Yay, more inspiration.

The lights flickered  as she heard her kettle come to boil. The electricity to her isolated forest home wasn’t always reliable, the lines long and difficult for the technicians to pin-point the source of the damage without it costing her a small fortune.  She poured the water into her mug and made her cup of tea, taking it to her cosy living and sitting on her well-loved couch.

As she picked up her book from the coffee table the lights flickered again and she sighed. Placing her book back down on the table she picked up the kerosene lamp. Given the frequency of her electricity problems she had learnt not to rely on it and had learned to enjoy the experience of reading by candle and lantern light.

In the next few hours that she read, she still did not feel tired. And by the time the clock struck eleven she knew that it was time for bed. For the last few months she had been suffering insomnia and so she tried to keep her sleep patterns regular. Marking the place in her book she placed it back on the table and went to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and then went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She still did not know the source of her insomnia, but the doctor had been more than willing to prescribe her sleeping pills. Taking one and washing it down with a mouthful of water she placed the glass back on the sink and retired to her bedroom.

Undressing and slipping into bed she felt the cloudy sensation of the sleeping pill taking effect. Her head rested comfortably on her pillow and she closed her eyes, glad for the dreamless sleep she was able to receive. The last thought as the cloudyness of the sleeping pill took effect was Did I remember to turn the lamp off…

The darkness of aided sleep engulfed her but yet there was something that tried to penetrate her dreamless sleep. A faint smell of burning was interrupting her time of peace. Her consciousness swam to the surface but she could not open her eyes, nor try to wake herself up. A feeling of panic set in as she realised her situation. She had not remembered to put out her lamp, and now her house was on fire. She could feel the warmth of the flames as they entered her bedroom but yet now it didn’t seem to matter so much. The smoke and the sleeping pills had clouded her mind now so much that she wasn’t really sure what was even going on anymore. Soon enough the darkness took over again and she never woke up.

Crumbling

I just wrote this is a rare flash of … I can’t remember to word, opposite of writers’ block.

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She grabs her laptop in a rush, flying from the room and into the comfort of her sanctuary as tears start to form in the corner of her eyes.

Crumbling she types.

I am crumbling, I am losing control. I can’t stand the pressure, I feel so very overwhelmed.

Her vision blurs as tears continue to form and spill over and slid down her cheeks. And yet she continues to type, quickly and accurately, sight not important in expressing her innermost emotions.

I don’t understand what is happening to me. I have been through this before, so why does it feel so much harder?

As she finishes the final words of her post I just don’t know what to do anymore she hits the publish button and closes the lid to her laptop. Maybe someone will see her thoughts and give her the comfort she is desperately crying out for. Or maybe she will go unheard.

As she places her laptop, her lifeline to the outside world, on her desk she climbs into bed, curling under the covers as if they would protect from far more than just the cool night air. She pulls her teddy close and kisses him on the head. Softly and swiftly she cries herself to sleep to wake up to another day.

Story excerpt

I wrote this during my year 12 Accounting exam…I didn’t do too well, but I thought this turned out quite well.

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The second hand seemed to be moving unusually slow. Each time I glanced up at the clock it seemed not to have moved. I suppose this was a good thing. As the minute hand moved ever closer to the twelve I was watching my life tick away before my eyes.

No one had come to visit me. Well, a priest had come, but he didn’t have much of a choice. They made him come and try and comfort me in my last hours. My family had disowned me, and I didn’t blame them. If my sister had done what I had, I wouldn’t want to see her against either.

In the time I have spent here, only two others have come to see me: two visitors in three years. The first was my lawyer, but he wasn’t much use. I pleaded guilty, and there was nothing much he could do about it. My other visitor was most unexpected. My father’s brother came to see me, and I think he will be the only one at my execution, apart from the guards, of course. But my uncle sympathised with me about my crime. In fact, he was the reason I didn’t kill myself in my cell.

He came and saw me last week, just after my punishment had been decided. Death, it would be; revenge from the others. Vengeance from the grave.

I didn’t blame them; I knew it was what I deserved. An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth; a life for a life. That was the natural order. That was just the way it went.

Not surprisingly, I didn’t feel afraid of my death looming before me. I had faced hopelessness and the deep seemingly infinite darkness of despair so many times before. But there was a light that had shined through it all: he was gone and I was in control.

I can’t remember if I even told my father’s brother why I killed him. I guess he will never know. The minute hand had just reached the eleven; five more minutes to go.

A guard has just entered my cell, cuffing my hands behind my back, telling me it is time to go. Go where? I wonder. Go to the Death Chamber, the room feared by all the inmates … except me. That is where I will make my final escape. That is where I will finally be able to escape my life.

The executioner takes a strange amount of care with his procedure. He is gentle, and even rubs numbing cream into the place the needle will go. He is so kind to me even though I am about to die.

I am lying on my Death bed, perfectly healthy in every way. But that injection will change everything. What is known as a device to save people’s lives will kill me, but not destroy me.

I am dying before they even administer the injection – or did I just not feel it? Everything goes blurry and my eyelids get heavy. I cannot keep my eyes open, so I left in the darkness. I cannot hear anything, and any sense of smell has vanished. I know I am dying, and I notice that as my breathing slows I begin to feel fainter and fainter until …

I can see them, sombre and silent, taking my body from the Death Chamber. Suddenly I see someone I didn’t notice before my death. Crying silently, watching my body, I see my uncle. He whispers something that only my dead ears can hear: “I’m sorry for what he did, but now you’re free.”

Welcome

Welcome to my blog.  This will be a collection of my writings. Please feel free to comment or add tips. If you have any writing instructions please let me know and I’ll see what I can do.

Enjoy!!