Writing Fanatic or Fanatic Writing

[cmolewriting]

I wish inspiration was just like rain pouring, drizzling down in my mind. I wish for thunder in this summer daze ‘cause my pen  does linger over white, smooth paper and inside, a drought.

[cmolewriting]

*Takes a deep breath* Ah the sweet smell of traumatised characters

[cmolewriting]

The sun had since long disappeared behind the horizon and the woods were getting darker.

       A woman was walking slowly on a path leading nowhere, and her eyes followed the slight waving of the treetops rustled by the breeze. Closer to the ground, the undergrowth protected her from any cold wind, but she would not have minded, instead she continued her slow walk until she looked down and found a small lake at her feet.

       A spash alerted her to the beaver simming away from her, scared by her human smell, and she smiled at the thought. Just as slow as her walk had been, she undressed there at the water-drunken ground and stepped into the water. The water was murky and still cold from the lingering winter chill, but she revelled in the sting.

      She turned back towards her clothes she left in a tree close to the water and saw someone waiting for here there. She smiled, and swam faster.

      The old troll waited for her, long hair in a tangled mess.

      "You've been gone fer a yer," the old troll grumbled as the she got closer. The woman rose from the water and let the water run down her skin.

      "I've been so busy, dear mother;" said the woman and began dressing. Pulling on her underlings and trousers, hid away long legs, and a white blouse hiding the empty tree trunk that made her back. She finally pulled on her shoes and turned to smile at the old troll.

      "I must tell you of the men I've fooled, mother," she said. "I have made you the richest troll mother in the north." The woman smiled again, and the old troll threw her head back and laughed, her cackling laughter scaring a flock of Kinglets into flight.

[cmolewriting]

The day had begun hot, and was to end in hellish conditions if the sun continued to torment him. Wherever he hid from its rays of blinding light it found him sooner or later and he had been driven away from his house, his master claiming that he did no good at home so he might as well get on with it. Squashed by his master's cruelty, as well as physical strength, the cat was now hiding under a pitiful olive tree, barely offering any shade to speak of.

[cmolewriting]

Exhausting was seeping into her weary bones, but she kept fighting sleep and in return was doused with cold water from the sea.

"Get away from the waves, you idiot!" Came from further ahead, but she hadn't need for the prompting, she was already jumping away, swearing.

"Did you sleep while walking? Or walk slept?" She waved irritable at the small girl walking closer as soon they were far enough from the waves. Apparently the little girl couldn't swim.

"I did not sleep."

"So you decided to walk out in the waves for fun?" She scowled at the older woman walking passed the girl and she.

"Mind your own business."

"When you mind you own swords. I'm the one who has to buy a new one if yours rust." Confused, she glanced down at her sword and saw seaweed stuck on the hilt.

[cmolewriting]

”Tell me where the alien is.” All of a sudden, Lisa was unsure whether the 'alien' refered to the literal thing or Mr Meek. By the other woman's tone, she could have asked for both.

[cmolewriting]

She was sitting in her bed, hunched over her laptop, as the tv had turned into a background noise in the other room. Her mother and sister were baking a cake in the kitchen and a few swearwords were muttered as she tried to type over the sound of pans clanking.

   Through the open door, her cat silently walked in to settle down beside her on the bed. She absentmindedly petted him with one hand as she contined writing with her left one. He purred contentedly and she paused to lean over and rub her nose against his.

   "Been drinking the milk behind their back?" She asked him when she leaned back, her nose smeared with white. He purred louder. She turned back to her laptop and hummed as she began writing, her writing flowed easily and only with a few halts as she thought about what she should write next.

   Outside, the wind howled and leaves were ruffled.

[cmolewriting]

Jag är den beskådade eller den som skådar.

Jag ger och får nåd, men ber aldrig om det.

Mina rötter sträcker sig djupt ner i strandkanten,

men mitt blod har aldrig varit tjockare än vatten.

[cmolewriting]

The person looked like the you in the mirror but entirely different. Their skin told their story in scars and beauty marks, their limbs portioned just as they were born to be, like you, and their eyes filled with stars as they talked.

The one I see when I see you

[cmolewriting]

The queen had dressed up her daughter like the beautiful doll she was, and the noble men and women oohed and aahed at the pretty picture she made as she walked down the golden stairs. Krauss watched from the dessert table accompanied by Mitres Tchaikovsky. The boy had seized the opportunity when everyone's eyes were on the princess and was now stuffing his mouth and pockets full of chocolate while Krauss played look-out. Krauss watched Mitres Lodewyk close in on the princess like the fox he was, asking for the princess hand for the first dance of the evening. Krauss hid her mouth behind her fan as the princess accepted graciously.

“He's going to be unbearable for the rest of the evening, why did Mitra Assaf allow him the first dance?” Krauss growled. Tchaikovsky looked at the elegant pair moving to the notes before glancing at her, wide-eyed.

“Isn't Mitra Assaf supposed to–”

“I am allowing it for tonight. Good evening, Mitra Krauss. Mitres Tchaikovsky.” Tchaikovsky was close to getting a piece of chocolate in the windpipe and had to excuse himself, rushing off to closest door. Krauss let her lips thin behind the fan at the sight of the Mitra of the first house.

“Mitra Assaf, what an unexpected surprise.” Krauss said. Assaf was not normally seen with the noblesse of the revolution, at times she loudly claimed that such people were below her status. Krauss at times wondered if the stable boy the other Mitra visited at night was below or above her status as well. They seemed to have loud discussions about riding griffins by the sound of it.

“How is my favourite revolutionary? I have not seen you in a while, crawling on the floor like the maggot you are.” Krauss pictured force-feeding the Mitra a bucket of the slimy creatures and smiled.

“I am well, thank you. I guess you know all about them.” Assaf's eyes were dark in contempt. But the Mitra reigned it back and her mouth twitched upward.

“As long you know your place, vermin. Now excuse me, I have a dance with the princess to enjoy.” The Mitra removed herself, and with her followed her tail of servants and admirers. Krauss allowed herself a sip of champagne as she watched the retreat.

“Revolutionary, maggot, vermin. You would expect her to have some imagination.” Krauss did not turn her head at the new arrival.

“Mitra Singer.” She murmured into her fan as a greeting, not taking her eyes of Assaf's proud back. Some day that proud back was going to break, and Krauss was all too willing to help.

In Krauss's edge of view she saw Singer accept a glass of the same champagne as Krauss held in her hand. Krauss took a sip of her glass, and the red-haired woman soon followed, albeit with more gusto. Too much gusto, in fact.

“You're planning to embarrass yourself again.” Krauss tone was plain, as if stating a fact, and Singer snorted into her champagne while Krauss gave her a long gaze.

“Well, the party truly need some commotion, don't you agree?” She answered merrily. Krauss had nothing to say about that, so she kept quiet. Mitra Singer then downed the rest of the content in her glass and reached for a second. The second glass was not swept down as quickly as the first, instead, Singer swirled its content while staring at the glass of stars.

“You're still angry with me.” She stated, and Krauss was not going to lie to a friend, so she kept her silence.

[cmolewriting]

Hon håller andan, hennes fingrar vilar på tangenterna men hon förmår sig inte att röra dem. På pianot står hennes te, kall sedan en timme och bredvid ligger brevet. Brevet är tillknycklat efter att hon ryckt det ur sin brors hand för två mornar sedan och hur hon än försökt platta till det så är pappret veckat.

Hon försöker åter fokusera på noterna, men det är lönlöst. Hon sträcker sig efter brevet och vecklar upp det en gång till, läser igenom orden hon redan lärt sig utantill.

- Om du inte ska spela så kan du väl flytta på dig? Säger någon, och hon tappar nästan brevet i farten när hon vänder sig i stolen. Hennes bror står lutad i dörröppningen med armarna i kors.

- Jag gör alla en tjänst om jag stannar, svarar hon kort och viker ihop brevet när hennes bror rynkar på ögonbrynen.

- Jag är inte så dålig.

- Om jag har tur ärver jag morfars dövhet innan jag är trettio.

[cmolewriting]

I wished to feel the cold but you brought the fire.

a ten word story

[cmolewriting]

Let's Play Twenty Questions

Question 1. Where are I?

Question 2. Who am I?

Question 3. Why am I so cold?

Question 3. Who is the man covering in the corner?

Question 4. What is this room?

Question 5. Why am I strapped onto a metal bench?

Question 6. Who is trying to break inside?

Question 7. How can the door hold that much violence?

Question 8. Why is the man covering in the corner just sitting there?

Question 9. Who is that?

Question 10. What do you want?

Question 11. Why are you holding a scalpel?

Question 12. Why are you coming closer? Please don't come any closer.

Question 13. No? No! No, no, nonononono....

Question 14. AAAArgh! Please don't! Why are yo-

Question 15. ….why?

Question 16. why would you...?

Question 17. What have I done you?

Question 18. Please stop?

Question 19. I don't want... please let me go?

Question 20. Why can't I see? I'm so cold...

[cmolewriting]

“You just want revenge on the woman who made you into a prize.” Krauss hissed at the king, “you do not care for your daughter, or for this country.”

“I was her greatest general until she decided that I was better on a shelf! I am so much more, I am-”

“Nothing without me!” She realised that her voice had grown shrill, and continued after taking a deep breath, “You are nothing without me, and even less without the queen! I'm the only pawn on your side, and I have more power than you.” She strode up to the king with less than a foot between their faces.

“I am in control, have you already failed to realise that? I will crush the queen, and you will continue to be the prize-husband for a dead dictator until the day you die.”

[cmolewriting]

“The queen has offered you something. What?” Krauss stepped around De Vries like he was an aggravated griffin. De Vries did not allow his face to give a tiny inkling away, instead he leaned back in the divan and smiled, much to Krauss' ire.

“Is the great Mitra Krauss at the end of the rope? How quaint...” He sipped on the red wine provided. Krauss stopped her pacing in front of the infuriating man and leaned down to get closer.

“A rope I would sooner hang you with. Answer the question.” Ice formed in her stomach when she got a new idea. “She have something on you?” De Vries said nothing, instead he put down his half-empty glass.

“I believe,” he began slowly, “that Mitra Krauss would do good minding her own business, lest she wants to find out whether or not she can walk on clouds.” Krauss straightened her back as De Vries got up to leave.

“Kindly move out of my way, Krauss.” His voice was like golden honey, and Krauss could barely keep herself from gaping at him like a fool. De Vries moved past her, brushing her shoulder when she did not move. In a lower tone De Vries added, “I can't guarantee that you won't get away unscathed if you don't,” and then he was gone.

Krauss was still standing in the same spot when Maxwell walked inside, and Krauss had to send him away before he saw her face. Her mouth was stretched into a smile so wide it had become almost painful, but she could not stop herself. Her grin soon turned into chuckles, and later into a full-blown laughter as Maxwell fled from his deranged mistress. Eventually she calmed down and reached for her own wine and downed the glass. Holding up the empty glass against the light coming from the window, she looked at the sky.

“Walk the clouds? I can do a lot better.” Through the used glass, the clouds was coloured red.

[cmolewriting]

The paper is smooth under your fingertips as you stare; it is unblemished and plain, immaculate brown. Your pen rests a millimetres away from the surface; it is waiting for you to take the initiative. But you don't. You continue to stare at the paper, perhaps you are unsure what exactly to do with it. You didn't with your first five tries; they lay crumbled at your feet with the fourth attempt being ripped in pieces. Perhaps you don't want to write it, and that is why you hesitate, but we both know that would be a lie. You love this. I know, I know, not the struggle, but you love this. Writing. You love that. Putting one word in front of another, putting words into sentences that rip people's heart out. You love that power, maybe you even crave it. I wouldn't know. You won't talk to me about what is moving around in your mind, you tell me that you don't want to give me nightmares. As if my own mind can't come up with true horror. Sometimes I think you don't see me for what I am.

[cmolewriting]

I'm crawling out of my skin.

The restlessness is consuming everything, my stomach is in firery knots.

I need to move, I need to do something, I want to hit something. Or someone, I'm not that picky any longer. I want to tear something apart just to see that I can, I want to set something on fire and watch it burn, disintegrate, stop excisting.

I want to destroy instead of making something for once.