So I’m almost done with my background, though I screwed up the dragon color (yay me!) so until then… Here’s the first nine paragraphs of my first story that does not feature a teenager as the main protagonist! Surprisingly, it’s also the first one that’s gone over 15 pages. Feel free to tell me that this sucks, I will love you forever.
Months, years, or maybe hours, and days. Time has forgotten me, decided I’m not worthy of it. I don’t know why it’s me, or what I did to be forgotten. But maybe it isn’t so much a curse or a bad thing so much as a blessing. No one cares, no one bothers me with stupid engagements, I am alone. I breathe easier knowing I’m safe from time and life.
I lay in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing. The room is dark, as always, the shutters closed, keeping me locked away. Yet there’s a small light emanating from somewhere within the room. I’ve never figured out quite exactly where the source is, but it’s calming. I like how it seems to make the white linens and comforter of my bed glow. But I lay there, in nothing but a pair of black, silk undergarments, staring at the ceiling. I snort, thinking about where black, silk undergarments have gotten me before: nowhere.
Oh, I had worn similar garments before, along with the sexy little dresses or the tight jeans and loose, slightly transparent tops, to get attention. Men may have glanced over at me, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t good enough for them. There were times when I ran to the bathroom to see if I had worn the wrong thing or somehow managing to turn into a hag. Nothing at all happened to me. I just wasn’t attention catching like other girls.
As if it matters. I don’t need a man to rely on at all. I just like the feel of silk against my skin, which is why most of my undergarments are silk. Gently closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, thinking and considering. Getting nowhere, I sit up. The dark room isn’t calming, it isn’t wonderful to sit in, it causes stress. I may have sworn off humanity and life as I know it, but I still get stressed. There are, of course, some ways I can relieve tension, but I don’t tend to always go with some relievers. I stand and leave my room, sighing. Keeping in theme with the bedroom, every room is painted white but every room is dark, closing off the world. I’ve been living like this for several years now, preferring the darkness to the sun. I wonder on a daily basis how the world has changed.
Slowly walking down the hall, I listen to the silence of this huge house. It’s nice, outside of the hustle and bustle of everyday life, but I wish there was something else. There are no televisions, there are no radios, or cd players, or anything of the like. I live a soundless, soulful life. Instead of watching the trash on television, I meditate or read. The silence is almost complete, except for the sound of footsteps. I pause. There! There’s someone or something downstairs. I frown; I keep the door locked, there’s no way there could be someone downstairs. I quickly skitter to the stairwell and pause, listening. There it is again! The footsteps downstairs, pacing almost. I focus on the noises, and oh so slowly pad down the stair case, pausing every once in a while.
Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, I notice it’s immediately quiet. I frown slightly, peering around. My bra strap falls down and I absent-mindedly adjust it, trying to figure out where the thing is. Staying in the shadows, I try to be stealthy and look into each room I pass. There’s no one, so far, down this hallway. I relax, believing that my stress had simply caused an illusion, and walk past the last room on the left. I rarely go into that room; it’s one I avoid, simply because of the color. It’s a light cornflower blue. It’s also the only room where the windows aren’t boarded up, allowing in sunlight. I have no idea why I didn’t board it up or paint it, but I didn’t. So I go past this room, expecting it to be closed. I’m in front the door, standing in a pool of sunlight, when I realize not only is this room open, but there’s someone in it. Every atom of my skin is turning red and I spin around, staring at a very dapper looking young man. It’s like looking at a man from the 1950s: slicked back hair, crisp, black suit, and fedora. He gazes at me intently, and I feel like I know him from somewhere, but I can’t place the familiarity.
When I attempt to take a step back, I find I can’t and he speaks. “You can’t outrun time, young lady,” he removes his hat and examines it. I stop trying to move and watch him intently. The man stands and walks to the window. “You also can’t ignore life. It is fundamental and you are part of it.”
I bite my lip, considering what to say. Finally, I just go with my instinct. “Who are you, and what do you want,” I croak. Coughing, I attempt to restore my voice. I haven’t spoken a lot since I boarded myself up and when I have, it’s a light mutter as I talk to myself. He turns back to me and looks at my questioningly. “And yes, I can, in fact ignore life. It’s been going on without me for some time.”
The man laughs. It’s a nice sound and I realize what this house has been missing: laughter. Or maybe he’s right; it’s been missing another life. I’ve been missing another life. Just because I don’t want to interact with people all of the god damn time doesn’t mean I should have locked myself away. What was the point of isolating myself if I missed out on what was going on? Hell, why did I even do it in the first place? I frown, thinking about what happened to make me think doing this was okay. I’m startled from my reverie when he says, “You know who I am. You seem to like to blame me for your issues, though I assure you, Time doesn’t interfere as much as you think I do.” My face screws up, thinking about this. “As for what I want, it isn’t anything, really.”
Yeah, there’s another 26 1/2 pages of this crap. I’m also trusting the internet to not be jerkwads and run off with my writing. Which means I place too much trust in the internet.