Oct. 14th, 2013 09:51 pm
americankitten: (Default)
 The music was pounding, surrounding us in a vibrant, hot embrace. People were jumping, dancing, moving to the music, and I was a part of them. I thought I felt so alive, so existent. The thumping, resounding energy exhausted me, and the song was just too long, I had to stop jumping for a second, to catch my quickening breaths. Swung my head to catch the whole atmosphere and make it stick to me for a while. 

Her eyes caught mine like the blazing north star leading me home. Stuck in her gaze, my breathing was suddenly forgotten. The music, forgotten. Everything, gone. She was standing there, turned and looking at me, watching my movements, nodding her head to the music. Or nodding at me with the music? I'm not sure anymore, my head is buzzing with a new kind of energy, a new kind of existence. 

A new song starts and her body twists back to the stage, excitement lighting up her entire face. It must be her favorite, because she puts her head down, and arms up, and is really moving to the music now. Hips are swaying and her head is swinging, and I suddenly get the strongest urge to hold her waist as she jives. I decide "What the hell." and go for it. I make my way over to her, and she glances back at me. She knows, and she accepts it, even smiles a little as I reach my hand out.

Her waist is warm and soft, moving to the music in such a tantalizing way. I put my other hand on her, and I'm close enough to smell her hair. 

"You feel so nice, and smell even better...." 

I freeze, dead in my tracks, unable to move. An uneasy feeling creeps it way into my very bones, a chill that is deep and dark. She didn't say that. Her mouth didn't open at all when I heard her. 

She turns around and faces me, surprise in her eyes. Disbelief. Denial. 


americankitten: (Default)
There are moments in the night where you take complete satisfaction in the quiet, in the lonliness. Standing on a street corner, waiting for the crossing light to change, and the only companion you have is the 2 a.m. snowfall. These are moments I try to cherish as much as I can. 
The white flakes rest on my black sweater, hushing my thoughts, telling me quietly, "Focus, dear, you need to focus." Right. I needed to tail the short man with a  toupee slightly askew. He had been walking from the bar to some unknown destination for about an hour now, but I wasn't going to give up. Never did I give up on something as important as this. 
As I stood there waiting, the walk light turned green. He crossed the street quickly with short little steps, seeming as if some thought had renewed an urgency within him. His path waivered from side to side, just a little bit, due to his stupor, so I slowly walked behind him, as quietly as possible. My feet made no sound as I walked behind him. Every once in a while he would stop and look around curiously, with an angry look in his eyes. He was an angry man, I  knew that for sure. The knowledge of that plagued me now, edging me towards wanting to just go up there and kill him with my knife. To leave him there to bleed out and die on the pavement.
But no, I must stay focused, no matter how angry I he made me. My boss, Damien, told me specifically that he wanted this man back alive. Why, I had no idea. But then again, that wasn't my place anyways. I was just the fetcher. Nothing more. 
After another thirty minutes the man finally stopped walking. He just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stood there, dialing on his phone. I carefully hid behind a trashcan nearby, and eavesdropped on his conversation. 
"Hey Joey, I'm here. Yeah, standing just outside." He looked around, and I quickly ducked. He didn't notice me at all. "Nope, I'm all alone." 

americankitten: (Default)
 Okay, so I've been writing something today, and I only have bits and pieces. I want to know if you guys can help. You can give me anything to work with. Plot ideas, questions about the story, whatever. But I'd like help with how to elaborate the prolouge. It doesn't really make sense to me either, I don't know what to say in it. Or whether, how to say what I want to say. 

It'll make sense. Here. 

My mother always told me that everything starts with a choice. A simple, out of the blue choice could take me away on a journey for the rest of my life. One little choice convinced Hitler and Lincoln and everyone else. She told it to me when she was sick, like it was a bible verse I should live by.

Maybe she was trying to tell me something about how herself.

But every time I try to think about her I get angry, and push her face out of my mind.

And here is parts of the story.....
That woman called this the "tea room". I scoffed every time I thought about it. Why would you have to give the room a name? It was just another room in the maze of the mansion. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just another style of furniture in this little stuffy room. Green everywhere. Dark green and gold lacing. The chairs were fat and seemed like the people who sat on them weighed nothing. The table was small, just a few feet off the ground. The couch, opposite the chairs, was the exact same as everything else. Green, stuffy, and barely touched.

The most painful thing these days is seeing her drink. In the middle of the night she stands in the kitchen, in her fluffy white robe, her hair untied. The lights are off but the moon outside is always just right, so i can see the edges and shadows. They show me her hands holding a wine bottle and a wine glass. Pouring dark red liquid into the glass, and she sets down the bottle gently, not a sound. She leans against the counter and her head goes back in a smooth quick motion, draining that liquid like it's water.

And she picks up the bottle again. Repeatedly she does this, four or five times. Then when she sets down the bottle, you can hear it hit the counter. She looks around but I am hidden, behind the wall in the "tea room" where there are only shadows. Watching her destroy herself.
But I don't see her. I see mother. I hate the sight of it but every night I go back down to check and see, and she's there every night. The same thing, when she think she's hidden from us.


I know, conflicting POV's, but I'll fix that later. those are two different parts of the story. I feel I'm giving away too much of the story in the second part. I don't know. I need help please. Thank you. =]


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