#snippet thing

[atlasalexanderwrites]

The Hero and The Villain #1

“If you are going to kill me,” Hero flinched, their hand clutching at their stomach as they did their best to ignore how tight their lungs felt with every breath they took, “Then get it over with.”

Tick.

Tiick.

Agitated, Hero lifted their head to glare at Villain, “Stop playing-” Hero’s sentence trailed off as they took in the sight of Villain kneeling before them, just a few inches away, “What?” Hero meant for it to come off snappy and harsh, but Villain’s wide-eyes of surprise and pain staring back at them was enough to soften Hero’s tone.

“Kill you?” Villain choked, tears filling their eyes “Oh, Hero, that’s the last thing I want to do.” With a touch that was unsettlingly gentle and warm, Villain cupped Hero’s jaw, harshly swallowing back emotions before managing to add, “Oh, My Hero. None of this is what I have wanted.”

“Liar.” This time Hero managed to mix pain with anger as they spoke, shoving Villain away, “You’re evil! What did you expect to happen?!” It was Hero’s turn to feel the stinging pain of tears in his eyes, but he bit them back - refusing to give his enemy and once-was-best friend the satisfaction of seeing how torn up he was inside.

The expression on Villain’s face shifted, “Evil?” They laughed. Breathlessly. Heartbroken. “Who says I am evil, Hero? Who has the right to make that call?”

[atlasalexanderwrites]

Original Writing Snippet #1

*Everything was perfectly peachy until a cherub shot me in the heart with an arrow.*

Okay i'm joking.

Kind of.

Everything was going just fine. Then I met Prudence Burroughs. And not only was my heart aflutter but I, as a werewolf, stepped on a pile of deep crap by even talking to her. Why the heck did I think it would be a good idea to talk to a vampire?

Seriously. I should have left her in that hole.

[laelior]

Sunday Snippet

Don’t have a lot of time or energy to write right now but this story has been picking away at my brain in my little bits of free time. So here’s a short snippet under the cut:

The memorial wall on the Normandy listed names in alphabetical order by first name.

Ashley’s name was near the top. Her plate stared at her at eye level every time she stepped off the lift onto the crew deck. It carried the silent accusation that she’d left her behind to die on Virmire for a quick lay on a cold night before Ilos. Now the blank spot across the center divide and a few rows down from her name whispered that Ashley’s sacrifice had been for nothing.

(Don’t hate me.)

[taciturnmegalomartyr]

mundane suburban gothic

+it is too bright on the front porch. you smoke your cigarette on the back patio. the back patio is sweltering. you left your drink out front. it is shady and cool on the front porch. you left your cigarettes out back.

+you've never seen that car before. you know all the relatively nondescript silver sedans for the next four blocks in every direction. it is the middle of the day, bright. the driver's face is oddly obscured by shadow. he drives by seven times, a little more frantically with each incorrect right turn. you and the neighbors share a single second of unanimous sympathy. you are all still very surprised to see his eighth pass. he curses the spider on your mailbox.

+there's far too much smoke for it to just be a grill, the smoke too heavy, too dark. you can smell nothing but barbeque sauce.

+from midnight to 2.43 AM, five consecutive nights a week, there are three long, shrill, metallic scrapes followed by one thundering boom. each time a realty sign appears in a newly emptied house's yard, it is a little closer to yours.

+you are never in want of a gas station or a church. none of you are, and as long as you're in this town, you never will be.

+rumors fly that some cartel plugs are in our good people's backyards. the quality of the weed is amazing. no one wonders for long about the influx of unmarked suvs.

+you dream of beaches, of airports in cities you know like the beat of your heart, of culture and history and language, long stretches of road through places that may as well be other planets. youve only ever felt at home in the waters of the lake your father secludes himself by, and in the hospital.

+the next town over kills kids. every one knows. it's the deep hollows, the curvy roads, and whatever it is about the deep green kudzu that makes folks wonder what's beneath. you're allergic to the pollen year round.

+boredom can drive people to strange things. perhaps that is why the bowling alley is the only thing still open on this street. you hate bowling, all of you. lane six is your favorite lane.