Monday, January 27, 2014


Now Playing: Omnia - Morrighan

Procrastinating again.

So turns out I have a lot of drafts of posts I never finished. And I want to sort of shove a couple of them here so I can clean out that part of my database.

Myths - December 10, 2013

I didn't sleep all night. At around two in the morning I took an online final I was so not ready for and ended out with 92 percent. Now I'm sitting at the library, tired as hell, in need of editing my fairy tale. But, as always, my random, unimportant musings come first. This really won't be very long, though.

I don't know if I published the blog post where I said this before, but if I did, I'm going to repeat it: I guess I figured out what my problem with college is, though "problem" is sort of a dramatic way of putting it. College, I think, is suppose to be a time of either self-discovery or some sort of acquirement of independence. Yeah, I know it's not the same for everyone and that's a huge generalization, but it's all college Freshmen have when they enter university. Huge generalizations. Those were mine. And my response to them is, "I don't need college to discover myself--I already know who I am."

Which is nice, in a way. I like having this sort of confidence in who I am. I also don't particularly feel like I'm reaching some enlightening level of independence. I feel very safe here. I guess I've made decisions about financial aid, my classes, work, etc, but it doesn't feel like I'm doing "grown up" decisions. I don't know.

Short Story Idea - November 13, 2012
Deranged teenage girl with imaginary friend hitches a ride cross country to Las Vegas. She's searching for something, and the journey has enough drugs and danger to make conservative Christian moms go on a riot and burn me at the stake.

Because I need something to attach myself to.

(So I guess that ended up turning into Daylight Runaway. Without the drugs or controversy. Thank god.)

Untitled - January 1, 2012
Do you guys know in The Twilight Saga: Eclipse the scene when Jacob gets all angry and angsty because he found out Bella's getting married to Eddy-kins and he tries to run off to the battle to basically kill himself, but when Bella hears this Kristen Stewart's expression reflects that of someone who just found out there's no more brownies?

I think that was my expression this morning when my friend said her mother was dead.

100 Themes ideas - December 10, 2011

The mirrors - Dream looks into mirror, sees Spirit, vice versa. They walk through them.

The station - Dream, to drift between worlds, jumps in front of a moving subway with her hands in her ears and her eyes shut.

At one point, Dream looks into a mirror again. She touches it, sees her reflection, moves in sync with it, leans her head in, jerks her head, her hips, etc. She retreats, and suddenly, her reflection smiles at her (maybe? May not be necessary) and so she charges forward, as does her reflection, and collides against flesh and bone--her reflection, alive and well. So...jousting??

(The middle bit went into the Enkindled With Chains novella)

Screaming - October 2, 2011
It's the sign of a healthy person.

It's okay to scream. You can start right now.

Core (Messed up file--written late 2010 for the RP but documented early 2011)

Dream was standing in front of him, her breath harsh as she blinked rapidly, unable to think. “Memory...please, please, please,” she begged under her breath, but she wasn't just speaking to her. She was speaking to everyone trapped inside Legion's body. “Please. He's just a kid. He's nine. He's a child. He didn't know. He didn't know-”

“Dream,” Archangel said. His voice was low, his eyes fixated on the ground. He didn't want to look up and meet anyone's eyes. In his mind, he briefly remembered speaking with Briar, when he'd almost broken down and clawed at an invisible Ana. Desperately trying to bring her back, Briar had been calling out for her in fear, and Archangel had tried to calm him. That all seemed so distant. So untrue. It had all been just an act played by the young cub. “Dream, step away,” he continued.

But she didn't turn. She couldn't look at anyone but Legion. Still, from the corner of her eyes, she attempted to monitor the movements of every other person in the group. Yet Legion was getting closer, her eyes burning with anger. “I left him. We were kids, and I left him.”

For a moment, Memory seemed confused. But it didn't last long. Because nothing of the past mattered to her. Not at this moment. What Briar had done would not go unpunished.

Dream would have continued begging. She spread her arms and kept crying, thick tears rolling down her cheek and bandages, some stinging over her exposed wound. But Memory didn't stop. She didn't care. She wouldn't ask questions. She never would. All Legion ever wanted was blood and nothing more.

What do I do? What do I do?


I left him. I forgot about him.


I won't let her, I won't, I won't.


Legion stopped. Her eyes widen and she leaned forward, waiting for her to continue. Waiting for her to remember the name. Waiting to remember everything again.

That's when Dream reached out behind her and pulled out the handgun, aiming it with trembling hands directly at her protector.

“Dream...” Archangel breathed, blinking, his voice still low, “What are you doing?”

Legion had stopped, staring back at Dream.

She blinked back tears, her heart racing, her mind spinning. But just as Legion took a step forward, Dream opened her mouth, and thoughts disappeared as the words flew out. “You've killed. You've lied. You've stolen. You've betrayed-”

Memory's eyes narrowed, a low growl escaping her.

Dream continued, “He's nine. He's my brother; the only family I have left. They took him away and broke him-”

“Dream, put the gun down,” Archangel said.

Pull the trigger. Pull the trigger.

“-I won't let you take him away.”


End it now. End it. Don't let her take him. She'll kill him. She'll kill him and Dragon. 

“I won't let you.”

It's all she wants. It's all she ever wants.

Legion opened her mouth now. Memory mouthed a name, a whisper almost escaping from the lips of the mute personality. She could never speak, but Dream always somehow knew what she wanted to say. Her eyes said everything. The lines on her face. The posture of her body. It all spoke louder than her words ever would have.

Legion charged forward. Every injury she had, every pulsing wound, every sore muscle, and every screaming tissue became nothing underneath her anger. Dream saw the rock she held in her strong hand. Sharp. Ready. It was all she needed. She would beat Briar until his head cracked. Split, spilled, and shattered apart, frail as an egg shell. Make it messy. Make it loud. Make them all remember.


Archangel's scream was drowned by the crack of the bullet, hurling by like lightning. The gun's recoil threw Dream back, hard against the dirt. When the gun had gone off, Dream had instinctively shut her eyes, and so she did not see the exact second Legion's head exploded with blood. The bullet pierced through her forehead, and she had no time to scream. Terror punctured through her skull with the metal bullet.

Memory staggered a few steps forward, opening her mouth again as the blood dripped down.

Dream's eyes flew open not a second later. What she saw was Legion, having survived so much over her nineteen years, having battled and faced so many throughout her life, collapse on her knees, and finally, down to the snow, her face hidden away by a pool of blood.

Dream and Archangel watched, silent as the dead and pale as ghosts. They waited, almost hoping to see Legion stand up. To snap and charge forward, ready to kill again.

But Legion could not move.

Just like him. Just like them both. 

She was gone.

Traitor, traitor.

Dream opened her mouth at the sight, shaking again, her hands grasping tightly onto her weapon.

Two bullets left. Dream had kept her brother safe and killed the person that had looked after her for two years. She'd chosen a traitor over her protector.


And she exploded in a fit of screams.

Pieces (Messed up file--written sometime during 2011)


There was once a smiling face. Strong, protective eyes. Arms that reached out and wrapped around her frail body. Wings that once stretched out the sun and wished to take this creature past the clouds and to the stars.

It's not heartbreaking. It's something more. He stepped in front of her when hell broke loose. He held her when she cried after making so many careless mistakes. He saw her do the unforgivable and didn't let others rip her to shreds.


The warehouse around them stunk up of rotten bodies and animal droppings. It was abandoned. Dirty. Forgotten. Perfect in every way. When Dream had wandered in, far after the explosion and fire, she had expected many things. But never this. Never him. Never there. Never again.

"You've gotten tall..."

He was blurry, tears masking him away. She felt her shoulders shaking, her knees throbbing. She had fallen to the ground and hadn't even noticed. What was she going to do then? Pray? Pray for him?

He wasn't sprawled out. He hadn't moved since she'd walked in; probably hadn't moved before that either. He just sat there, staring right through her. He looked so much older. His eyes were bloodshot. He hadn't shaved in a while it seemed. His cheeks were hollow. He had new scars, up and down his chest, and especially...

"It''s gone."

He turned away from her. It only made it worse. Because she could see it. The missing wing.


She hadn't seen him in over a year. So many memories that stacked up through out that night and all the others in between. She saw his arm twitch as his eyes fixated on the year-old scars on her face--but then he stopped and made a face, his nose scrunching, his lips pressed tightly together. Disgust.


"Can you dream?"


"I said can you read?"

"I--yes. I can."

"When did you learn?"

"Before I knew any of you."

"Right. I saw a book in your bag, but I couldn't be sure. I don't remember what it was. Some poetry thing."


"I don't care, Dream. I do have something for you. Before we depart. I'm glad you can read because if not it meant I would have to say it out loud to you. And I mean...I never quite understood what it meant. Chances are you won't understand what the entire thing is about either. But I want you to read it. I want you to think of something, Dream. You're growing, but you're not understanding. You're still the little twelve year old who shot her protector in the face on the grounds that she was shielding the broken innocence of her brother. I want you to do something. Try to imagine why my choices have been my choices. Why certain of us have trouble going down some paths you just wander through. There's a lot there. I want you to take a little from it."

Archangel walked closer to her, in his hand a small book without titles. It looked very old and mistreated, probably dropped in water a couple of times. He held it out for Dream. She reached for it and grasped onto it for a moment, but did not pull it back.

Instead, she asked, "What...what will you do...once you are gone?"

Archangel's lips tightened, and he glanced away for a moment before letting go. "This is the book," he said. Dream opened to the first couple of pages where words finally appeared. "Ever heard of him?"

She narrowed her eyes, "Him? I don't think I have."


Dream examined it for only a little while before glancing back up. Her view of everything, however, was shielded away as she saw him grow closer. He reached out and held her head between his hands, his fingers tangled in between the locks of her blonde hair. As he stretched out his wing behind him, wincing as he pulled the damaged tissue, he leaned down, resting his chin over her head. He could smell the grass on her hair, the unwashed dirt and scent of flowers all around her as if she had cuddled against the earth in the night and slept there for years and years. "You were..." he found himself saying, "You were looking out a window, to all the stars. And there was something in your eyes right now. Something I never saw before."

Dream felt her hand drift away from the book, but she stopped herself. Instead, she held it tightly against her chest and curled her legs up till her knees were touching it. "What did you see?"

She couldn't have known Archangel's eyes had shut painfully. She waited a while for his answer, but none came. "Did he give you the poetry book?"

"I took it from him."

"When...when you see him..."

"When I see him..."

"Don't...don't tell him, alright? Don't share this with him."

He kissed the top of her head, and then pulled away so not to wait for an answer. He did not turn back to look at her as he excited out of the warehouse, his one good wing barely restrained behind him. The blonde girl stared back as the figure of Archangel was swallowed whole by the doors and darkness before disappearing.

It was not until he was gone that she spoke again.


And weirdly enough, I never wrote about Archangel, Legion, or Dragon ever again.

As for everything else...

Welp. I was a weird one.

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"Science and science fiction have done a kind of dance over the last century... The scientists make a finding. It inspires science fiction writers to write about it, and a host of young people read the science fiction and are excited, and inspired to become scientists...which they do, which then feeds again into another generation of science fiction and science..."
- Carl Sagan, in his message to future explorers of Mars.