#original stuff!

[lunarelles]

passageway .

[lunnefisk]

her name is brungus estrol and shes a part time university student

[kaytoko]

A snippet from my NaNoWriMo story

Here's the prologue. 8D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

The room felt cold when I started to regain consciousness, the chill of the cold, clammy floor creeping through my thin clothes and seeping deep within me. My body felt numb and heavy, and my mind felt hazy as I struggled to pull myself together in the inky darkness. I struggled to sit up, or even move, feeling around the floor blindly with my fingers. The uneven cobblestone floor felt damp and dirty and I flinched away when my fingers dipped into a slimy puddle. My heart beat painfully in my chest and my ragged breathing sounded strained against my ears.

I felt around the clammy walls, realizing quickly with a swiftly building panic that I was trapped. There were no doors and no windows. I was just down here in the darkness all by myself. I tried to scream for help, but my voice refused to come out as anything but a raspy whisper. I struggled to make a sound until my head hurt before scratching my fingers raw in an attempt to reach the ceiling. I struggled to suppress a chest squeezing sob as hopelessness bubbled deep within me when I heard a haunting whisper from behind me.

“Katherine…”

I froze, my heart stopping in my chest. My panic froze my breath and made my head spin, but as I stood completely unable to move in the darkness, I heard the echoing footsteps grow closer from behind me, trapping me in the corner. Blind fear had me struggling to uselessly escape as my nails broke and warm blood trickled down my arms. I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears falling down my cheeks and heavy sobs constricting my chest as the thing grew closer with every disembodied footstep.

“H-help,” I struggled to scream, my voice scratching painfully against my throat. “Somebody help me!” 

[amandaice]

Family Matters

When I was eleven, I was really embarrassed to admit that I didn't have a dad. I never started wondering why until my friends started talking about their dads. They'd talk about the baseball games their dad would take them to, or how their dad taught them how to fish, or how to throw a football. I always felt awkward when they started talking about things like that. I just couldn't relate, and when you're a kid, exclusion was the worst feeling in the world. 

My dad left when I was four. I didn't remember him very much to begin with; he didn't spend a whole lot of time with me and Mom. He only spent a few days with us and he never stayed very long. The only memory I actually had of him was of us sitting at the dining table, me eating my cereal and him reading the paper. If I looked at him for too long he would tell me to eat my cereal. That was the only thing he'd say. He was gone by the time my sister Chloe was born. 

My mom raised us by herself, working three jobs to have enough money for food each week. We didn't live in the greatest part of town, and it was hard for her to earn enough money for the rent. She'd come home late from her jobs, bone tired and hardly able to stand on her feet, but she'd still smile at us, tuck us into bed and help us with our homework if we needed it. She hardly ever showed how much the stress got to her. The times when she cried, she closed herself up in the small bathroom in our apartment, trying to stifle her cries so that we couldn't hear her. We always did, but we acted like we didn't. 

I knew Mom would still called Dad every once in a while, and those phone calls always made her sad. Ever since he left, I'd always wondered if he would come back. Sometimes when I was younger, I would just sit in front of the door, waiting for him to walk back inside and greet us like nothing was wrong. Mom didn't like when I waited at the door. When I did, she'd promise to take me out for ice cream, even if we couldn't afford it, just so that I'd do something other than wait for Dad to come home. This went on for years, but he never came back. 

I never thought about going to find Dad myself until we were given the invitation for Parent's Day in my fifth grade class. My friends were all excited to show their parents what they did in class, and even spoke about the different jobs that their parents had, but as I stared down at the flyer announcing Parent's Day next week, I felt really uncomfortable. For the last two years, my mom had been too busy to make it to Parent-Teacher conferences and asked me to bring home the paperwork for her instead. Something told me that she wouldn't be making it to Parent's Day this year either. As my friends spoke about what they were going to show their parents when they came, I started thinking about what it would be like if Dad was actually around. 

I thought about having him take me to baseball games and teaching me how to throw a football. I thought about all the boy stuff we could do, just me and him. No Chloe. No Mom. Just me and Dad. I got excited as I thought about it. There was so much we could do if Dad lived with us. We could have dinner together and Chloe and I wouldn't have to wait until Mom came home to help us with homework. Dad could even come to Parent's Day since Mom had to work! The longer I thought about it, the more sure I became. I wanted to go find Dad. 

I picked up my sister from the elementary school, coming up with ideas about how I was going to find Dad as we walked back to our apartment. I knew the bus schedule, I'd ridden it by myself before, but I'd never rode it all the way across town. I didn't know how much the fare would be, but I knew I'd have enough. I'd been saving my allowance for a few years so I could buy something I really wanted. When we got home, I pulled out my money jar, put it in my backpack. I had to dig around through the drawers in the kitchen, but I found the small piece of paper Mom had written Dad's address down on. I took that as well. Before we left, I made sure my sister's coat was properly zipped up. 

"Are we going somewhere, Conner?" she asked in her innocent seven-year-old voice. Her short blonde hair was pulled into lop-sided ponytails, the ones she tried to tie them into since Mom had to go into work early today. 

"Daddy?" she repeated. "Where's he at?"

"He's across town. We're going to ask him to come home with us so we can have a real family. Wouldn't that be nice? Don't you want a real family, Chloe?" 

She looked a little confused. "Does a real family have a daddy?" she asked. 

"Yeah, that's why we're going to go find him," I told her. "We're going to have a real family, Chloe!"

We walked to the closest bus stop, and waited half an hour for the bus to come. The driver looked a little worried that we didn't have an adult with us, but I told him that we made the trip to our Dad's house before and that we knew where to go. He let us on after I gave him the money from my money jar. When we sat down, I asked the old lady next to us which stop would be closest to Dad's address. She gave me the information, and I realized that the trip was going to take a little longer than I originally thought. Chloe got bored quickly, so I let her draw on the back of the notebook I had in my backpack.

"Don't you think, Chloe?" I said while she drew. "Wouldn't having a Dad be great?"

"I dunno know, Conner," she replied. Her lips pouted out fully. "What's wrong with just Mommy?" 

I deflated a bit. "Because having a Dad would be better!"

Her blue eyes watered. "But I want Mommy!" 

"Mom will be there too," I said quickly. She sniffled, but the tears didn't fall. I continued when she looked okay: "But it will be better with a Dad too."

The bus arrived at our stop after an hour. I led Chloe off the bus by the hand, assuring the driver that we were fine and that our Dad was supposed to pick us up. He seemed reluctant to leave two kids at a bus stop by themselves, but he had a schedule to keep and drove off. I waited till he was out of sight before leading Chloe down the street. 

There were a lot of big houses on this side of town, bigger than the ones in my neighborhood, and it took us a while to find the one we were looking for. It sat on the corner of the street, a big two-story with red shingles, blue paint and a shiny Lexus sitting in the driveway. My hands grew sweaty as I checked the numbers again on my paper. 

"Is this it?" Chloe stage-whispered as we walked up to the door. I shushed her and lifted a hand to ring the doorbell. For a moment, I couldn't do it. My stomach felt like knots and my nerves building the longer I stood staring at the red door. I felt every emotion bubbling up inside me: every thought, every instance, every dream I'd ever had for almost every year of my life. It came down to this moment. My hand shook as I pressed the button. 

I heard the bell chime in the hallway, and footsteps approaching the entranceway. I waited with bated breath as the door was unlocked and opened. A woman with dark hair greeted us with a surprised look. 

"Can I help you?" she asked.

I stood straighter. "Is this Richard McKinley's house?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Do you need something from him?"

I nodded nervously. "I wanted to talk to him," I said. "Please."

"Honey, who is it?" A well-dressed man walked into the entranceway, causing my heart to jump to my throat. I held Chloe's hand tighter as the woman smiled up at what I guessed to be my dad.

"These children say they want to talk to you. Were you expecting them?" she asked. When he turned to look at us, I saw his blue eyes harden ever so slightly. I nervously started to speak. 

"H-hi. I don't know if you remember us, but I'm Conner and this is Chloe. I wanted to come and ask if you could come to Parent Day at my school next Monday." I quickly unfolded the paper my teacher gave me, offering it for him to take. He didn't even look at it when he took it from my fingers. "Mom can't usually make it, so I just thought…" I trailed off when I noticed the accusing look the woman was giving Dad, and the guilty, uncomfortable one on his own face. 

"Isn't it past your bedtimes?" he asked with a slight edge. "Does your mother know you're here?"

"Um." I swallowed thickly.

"Richard," the woman spoke suddenly. "Why don't we invite them in and you can call their mother." She was already leading us in before he could answer. 

The house was even bigger on the inside. There were big, fluffy couches, pretty tables, tons of fancy decorations that I'd only ever seen inside of department stores. The floor was clean and white, as if nobody had ever walked on it before. The best part was that the living room had a huge TV, bigger than any I'd ever seen before in my life. It was hard not to stare as we walked inside. 

The woman, whose name I found to be Alice, sat us at the dining room table and offered to pour us glasses of milk. She smiled widely and sat with us, but I could see the sideways looks she gave our Dad. She looked like she wanted to say something to him, but was keeping it to herself. Dad sat at the other side of the table, his hands crossed. The invitation I gave him lay folded next to them. 

"So," he began. "How did you get here, Conner?"

"I took the bus," I explained, taking a sip of my milk. It was too creamy, almost as if I was drinking melted ice cream.

"By yourself?" He sounded surprised.

"And Chloe," I corrected. "I've saved my allowance since I was nine and used that to pay the bus driver."

"How did you know where to go?"

"Mom wrote down the address once. I just had to ask one of the people on the bus for directions. Wasn't too hard to find." 

Dad looked uncomfortable, unsure what to say. He rubbed at his eyes, leaning his elbows on the table. He looked tired, his business shirt crumpled and half untucked from his pants. He had sweat stains under his arms, and a small coffee stain near the top of his collar. The longer the silence drew between us, the more my image of him started to fade. 

"Do you think you can come?" I asked quickly.

He lowered his hand to look at me. "What?"

"Can you come to Parent's Day?" He hesitated, so I quickly started talking again. "It's the day where everybody's Moms and Dads come and talk about what they do. Then we do some games together and even go to recess. If you come, maybe you can teach me how to throw a football! The neighborhood kids tried to show me once, but they needed the ball back to play their game, so I never was any good at it." He was looking at me with this weird look now. The squinty-eyed look that grown-ups always gave me when they felt sad for me. The look made me nervous. "Y-you can come… right?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Conner," he said. "I don't think this is the best idea." He trailed off, letting the comment hang uncomfortably in the air. "Didn't you ask your Mom?"

"She has to work," I repeated. My voice hitched higher. "She can't ever come. Why can't you come?" 

Dad looked at me with squinty eyes again. "It's just not a good idea, Conner. I'm sorry." It was hard for me to swallow all of a sudden; my throat felt so thick. I stared down at the cup of too-creamy milk, condensation sweating onto the expensive looking dining table, my eyes tingling with an all-too familiar sensation. I could hear him sigh again. "I'm going to go call Trisha," he said softly to Alice. His chair scraped loudly across the wood floor as he stood up. I listened to his footsteps retreat into a different room as dialed the number to call my Mom. 

Alice was nice. She rubbed my back and smiled, asking us about school and our friends. I mumbled my responses, focusing on squashing my feelings inside my head. Dad came back soon, telling us that he called Mom and she'd be over to pick us up and take us home soon. I didn't look at him. He softly asked to talk to Alice for a while, and the nice woman got up to speak with him in the other room. As Chloe and I sat there in silence, I could hear their heated voices reverberating from the other room. The longer we sat there, the more the big, pretty house seemed to close in on me. It felt weird. Everything was too big, too fancy. My eyes burned. I wanted to go back to where everything was small, comfortable and familiar. I wanted to go home. I jumped out of my seat, reaching to pull Chloe out of hers as well. 

"Where are we going?" she asked. 

"Home," I responded. I pulled open the red door to the expensive house, turning my back towards it as I led Chloe to sit on the curb with me. She sat next to me quietly, picking at the grass next to her. I kicked at the pebbles next to my feet, keeping my sniffles quiet.

It took thirty minutes for Mom to pull up in our beat-up little red car. When she pulled in the driveway next to the Lexus, she jumped out of the car, running to embrace us both. She was frazzled and worried, still wearing her waitressing uniform, but still clutched us as close to her as possible. 

"I was so worried," she whispered. "Thank God you're safe." 

As her arms encircled us, I started to hiccup and cry, my tears soaking into her uniform shirt. I felt so comfortable in her arms; I couldn't help but appreciate all the things we had. We didn't have much, but we had each other. I didn't need a dad to make our family happy. It was already happy to begin with. 

Mom would apologize for not being able to come to Parent's Day when we drove home, and I would come to find that I didn't really care. I had what I needed, and while it wasn't everybody else's idea of a perfect family, mine was exactly that: perfect. 

[amandaice]

Newly Weds

I pressed my face against the cool glass of the french window doors of our hotel room, as if I could get closer to see the view from just doing that. The city lights lit up the gently shimmering river from both sides, old architecture glowing yellow in the streetlights, diminishing in size as they grew closer to the brilliantly lit Eiffel Tower in the background. I couldn't believe that we were in Paris. Hell, I couldn't believe that I was married! The past two days felt like such a blur. 

Long story short, the party lasted until way late in the night and after a dual effort on both our parts, my husband and I managed to get me out of my hefty wedding dress  long enough for us to crash on the bed for a whopping two hours before we got up again to catch our flight to France. We were like walking zombies, but finally after hours of working through jet lag, time zones and Europeans, we ended up here, in our cozy little hotel room with a wonderful almost-cut-off view of the Eiffel Tower. (Meaning, I could see the whole thing if I stuck my face against the glass, which is what I was doing.) At this point, I was just glad to be here. Especially with my lovely new husband. 

The longer I spent standing next to the window, staring out at the beautiful scenery, the quicker my situation sunk in. I was married. To the love of my life… woah. I glanced away from the overview of the old city for a moment to look at my new husband as he put our toiletries in the bathroom. He looked tired, but excited. I could see the bounce in his step as he paced between our suitcases and the bathroom. I looked away shyly when he noticed me looking at him. My cheeks burned as I heard him walk up behind me. 

"Well, sink works," He said, pausing to look out the window beside me. I looked up in belated surprise. 

"The sink? Why are you worried about the sink?" I asked him skeptically. He shrugged.

"I just got worried. We are in Europe after all," He responded. He turned to me seriously as an after thought. "By the way, the second toilet that looks more like a bowl isn't a toilet. Or a sink for that matter. Just don't turn it on." I bit my lip trying not to laugh. He shoved me unhappily. I laughed out loud as I shoved him back. We lapsed into silence as he looked out the window like I did earlier. I kept my laughter in as he slowly grew closer to the glass, trying to see the National Monument. 

"It's a beautiful view," he said quietly. I reached for his hand, looking up into his face. 

"Yeah, it really is," I agreed, lacing my fingers through his. 

He turned his eyes back to me, staring me down with a serious expression. Slowly, a devilish smile turned up the corners of his lips, which made me nervous. I laughed quietly, trying to distract him, but he would have nothing of that. The hand I held twisted its grip so that it was wrapped more around my wrist and he pulled me closer to him, snaking his other hand up behind my neck. 

"Y'know," he said quietly, dangerously moving his lips closer to mine. "We're married now. You're now officially mine to do whatever I want with…" His lips brushed slowly against the skin of my cheek and I felt my face light up at the implications of his words. Thoughts overwhelmed me, and as I felt his fingers play with the baby hairs on the back of my neck, I started to… panic. 

"YOU KNOW WHAT," I shouted suddenly, startling him with my nervous burst. I laughed suddenly, a note of suppressed hysteria unmistakable. He looked confused as I pulled away from him, awkwardly grasping for the champagne bottle that was chilling on the desk beside us. 

"I DON'T THINK I'VE HAD ENOUGH-- eek!" My nervous attempt to distract him was cut short as the bucket of ice spilled off the table by my reckless move, the frozen water cascading down my shorts and bare legs. I jumped into the glass doors, which startled me again, causing the bottle to slip from my fingers. Only by quick reflexes alone, my husband snatched the bottle out of the air before it hit the ground to make my mess even bigger. 

"You know what," he said slowly, placing the bottle safely on the desk. "Maybe we should just talk instead." 

Humiliated, I bent to the floor to scoop the ice back in the bucket while he went to the bathroom to pick up a towel. What was wrong with me? I'd been with this guy for three wonderfully long years. I trusted him more than anybody else in the world and I'd been looking forward to our wedding and honeymoon for almost an entire year, but here I was, acting like a complete fool and completely ruining our time together. Frustrated tears pooled in my eyes as I scooped the ice, my fingers growing numb. 

I tried to hide my face when I heard my husband return, kneeling down next to me. He gently took my fingers into his hands and toweled them dry in a fluffy white hand towel. I tried to sniffle inconspicuously. 

"Oh, honey," He sighed, gently turning my face toward him. "Why are you crying? It was just an accident." 

"That's not it," I mumbled out. He waited patiently for me to continue. Unable to keep it in I suddenly burst out, "I'm such a horrible wife! I'm too scared to sleep with you on our wedding night!" 

He blinked at me as I sobbed, chuckling softly as he pulled me in for a hug. "Technically, our wedding night was yesterday, but that's not the point. I don't expect anything from you that you're not ready for. I'm willing to wait for you to get comfortable, especially now that I've got pretty much the rest of our lives to spend together."

I tried to blink away some of my tears as I looked up at him hopefully. "Really?" 

He smiled gently at me. "Really, really. But, do me a favor and don't keep me waiting too long." He laughed, and I smiled, my nerves starting to dwindle away. 

"Thank you," I whispered, snuggling into our hug. "That means a lot to me." 

"I kinda figured it would," he told me, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "Now lets get this cleaned up and jump into our PJs so we can cuddle and stare at the scenery or something sappy and romantic like that." I laughed out loud at his joke and pulled away to find my pajamas. As I changed, I couldn't keep the smile off my face. It was wonderful to be reminded of the genuine sincerity that my husband seemed to always show to me. He cared so much for me, even to the point that he could sacrifice things to make me happy. Maybe I could choke up the nerve later on, but for now, I was perfectly happy just sitting in my new husband's arms staring out at the beautiful night view of Paris (and half of the Eiffel tower, since I'd much rather lean into him than press my face against the glass.) 

[kaytoko]

I made a writing blog!

After some thought, I finally decided to make a separate blog to post my original works. They're mostly short stories (with the occasional attempts at a multi-chapter story thrown in) and I tend to explore all kinds of different genres. If any of you guys like my fanfiction stuff and are interested in reading some of my original stuff, then take a moment to check it out. :) 

amandaice.tumblr.com