The Great Write Way, Act Three: Where's the gun?
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
I can't seem to do anything but totally frivolous or over the top dark:
Never lonely
I miss him every way there is to miss somebody, smell, taste, caress, breath and heart. I remember all the reasons he was dear to me, and all the reasons he was unbearable. I remember the drinking and the dark sarcasm that flowed from him in an endless stream when he was drunk. I remember the day his angry words turned into angry actions, and I stopped his blows with a fish knife.
Nobody thinks it anything but self-defense - not even me. But I loved and killed him; in the dark I'll never be alone, never free of him.
Those are both so intense, Typo and Sail!
The light snaps off and here we are, the chill night no match for the hard knot of ice in my stomach.
It went wrong somewhere along the line and I don’t know when or where, but all my confusion and sadness has coalesced and compacted to a grapefruit-sized lump of anger so hot it freezes me.
I can feel you shift on the mattress. I close my eyes. We will not talk because we don’t know what to say. To speak is an ending; I am afraid that my ice will erupt forth and shatter you.
It’s dark here.
That's very powerful, MM.
If I might? I'd drop "forth" after erupt. Erupt is such a strong image in itself that "forth" robs it of power. If you want to use "forth," I would use a softer verb.
Otherwise, that paragraph is just gutting.
What Bev said, MM. Excellent work.
My goodness, we're drawing out some good stuff with this topic. Not that we don't always, but this one really seems to have sparked a flame.
just in case you can't see me, I'm sitting over here nodding my head in agreement.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't move and someone lurked in the doorway. He couldn't see who it was in the dark, but he felt the menace.
He strained to lift an arm or turn his head but could only raise his heart rate. This weight on his chest, if he could only move his arms he would be able to push it off and breathe freely. Then he would deal with the intruder.
With herculean effort he gasped and sat up, his body yearning towards the doorway.
The empty doorway.
He turned on a light and waited for dawn. Again.
In. Out.
In. Out.
In. Out.
...
...
Three seconds. Four seconds. Five, six, seven--
I start to reach over.
Snort, snuffle, shift, mutter.
In. Out.
In. Out.
etc.
It's always a seven-second delay. I've timed it hundreds of times. One day it's going to be eight seconds, then nine, and I'm going to reach over and get no response. He swore to me that I'll never wake up to his silent, empty shell, that he won't leave me alone in the dark. It's sweet, but I don't believe he has the power to make that promise. So I time those gaps, waiting, just in case the Dark Angel is minded to put up a fight.
Good stuff, people. I love Ailleann's--yep, been there.
