Writing Drabbles

By BloodShed_Chimera

Notes, Writing prompts, Ideas, Dialogue, ect.
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BloodShed_ChimeraWriting   1y ago

I totally stole this. This is stolen from StrawberryGashes. Reading this brought back so many memories and made me cry. Thine and Zandra memories hurt lol. Maybe I can find my old Thine writing???


Andrea's Sample Post:
Jeweled eyes pinioned me down. They remind me of the cat-eyes marbles that now lay strewn across the hard oak flooring, scattered, forgotten in the moment. A fierce impulse rises in me to bolt. I swallow the hard lump in my throat. The fear was consuming me, taking over every cell.

The TV blares in the living room. The phone rings. We were trapped, suspended in a shadow of reality. I listened, waited for the change. The one that would infect and contaminate me. One that would not register in the range of hearing. More a feeling. A tremor at first then moving, shaking underneath my bare feet. The house creaked and moaned as if foundation was crumbling.

The tiger descends upon its prey. Closer closer she stalks. Pale strands of auburn hair streak across her gauntly face, it gave her the impression of a killer. It was not her outward appearance. It was the eyes, the inhuman beast that lurked beneath the surface of green eyes so much like my own. It consumed her, controlled her. She was a fury, a palpable hornet’s nest of rage.

A bone white hand flickers across my vision, striking my cheek. I recoil, my hand breaking the fall, twisting me in a serpentine fashion. The mother I loved, trusted, believed in was a monster.

I was too young then, too naïve to see reality right in front of my eyes. Trust makes a person want to believe. Trust is blinder than love.

In the next instant she raises the skillet. It is upon me. Steam billows against her twisted sadistic face, acting as a curtain of fog. The oily contents come down like a tidal wave, Star burst of pain flares along my backside. It engulfs me, suffocates me until the only screaming is inside my own head. The ground whirls and recedes beneath me. Some events have internal scarring. I just happened to be blessed with both.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Alexandrea how long are you going to be?” The tepid water pounds against my flesh. I imagine Stephen poised against the door frame, awaiting for my signal of existence in this steamy labyrinth. I decide not to give him the satisfaction of an answer at first. I crank the faucet off, wrapping up in the towel. I snatch my phone off the sink, the screen blinking to life. I curse under my breath. Stephen was supposed to be at work an hour ago. I draw my attention to the two oval blue pills next to where my phone was previously. I swallow them dry. I refuse to take them in front of him.

I face him at the door. “Stephen what the hell?” His lashes cover his steel grey eyes, he expels a breath like it takes effort. Yeah, right.

“I wanted to make sure you-”

I cut him short, firmly placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m alright, Claire just canceled so I have her shift.” Lovely best friend she is. His tongue clucks against the roof of his mouth like he understands. He tips my chin up, kisses me, his tongue tracing the edge of my lips, want, desire is evident in him. I notice how dry and chapped his lips are. How his face stubble makes my face itch in irritation. He tries to pin my back against the opposing wall. I break away, pretend I’m in a rush. He huffs in annoyance but lets it pass.

“Zandra.” He uses my pet name. “Relax.” He starts toward me.

I stalk towards the bedroom. "Head to work.” I relinquish my clipped tone for effect. “I’ll be home around seven.” He coos an 'I love you' as he departs. I’m in another time, another existence as I respond. The apartment is quiet as I dress in my work uniform. No more intrusions. Movement as I pass the mirror beckons for my attention. I stare into the depths of my dull eyes, the haphazardly cut hair. Ironic I compose myself as more of a delinquent stereotype then I did when I actually was in my teens. I will my hair up into a tail, then start out into the night.

The Black Lagoon is a bustle of noise and haze. Most of the attention is drawn to two burly drunken men squaring off in pool. The cluster of the people clues in that they’re somewhat important. The man with the blood vessel practically throbbing in time with his heart smirks vindictively. I facetiously crick a lip. He’s a regular here, the symbol sewn on his jacket makes me recall. I’m jostled as I pass, and I have the urge to plunge the pool cue into the idiots eye socket.

I slither behind the bar, arranging, pouring and mixing the drinks. Preoccupying myself with the hustle of the night. Most shifts I don’t bar tend, that’s what Claire’s position upheld. The first two hours are a blur. By ten thirty I take my first break. I decide the eruption of noise is too much to hassle with staying inside.

The moon is full and bright in the endless abyss of the sky. My back is to the wall of the rear entrance of the bar. My eyes dance along the ground, the mosaic arrangement of the shattered glass. Glass. The marbles. Edith’s eyes. I snap my eyes closed, light a cigarette and calm the anxiety rising inside. Calming the waves. Unfortunately Edith was not my undoing.

A breeze fires the synapses in my brain. Chilly, I think, rubbing my arms. I forgot my jacket in the passenger seat of my car. I don’t move to get it, I only stay out here a few more minutes anyway. I snuff the butt out after one last drag, the smoke blazing up from my nostrils.

I fishtail back inside. The atmosphere had abruptly changed in my departure. The heavy set from earlier eyes me with feigned interest, he orders a Scotch. I’m about to serve his drink when it happens. She materializes, like a whisp of smoke. At first I believe it’s just an illusion.

“The drink, Today, Hale.” He mispronounces my name like it’s really that difficult, pompous ass. I hand it to him without a word. All my attention is on her. I knew it was her, I did not have to question that. Her hair was a halo of waves that framed her face, curling softly at the end in harsh blond shades. Her eyes hold a cold exterior. At once she seems so familiar and so otherworldly. Confident, but still managing to look somewhat shy, out of place to this scene.

She’s sitting to the corner of the bar, close enough that my words reach her like an Arctic wind. “Would you like to order?” Then I think. You’re too young. I count mentally in my head. She couldn’t be any older than seventeen at this given time.

I numb all emotions, shut it all out. Two years ago, the past. It was nothing. Everything. Does she remember? Would she? My job, my life. I recall Elizabeth is no more, no more than a shell of a person that no longer existed.

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