My words this week are:
Rum Scream Total Brain Lockbox
The door to the lockbox creaked on its hinges, the rust seal that formed with time made it difficult. She rubbed her eyes for what felt like the millionth time, but dust allergies be damned she had finally found it. How many years since she’d been here, 5? 10? Longer?
Her fingers froze while she reaffirmed her desire to be there. Her need to be there. This would be the proof she needs to convince himat last. Her resolve solid, she filled her lungs and braced her knees on either side of the wall. With an exageratted heave the door finally gave way, flying off it’s rusted hinges. The sudden slack caused her to overcompensate, and she flew to the concrete amongst a shower of dark orange flakes.
Fire screamed through her skull as she hit the ground with a sickening CRACK, it radiated throughout her body heating the blood in her veins. She felt her eyelids falling as her brain shot off it’s final signals, spiralling into total darkness she sighed….
Indescribably searing pain.
She gasped, nails scratching into concrete. Concrete? Her fingers were so numb she could only faintly feel the roughness underneath. As she began to recall the evenings events a heavy shame loomed over her.
The fight. The crying.
The rum. The screaming.
The running. And running.
Then the lockbox.
Shaking on the cold floor was an odd sensation she couldn’t place. A deep breath revealed the stench that had somehow been ignored until now; a stale metallic scent akin to a burning library.
Thick, dusty air caused her lungs to spasm, leading to a coughing fit that confirmed her initial fear; her pain ceased from the waist down.
She clutched desperately at fistfulls of material and lifeless flesh, panic setting in, causing her skull to throb mercilessly. Her brain could hardly register what was dawning on her as a horrifying fact, she couldn’t feel her legs. She willed them to move, to feel the pinches she was sure must be drawing blood by now. They refused to respond to any of her ministrations. They were totally useless.
A new desperation set in, one she felt spark in her lungs, and erupt as a blood curdling scream. Followed by another. And another. She continued this new approach until her throat ripped raw and her tastebuds were flooded with blood.
No-one was coming.
So I’ve decided to make a little adaption to Janet Fitch’s The Word: Stories. I adore the spontaneity of her self made challenge, which involves picking a random word out of an adorable (optional) little bag and writing a 2 page story using the word at least once. I’ve used her method as inspiration to my own version, with a few differences to make it ‘easier’ for me. Maybe I’ll get stricter on myself, but for now these changes make this challenge much more do-able for me.
For starters, one word is not enough for me to work with! So I’m using a random word generator where you can receive between 2-10 words. Nor do I give myself a word/page limit, I’m just going to use all the words and let the stories end when they feel like it.
So here’s to getting over this year long writers block I’ve evidently been suffering from!
Feel free to join me 😉
I’ve decided to check out an alternative personal blog service from Tumblr, so bare with me as I decide what type of blog, if one atall, I choose to make this.
Dickin around with font tools
Cause I can
Now please enjoy this stock photo of foxlove