Rune: In This Hour

If ever my life were to be translated to film, the musical score would be vivid and long. No single song would be able to sum a majority of events; there would be no main theme or beat to follow. It would be separated into parts, because no two hour production could capture every important moment or detail. And still, with each segment dissected, each line proposed, None could tell the story better than I.

I am a wanderer, not a ghost.

With each voice I hear, I doubt my abilities to fill the pages accurately, doubt the fire that which feeds my passions. A greater piece of me clings to this ability as though it were more important than life itself. If all else fails, if Nothing else could come of me, let it be their words, their voices. When all has faded, let each stroke of key and quill stand bright. Vibrant with the whispers of each soul, of my spirit.

It is a burden that you can't shrug off. There is no stop or break.

In this hour, this Chapter's End, my score would cease. It would still to the drip of a faraway ocean, ebbing on the shores of our being. And flowing forth from the throat of No One, would come silence. It would fill the ears of those who would watch, and those who would listen would hear mountains slipping. No tick of seconds, no clip of thought to illustrate my moving mouth. Each conversation would house it.

'Til the writer can decide, I'll hold each breath, and when my motives are met, the world will gasp.

~

Question of the Day: Where do you think you'll be in two years?

Something Blue

I'm so happy and excited and there are so many little things, but they all funnel down to two words:

SEVEN WEEKS.

Question of the Day: Have you ever been so excited to see things falling into place that you practically could piss yourself with glee?

Letter II - Lovefool

Dear Blank,

She asked me last night, “Do you think he thinks of me?” He being her future husband. It was cute.

And then it got me to thinking. About you! Kind of. Sorta.

I hope you aren’t somewhere thinking of me. Because if you are, the real me will never live up to your ideas.

~

Question of the Day: Life is a disappointment. But can you live with that?

"Fuck it!"

A groan bubbled up from her throat. She suppressed frustrated tears and a wild cry. Her heart pounded, fists clenched at her sides so tightly they bled a furious white. The music crashed about her eardrums, each note fighting for attention, punctuating her movements as she jerkily dropped to the floor. Back to the door, she buried her face in her knees. Everything was clutter. Needless, senseless bullshit to fill the space.

"Shut up!"

"Don’t worry about them."

"I need a break from everyone."

"I can’t wait for you to leave."

"They’re just jealous of you."

"She doesn't listen to me."

"Fuck it!"

The darkness chased her further into herself, into the corner of the room where the blinds couldn’t leak any light. A happy song attempted to break the walls of her storm but she tore the headphones away so abruptly that it stung. Rocking softly and staring at the floor, a thousand thoughts, a thousand nothings all ruined her escape. She thrashed her arms, she moaned and flung her phone to the other side of the room.

More than anything in the world, she wished she could scream until there was nothing left.

We Are A Hurricane

Beyond, just to the right, a river as deep as it was wide rested. A brisk wind tossed the waters on smooth curves, carting the scent of fish and salt from the not-so-distant ocean in mouthfuls. Palm trees speckled the healthy green and dusty sand, some blending in amid the stilts of flanking houses, raised to avoid the threat of harmful floods. The road was a dark snake swallowed by the tires of her vehicle only to be spit back out behind her, motionless and tired in the suburban tall grass. She rolled up her window in hopes of saving what little of her curls that hadn’t already been tossed awry. Content ebbed at her senses; welcome yet not quite ready to settle. Part of her said that it was impolite to drop in so unexpectedly. When she rounded the second curve and saw her childhood in delicate blue, the memories that swelled there greatly outweighed any hint of unease.
The roof came to a sharp point, its walls a combination of glass panels and sheets of treated wood. The balcony’s rails stretched out, past the kitchen below, a crisp white from afar but no doubt still as chipped and weathered as it had always been. Something hung there, limp—until the breeze caught, displaying it as an oddly colored fish with a gaping mouth and two strings that kept it in place. The breeze fell and it became an unrecognizable lump once more. Narrow stairs wrapped along the farthest side, came down and disappeared into an addition that had been secured beside the car port. A white truck with decals on the cab window bathed in the shade of the structure.
As she pulled up onto the rise of the drive and parked, she noticed a wide piece of drift wood that had been set out against the base of one of the stilts. On it, in crooked yellow and orange paint, were the words “Honk for Service.” She felt a wry smile grow on her features but she didn’t honk. Instead, she climbed out, careful not to make too much noise as she closed the car door.



-- Aw, I never finished this and now I don't quite remember where it was going. omo


Question of the Day:
Do you know how to freeze time without too many horrible side effects?