A Glass of Promenade

JournalWord: Grandeur fun can be had by all with a simple salute. *** The night is young and breathes of celebration, which is usually the excuse for a party; randomly conjured at the stroke of seven. A house, shrouded in lights and lanterns that break through the sunset’s last shimmering rays, entices the locals to dress up in their most pompous dresses and their newest suits. Couples and groups of arm-linked friends, gather their skirts and neckties, and set off to spend the hours before midnight distracting themselves from plagues and...

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Kinky Games

JournalWord: "Are kinky games like Twister?" *** "What are kinky games, Mr. Luke?" Ruben pipes up from his mess of newspapers. He is constructing a series of piles from the shredded newspaper scrapings on a mangy rug. He smiles expectantly up at the man hidden behind the economy section. Luke chokes on his saliva and lowers the newspaper to patiently reply. "They aren't very fun to play," Luke says, hiding behind the section of paper and hoping that his answer will be enough to soothe the curiosities of the child. His hopes are denied,...

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BTF: Awake and In Thought

I'm taking a break before I properly dry my hair and stuff my long-forgotten purse with necessities. A girls day at the mall with some pretty amazing gals. It's strange that now that exams are here in a week, my schedule has been packed with get-togethers with friends and shopping trips. I'm just taking a moment to finally realize that I'm a big girl now. I mean, I've been 19 since October but the finality of growing up hasn't really settled in (probably because I'm still tied to the tight leash held by my parents...). This is my moment to...

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The Colors of Madness

JournalWord: Girls in wires. *** Bony fingers tug on his jacket, displaying the thick cuff with clear black numbers carved into the heavy band of metal triple the size of her wrist. He follows the pale, vein-stricken arm, past the cords and wires that creep from under the swatches of dirty bandages, to meet the unwavering stare of two empty eyes. His first impulse is to rip away from her grasp and run away from the experiment, however, he's frozen in her stare. That's when he realizes that her "empty eyes" are...

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Salves

JournalWord: Dampening the stink of stomach acid. *** The scent hits her nose, and suddenly she can smell everything. The thick, cloying salve that feels like it's gathering at the back of her mouth, the sourness of the binding agent she just applied to the wounds, and the heavy smell of raw meat. Human meat. Very professionally, she sits back on her heels, wiping her hands on a length of bandage, swiveling away from her patient in a precise half-circle, and vomits. He is at her side in an instant, slipping his hands around...

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BTF: It's going to get better.

I know I need to get through the beginning of YGMM. It's pretty dry and boring, I know, but that is Chris. Chris hasn't got much of a personality; she's a blank slate, overprotected by others. She doesn't find herself familiar with other people and opts to work whole-heartily into her job, saving lives and learning about people from their medical records and by observation.  Her interactions with Tristan and Jones will introduce her to the real world, though at this moment, Tristan and Jones are very guarded against Chris. She wasn't...

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YGMM: A Moment of Her Time

*** I shrug off my lab coat and drop it onto a hook as I walk into my new office. I walk toward the large desk, tucking the door closed behind me as I locate a brand new chair, graciously falling into the over-sized cushions behind the desk. Laying my head back, I take notes on what I have done today, tallying up meetings and tours and the countless introductions to the rest of the medical staff in the Cardiac department.  I glance at the pile of papers on my desk, sectioned into folders. Some are light and sparse with a couple...

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Where Our Demons Reside

JournalWord: An immortal who carries around a pocket watch as a reference. *** "A demon.." The first accusation floats through the gathering crowd. I keep my head up, boots kicking up dirt as I march through the parting crowds.  "We are goners. This town is done for. We're all going to be eaten.." The air around me hums with the whispers and tension of my presence. Parents grasp their children and push them behind themselves like I would snatch them right there. Old men scowl and glare, muttering curses and prayers all in...

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Start Screaming Already!

JournalWord: Evil organization's paperwork. *** While everyone downstairs is happily beating each other for the last remnants of an overdue prisoner, Tina sits in her office, shuffling around paperwork to the eerie shrieks of a prisoner who has taken the men's interest. Must have finished up with the dead guy, she muses, popping a pen lid between her teeth and aiming her pen tip at the task at hand. It is an unfortunate fact that evil organizations are as susceptible to bureaucracy as any company, whether it be...

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A Tiny Tune

JournalWord: When a misfit comes home. *** He stumbles into the cafe, slamming shut the front door from the peeking rays of the morning. The jumbled chime of the bells over the door announces his arrival and he grunts, clutching his head at the sharp pain the sound induces.  He shuffles one of the tables, knocking down a chair from it's upside door position on the tabletop. It's too early for anyone to be up. Dan isn't even up yet to turn down the chairs for the day. Placing the chair on it's legs, he falls into the wooden seat,...

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You've Got Male Models: The Start Pt. 3

This is the final installment of the The Start. Enjoy! *** I wake to the steady strum of a healthy heart. The lull of the arias and ventricular walls almost send me back to sleep. Almost, because the morning glare turns the inside of my eyelids red and I quickly realize I can't struggle to move away from the light. Alarm sets in and I force myself to pry my eyelids open. It takes a lot of fluttering as my hands can't reach to rub away the grittiness.  My face is pressed against the skin of a planed chest. My legs...

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You've Got Male Models: The Start Pt. 2

*** I toss my travel bag through the door as soon as I crack it open, pulling out my key and displacing myself to the other side of the door so I can slam it closed. I immediately fumble with the lock, jumping away just as it clicks into place. Scrambling, I grab my bag and creep into the first room, ignoring the deep voices still trekking the halls and opting to even my breathing and slow my heartbeat down. I'm not normally this jumpy, but then again I don't usually miss so much sleep or drink coffee. Taking those connecting flights was definitely...

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Morbid, much?

JournalWord: Truant *** There he is.  A school-uniformed, cocky teenage truant! He tugs at his striped tie, languidly stopping beside my bush in front of my house. Acting suspicious, tossing his head back and forth. Faking to flip his hair out of his eyes, he checks around him, making sure the coast is clear. With a grin, he picks a ripe, heavy blackberry off my bush. He has the audacity to roll the berry over his tongue, cheekily, watching my window as if he knows I hide there. So smugly self-assured.  I scowl as he...

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I could totally write this.

In the early rays of morning, and the late wakes of night. After a night of browsing the internet and not a  wink of sleep, a bright spark of interest for entering contests takes over her last shred of mental capacity and blinks into a haze.  So, for an hour and a half before she is knocked out cold by exhaustion, she enters online contests, clicking  links and filling out entries in a blind haze.  Yes, welcome to my life of giveaway and contest obsessions. This is actually usually how I spend my evenings and extra time...

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You've Got Male Models: The Start Pt.1

*** The key I've kept close since it arrived in the mail a couple weeks ago, fits into the crevasses of my palms without pinching. I slowly exhale a breath I've been holding all afternoon and push the straight fringe of my dark hair out of my eyes.  The chime of the elevator interrupts my train of thought and I slide into the empty wooden box. My eyes sweep over the column of of numbered buttons and I press the button for the top floor. The doors start to slide close with another short chime and I retreat back to my afternoon. I recall...

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Prison Papas

JournalWord: "They're in jail." *** 5-year old Melody turns to wave before skipping over puddles beside her father, heading towards a car parked down the street. The sky has cleared up since this afternoon and the stars are already peeking over the remaining glow of the sunset. Walking back into the daycare, I start collecting strewn toys as I stroll down the orange and blue hallway. Stuffed bears and railway cars are piling in the crook of my arm and I occasionally press down falling, taped corners of scribbled sheets decorating the walls. Dumping...

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