This must be confusing.
Yesterday, a polite enough Someone sat down beside me. Out of everyone, Someone always smiles at me and I at Someone in the halls. Why? Because it's polite not to grimace at every strange face you see, isn't it? And besides, call me lazy; it takes more muscles to frown. Well, smile or no, Someone sat on the bench with me. And with a polite greeting on the tongue--I cut Someone off by pulling out my mp3 and turning it up to the highest volume that it would go.
Ten uneasy minutes later, Someone left and I felt the inkling of regret.

Not that I plan on committing to anything any time soon, but imagine, Blank, if I cling to these habits and shy from you? I hate not knowing you, I hate not being able to feel whether or not you're as tangible as Blithe, or Rune, or Carlisle, or as full as Alanna, or Brittany, or Amanda. Sometimes I don't want to and that's when I realize I have to stop. 'Those the steps I can't take, I refuse.' I wish that there were a way to ask you for help in this.
Are you thinking the same thing? Or are you busy building bridges elsewhere?

~



Question of the Day: The weirdest, most random things worry me at times. Is there anything like that for you?