So, this has been both a crazy and exciting week.
It's good because amazing writing Kristin a.k.a Red.Ink.Rain has an agent and soon people will be able to read CoS someday soon.
A few days ago I decided that I needed to start writing. I've been reading and reading, and reading is good especially when you're writing but I needed to write, so I did write. But then the ceiling fell in and there's soot and dust everywhere. So, I haven't been home till today and the repairmen are still here so I didn't get a lot done.
Today's tease is from Shadow (I know right.) I need to write this story. Even though it's taking me a really long time to write it, I can not let it go.
What I want to know is would you pick this up?
"Police say that they are calling them the 72 Princes..." the reporter said, his eyebrows furrowed. As Victoria stared at the screen, she could see yellow crime scene tape, it wrapped around a building with a sign that flickered Harold's in neon blue letters. In the light of the coming dawn, it looked like the dying embers of a blue flame. One by one, stretchers were pulled out. A white blanket covered the bodies from head to toe. Victoria didn't see not one survivor. "...they can be responsible for at least half of the crimes that are going on in the..."
There was a click and then the screen went black.
"That's enough of that." Her aunt, Josie, stood up from her chair and moved over towards the window, her arms folded across her chest. The sunlight shone in her eyes, illuminating the dark shadows beneath them.
"I was watching that," she murmured.
Josie turned to look at her and then sighed, "Your mother can still hear what's going on around her. I'm sure she wouldn't want to listen about death and gangs."
Victoria could feel her eyebrows crease. She wanted to tell her aunt that her mother was never going to wake up and that she was as good as dead, but she bit the words back, letting the bitterness they were shrouded in, poison her mood. She slumped down in her chair, pulling the thin white blanket up to her chin.
"I can ask a nurse for some more blankets."
"No, I'm fine." There was a glimmer in Josie's eyes, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she took her blanket and placed it over her sister's still body. Victoria looked at her mother now. Her skin, though a vibrant brown had an ashen pallor to it. As the fabric brushed her skin, her eyes never fluttered, her lips never parted. If it weren't for the heart monitor mapping out the steady beat of her heart, she would not have known she was alive.
"She looks so peaceful," Josie whispered, smoothing back the dark hair that fell around the pillow. Victoria turned away, her teeth penetrating the skin in her lips. She could feel the pain, but it wasn't as potent as the heat that was rising up her neck. Her mother was "resting in peace" while she lived in torment. Tears stung her irises, but they were forced back into their cages when she heard the familiar a creak. Her aunt had sat back down, a stone expression pasted on her face.
"Devon called," Josie started. "He's getting along fine at Harvard."
"That's not a surprise." It really wasn't. Devon was smart. He was brilliant. He was going to go far. She loved her cousin a lot, but she was tired of hearing about him. Her aunt's face frowned, which made Victoria feel even more sour. It was hard to look at her aunt, without feeling guilty for saying anything mean. Before her mother got into a coma, she used to be this bright, happy, care-free person. It showed in her large golden-brown eyes, that looked almost like a child's, as she stared off into space.
"No, I guess it isn't." she paused. "I'm going to go get some coffee. Do you want anything?"
"Hot chocolate, please." Josie fished around in her purse for her wallet, fixed her hair in the mirror, and left, leaving Victoria alone with her mother. She tried focusing her attention on the blank screen. Her eyes got lost in the symphony of black pixels, but even in her peripheral vision she could see the long, white outline of her mother. Turning over on her side, she tried to go back to sleep. It was of no use. The cot was uncomfortable. For one, it was too long. Her feet hung off the bottom, free to freezing temperature of the room. The arm rest poked her in the side, and the more she tossed and turned, the worse it got. So, she had to keep in a feeble position all night. Because of that, her back was now aching. She could feel the pain in her spine, it resonated to other places the longer she lay in that position.
Through the window in the door, she could see the heads of people walking by. Doctors with masks over their faces, nurses with frazzled hair, all-nighters with cup-of-coffee eyes. She stared at them, not understanding how they could do it. This was the first time she had came to visit her mother and already she felt like she was going to go crazy. The walls were white. The floors were white. The blankets and the pillows, everything was white. Like an insane asylum. She wanted to get out. She wanted to breathe in fresh air, her lungs felt like they were going to collapse. Grunting, she sat up and looked around, failing to avoid the body which was her mother. She looked so peaceful. There was not a smile or a frown or a crazed look on her face. It was a blank sheet, almost as if what happened years ago didn't happen.