Introduction thread

[AngelicH0micide]

Hello all. I'm angelichomicide, please, call me angel. I'm a writer and a martial artist. I hope to be going to Korean in the next couple of years to train and teach there.

In the meantime, I have been working on a novel and lately found myself to be lacking inspiration, that that is why I joined this guild, to kickstart myself into really writing. Every day.

A sample... well, I trust that you all understand or can imagine what it feels like to be plagarized, so I also trust you won't do it. Forgive me, but it is a fear of mine since my friend was plagarized. Anyways, this is the opening paragraphs from book two in a series I'm writing:

Leandra looked up as the doors to the throne room opened. Renn stepped through the doors and shut them behind him – loudly. He was dressed much differently than when she’d last seen him. He wore a sand colored tunic with dark red embroidery along the collar, hem, and cuffs. His brown hair was cut into a shaggy mop on top of his head – hair falling in his eyes, which remained locked on the ground as he approached and knelt at her feet.

“M’lady,” he said in greeting, but his tone was cold.

Leandra felt the familiar wave of discomfort at seeing someone on their knees in front of her. Mixed with the nervousness that had taken root in her stomach since she’d heard that Renn was requesting a meeting with her, she felt as if she might be sick at any moment.

“Please stand up,” she said softly, sliding off the throne. She was beginning to think that she’d never get used to sitting on it without feeling arrogant.

He did so, but still didn’t meet her eyes, even as she stepped down the three shallow stairs to the marble floor. “What did you need to see me about Renn?” she asked. She thought she saw him flinch when she said his name, but the movement was so slight, she couldn’t be sure.

He finally looked up and met her gaze, his green-grey eyes intense. “The war is over, right?” he asked after a moment.

Leandra stopped herself from looking away. “Of course,” she replied. She hoped her voice sounded more convincing outside her head than it did in her head.

So, umm, yeah. Short little glimpse there.  

[AndreaHarper]

Hi! Call me 'Drea, most people do.

I'm a little silly, slightly odd, and more than a smidge insane, and my writing tends to reflect that. I write about fictional weather a lot, also comedic horror (it's only funny if you're a sick and twisted individual), as well as enormous sprawling messes of myth and folklore and god knows what else that never really go anywhere. (I like to take things that are mentioned in various mythologies and folktale traditions and explain them. Or expand them. Or mix them up with other, similar things, which is how the Welsh tradition (it may show up other places, of course, but that's where I remember finding it first) of marrying people of to abstract ideas, like absence or winter or chaos, got tangled up with the Norse myth of Loki's mostly mortal children being slaughtered wholesale by the people he had taken oaths with and to, and the misconception that the Finns were inherently magic, along with a bunch of other stuff.)

I write a novel or two (or three or four... I think this year I'm going for six, all told?) every year, for NaNoWriMo and other such occasions, mostly because I have a three hour commute and nothing better to do during it. This particular challenge is both a something better and a chance to work with the characters and settings of previous novels in a different context.

I'm studying to be a linguist and a costume designer, which might mean some themes are just rants about the socio-economic context of waistcoats in the 1900s as regarded by Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream or the adaptation of verb stems to the integration of Baltic and Scandinavian syntax over the course of the Kalimar Union and the Swedish Empire. (I speak French and English, but Finnish is what has currently captured my heart. Please bear with me. Also I'm not joking about Shakespeare meets 1900's. That was the last play I was costume department for, and it was a nightmare. All actors should die.)

My favorite piece of punctuation is either the parentheses or the semi-colon.

Writing sample.... Here, have this.

[Richard has made it very clear that he does not like most of his sister's suitors, not that she recognizes them as such, but that he does approve of him. Ara, his mischievous, enormously fluffy piebald kitten who is forever getting into mud puddles and causing Mrs. Robertson, their housekeeper, who served their parents and their grandparents before John became head of the household, to catch her and bathe her, waging a never ending war against dirty paw prints in her home, likes to twine around his ankles when he visits, and once deigned to sit on the arm of his chair and allowed herself to be petted, which, as far as he can tell, is an even more serious stamp of approval. Elizabeth herself remarked on it, when she saw Ara tilting her chin to be scratched, the elderly but still sleek Nicodemus draped around her neck like a fur collar.
“She doesn't usually like strangers.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ara.” she gestured at the kitten, who had tilted her head in the other direction, so as to receive equal scratching on both sides of her face. “She barely tolerates John and Richard and I, and she never, as far as I know, comes out for visitors. You must be special.” At that point Nicodemus flowed down from her shoulders like a river of ink and Ara jumped off the arm of the chair to bounce on him, and Elizabeth smiled and left.]  

[Hardcore Uvula]

Hello.

I'm hoping that joining up here will be a good challenge and help me with my writing. As far was what I like to read, I enjoy fiction mostly. I don't really care for non-fiction, but have been known to sit down with one every once in a while. My favorite authors are Douglas Adams and Neil Gaiman. I'm currently reading Anansi Boys, written by the latter.

I'm in the process of writing two novels, but I haven't really gotten that far in either of them. I've never gone out for NaNoWriMo, mostly because I'm always in finals in school during that period, and I just can't do both of those at once. Seems lame, but it's true.

I'm a college student, by the way, studying to become an x-ray technician. I worry that I'll be able to get in with how badly I'm doing this term, but ah well.

I love to roleplay. It's a huge part of my life. I also draw, crochet and tat (make lace).

Uhm. What else?

I usually write short stories, but none of them are really short enough to post here. I suppose i could give a link, though, to one. Yeah, I think I'll do that.

Click.

Anyway, I suppose that's about it.

Oh. I wanted to mention that I'm going to Australia in June, so I may need to start this when I get back in July... Unless I can have a few gaps here and there (a week in one situation). I'll write every day, but I may not be able to post it...

So yeah. Nice to meet ya'll.  

[Glowing0Glasses]

Hello, everyone! heart

Haha, I would've written this - and started on the challenge - sooner, but then my PMS rolled in and I died for a few days. sweatdrop

Anyway; you can call me Glasses or Specs - I don't care too much, since I like both nicknames. My hobbies are reading, writing, painting, and playing the Sims 3.

I am a fan fiction writer, and I write slash/yaoi.

The pairing that I normally use is "ShinKai", the slash pairing between Kudo Shinichi and Kuroba Kaito, from the anime/manga called Detective Conan.

I like to call my writing style "smooth writing", because I try to make it flow across the screen, so that it's easy to read. I usually insert humor in most of my stories, and I generally write romance.

Hm...I'm a friendly person, and I enjoy interacting with people. I have a creative mind, and I'm told that I'm a bit of an (evil) genius, since I can come up with truly random things, and write a small story from a single word, like "socks", and make it into something interesting or amusing to read. I'm actually going to use my past experience with this for the challenge.

Here's a sample of my writing, taken from my mutated drabbles.

Wings of a Dove, Quick as a Bullet
Drabble 17/100
"Signs"

Yuusaku knew that his son was doomed the moment he met his friend, Kuroba Kaito.

He was energetic. He was cheerful. He was charming. He was beautiful – gorgeous, even. He was downright annoying and flat out insane, and never left Shinichi alone. He was fashionable, he was magnetic, and he loved being the center of attention. He was cunning and sly, and he hid that scarily sharp intelligence behind a pleasant smile and sparkling eyes.

Kuroba Kaito was just like Fujimine Yukiko – now Kudo Yukiko.

The latter's name change is very telling indeed.

And now, just like his father before him, Shinichi was falling hopelessly, madly and cluelessly in love with yet another strange, lovely, and charismatic creature.

He could see all the signs – the bewildered, surprised looks. The slow, amused smiles. The way he watches the magician with affectionate exasperation as he bounces around the room like an over-excited squirrel. The way he never flinches or growls when the other snuggles up against him and peers over his shoulder to see what he's reading – a major pet peeve with Kudo men – and merely moves his head aside so that the other can see better, and calmly responds to his questions; never once biting his head off for invading his space. The intent, sharp eyed and utterly fascinated expression when he discovers a new facet, a new piece of the puzzle, forever trying to unravel a mystery that refuses to be solved, even years later.

Yuusaku laughed.

Oh, yes. He knew those signs very well...

End of Drabble.

 

[Tenshi Yaminade]

My hands have recently been wounded so you'll have to forgive spelling errors if I don't go OCD on this post.

You can call me Tenshi. It's been my online name for about six years since I started being an online geek in my junior year of high school. I started writing in elementary school and was quite good at it, but mostly because I had started reading third and fourth grade level at first grade level. It's all about the early start.

My hobbies include drawing, reading, writing, dancing (terribly), and singing (also terribly).

I read everything except romance. I have nothing against it, but truth be told, it's just not eventful or exciting to me and they always end up one of two ways. I've read all kinds of genres, but predominantly written fantasy of some kind or another. I'm currently working on a mystery (which has been developing for the last three years. I would have gotten it done a lot sooner if my computer hadn't betrayed me and destroyed the file when I tried opening it in another program.) Because I had to restart, it's taken me a lot longer because the story keeps developing beyond what I had originally outlined for it.

I joined the challenge because I wanted to broaden my horizons, learn how to write about more than just fantasy and I don't mean in the way of fanfictions (thought I have nothing against that either) and also to spur my creativity. Prompts are perfect for exploring and expanding one's limitations in writing and imagination.

My style? Not sure what kind I have.

My work:
Ugh, why oh why did she have to die? She made a face in the mirror, her eyebrows knit together, her lips slightly pouted. No, no, that wouldn't work. It looked forced. Her face smoothed out again as a smile pulled the corners of her lips, slightly twitching as she attempted to keep it from taking her expression entirely. She wanted to laugh; she wanted to scream her smug joy to the world because she was dead! Finally, that woman, the woman who wore the gold band, her stiff white finger adorned with it while she lay in the cream silk lined box of the dead...she was dead and he was there for the taking.

Another layer of lipstick will bring more color to the place, she thought, pressing a deep, crimson red to her already colored lips. Experience, she knew, provided her the skill of applying make-up, even extensive amounts to her face with unheard of speed. Her cold, glistening eyes stared back at her as she applied fresh powder. In the beginning, it used to bother her how nonchalantly she had executed her plan. Now, it wouldn't cross her mind twice on the same job. Her face contorted now into a face suitable for a funeral, little tears brimming the rims of her bottom eyelid.

This being done, she picked up her purse and slipped out of the bathroom as easily as a cat through the crack of a door, its footsteps drowned out by the creak of the hinges. She returned to her seat. Ah, she loved this. The sympathy, the sad looks, the pitying tilt of the eyebrows, coupled with wet eyes and lips in such a frown it was a miracle they didn't get stuck that way. It was this which expressed such mutual grief, the living related of the dead, and she was, as she saw it, a wolf among sheep, the devious among the grievous, though none could see her black fur.

Movement directed her attention to the coffin where the body of the deceased lay, the widower hovering above it. A generous sum of life insurance money had gone into it and the rest of the funeral. Good thing. Normally, couples had life insurance on each other to make ends meet should one of them chance Death on their drive to work. Fortunately, they had. He would be so lonely later that night, so grief-struck, so shocked...and he would come to her. Of course, she would have to ask him to dinner first, just a way to get him away for a little while, take his mind off things. The first bricks had been lain when she had started to make the wife jealous; the next layer, she had forced them to turn on each other, starting little arguments, leaving little pieces of evidence of their "betrayal" of each other where the other would find it. Finally, the threat of divorce, which of course, she would never allow.

Of course, she did it for the insurance, but just in case she slipped or made a mistake whilst murdering the wife, well, who would have more reason to kill his wife than the husband who had a huge sum to collect upon her death? It would be noted that they had trouble in the marriage and that the subject of divorce had come up. Why bother looking further than that? Her trail is swept the moment the time comes for her to ditch the job.

Oh, his shoulders are shaking... She suppressed a sigh; it would have broken the atmosphere. The tension in the room was perfect. Drying her croc tears with a small kerchief, she stood, quietly and with perfect grace, her black dress hugging her body giving it the perfect amount of propriety and seductiveness required for the situation. Everything was going as planned, perfectly, down the last detail. Her abilities had become a second instinct, almost as easy as breathing.

She stepped into the isle, her black heel making a soft, nearly inaudible thumping noise on the faded carpet of that old, old church. Childhood safe house, wifey had called it. A grin nearly hooked itself onto the left side of her lips. Safe house...it had been the very place of her murder and now her funeral reception. Had her job become so boring that now she had to add something interesting to it? She thought a moment, taking the last step out of the pew altogether. Yes. The irony made her remember her picks, made her laugh afterward very long and hard.

With the silence and smoothness of a snake gliding across the ground, slowly toward its prey, she took several slow relaxed steps toward the widower. She would comfort him. Offer to go back with him to his house, drink a few shots or rather let him drink a few. A step closer. She would let him talk. Another step. She would let him cry on her shoulder. Another. Dry clean the dress later and- step -hold him gently. Step. She paused, letting an elderly lady, wifey's mother, to step in front of her; the old woman went to her son-in-law, patting him gently on the back. The wrinkles of the woman's face moved, lips puttering, some gentle, coarse whispers in a dried voice before the son nodded for some reason and the old lady departed.

She continued now, glancing every which way to see if anyone were watching, even with the slightest curiosity. Just a few more steps and she would be in the perfect position, a visual of the inevitable in her mind; she would touch his face, ever so slightly, guide his lips to hers. They would kiss and kiss until his yearning for companionship drove him to f**k her. He wouldn't be able to think after that; total control would be hers. They'd get drunk, run off to Vegas. It was only some hundred miles off. They'd be up all night. He'd get so drunk, he'd want to marry her. And they would.

The honeymoon suit would reek of telltale signs of fornication. He would sober up, come to understand what had happened, absolute depression would set in. Of course, she'd leave a few unwritten suggestions in the bathroom like a naked razor and a note with a kiss on it. Glad you feel better, baby. XOXO He would off himself. Even if he didn't, she would finish him off, having made sure of an alibi elsewhere in the small city. She took the last step toward his shaking shoulders, her new soon-to-be hubby and pressed a hand, nails shining and perfect, to his back, rubbing lightly as a friend might.

He reached for her hand and grasped it which his own, unable to speak.

The insurance money was hers.

Her crimson-stained lips opened, a slight darkness between them now as she prepared to speak.

The doors burst open. She jumped, alarmed. Policemen barged down the isle.

The cry of the widower, sharp and angry. The detective, that nosy, poking detective emerged from the sea of blue uniforms, two of them grasping her arms, one for each. She was angry now. How dare they? she asked. There were cuffs on her wrists now and the officers were holding her steady as the detective explained to her husband the newest piece of evidence introduced to his investigation. Something white, a textured napkin in a plastic baggy. It had a kiss mark on it. She shouted indignantly as one of the officers rustled through her purse, pulling out her favorite lipstick. Now she recognized the evidence.

And so did the widower. His face reddened, steeled, and the fury of his gaze dashed her as though he'd struck her with his hand. She winced and, in light of this, went willingly with the officers who placed her in the back of a cruiser just outside of the small church. What's the big deal? She'd be out in a few years. For god's sake, she was a woman. She was going to a place which men guarded. With all her experience, she'd get far enough to make parole at least. There was always the option of moving to a completely new area. There were more places in the world with the same couples who had the same problems.

Jealousy. It was a b***ch because it was her advantage. Of course, she'd need some new lipstick.

----end----  

[Ani Pendragon]

Hello there, my name is Ani, and I have just joined the Guild. Ani is short for Anakin, and LaFay can just be left off my name. Please call me this. I've been writing since elementary school, roughly eight or nine years now, and consider myself quite good at it. I've been reading since before kindergarten and have been on the internet for six or seven years.

I enjoy reading fantasy, both modern and medieval, science fiction, the paranormal, horrors and thrillers, and adventure stories. I am quite picky in my reading, but I've yet to read a Stephen King I dislike and I'm currently tackling The Stand - post apocalyptic novels are a favourite of mine. I also enjoy reading comic books and stories about those with super human or other worldly abilities.

I dislike romance, weak characters - specifically of the female kind - and teen fiction. I also dislike werewolf and vampire stories, or at least, I dislike 90% of them.

I write everything I read and specialize in short stories, I'm currently working on two novels, I've yet to finish one. I'm 46,000 words into the novel about super humans and terrorists, and just started a second novel about the future and soldiers. My writing style tends to be fairly recognisable, I tend to have fragmented sentences for stylistic choices during thought processes.

I've actually decided to tackle the 365 Days of Writing Challenge in a way that actually makes it more difficult - all the stories have to be in the same world. I have to stay in the same world and develop the characters over the chorus 365 prompts.

Edit: Whoops, forgot my example. Uh... This is a poem I wrote for an old medieval fantasy story that I need to rewrite. Enjoy!

Spilled blood glimmers beneath the light
Of the moon as the battle rages
Between Nytes and more Nytes, their own blood black.
No telling who is who,
They all look the same.
Death comes to those who do not fight back.

Talons click and beaks do call
Spilled blood glimmers beneath the light
A sun that shines above them all.
Two groups, both different.
And their soldiers
Nothing can stop this war tonight.

Guns click, arrows are drawn, creatures roam.
The shadows draw longer and longer still.
Spilled blood glimmers beneath the light
Lightning from an approaching storm.
The bodies fall and people scream.
Their voices lost to hollowing winds.

A march from the North
A siege in the South
The humans rally to destroy their foes
Spilled blood glimmers beneath the light
Their enemies fall into the dark unknown
Strength fails as the battle rages

The time of peace has long since passed.
Even the oldest do not remember
Before the sounds of clashing swords rang out
Before peace fell and all hope was lost
Spilled blood glimmers beneath the light
In a place where war is the only answer

There are no others living here
When a young girl runs about the paths
She cries out, stumbles, her target seen.
The bodies of her parents, fallen.
Her eyes shine with trickling tears
Spilled blood glimmers beneath the light.  

[Rose Demon Axel]

Well, I'm certainly late to the game here.

Anyway, you can call me Axel. I'm an avid reader and writer, I'm twenty-one years old, I work full-time as a teacher's assistant over the summer, and I'm an Illustration major at my college. I am currently not pursuing writing as any kind of career, but the future is always uncertain and I have no idea whether or not that will change.

I mostly write gay and lesbian fiction- write what you know, eh? That fiction spans various genres- fantasy, sci fi, detective lit, historical, romance, and probably more that I can't think of at the moment. I also tend to write a lot of fanfiction, simply because, as stated above, I'm writing for the joy of writing, without any further goals in mind.

My favorite authors include J.R.R. Tolkien, Neil Gaiman, and George R.R. Martin. My favorite books all belong to those authors.

I, er, don't have anything to post here for a sample. Sorry. I'll update it later on if I find anything good.  

[Azusanga]

Hola Dios~ My name is Azusanga, Azu for short, known and raised Azu. Azuuuu.

Anyways. I'm excited for this here writin' challenge, we'll see how it goes. I hope it goes well. A sample, you say?

Meca could hear the rain pounding against the outside glass. Knowing that the outside world moved on it's own accord, despite her suffering in the tiny room, brought little to no comfort. Her head spun as the gash on her forehead pulsed steaming blood.
"Goddammit, Clara." she whispered, lifting her head enough to see that the door was metal. Knowing Clara, it was inches thick and locked with at least 20 locks. The mistress took no chances. In their childhood, Clara would always yell at Meca for not being careful enough. Climbing jungle gyms was impossible, and slides were out of the question. Dress up and reading where more Clara's speed, while Meca preferred jumping and skiing in the mountains.
"You did this to yourself." A voice, sweet as honey, floated through the tiny opening reserved for a tray of food. "Had you not stolen Riko, you'd be safe at home, reading your romance novellas" Meca could hear the distinct click of locks "and petting that ball of lint you call a pet." With a satisfying swoosh of cool air, the door flew open. There stood Clara. Swiftly, she strode over to Meca and knelt in front of her, roughly taking a handful of hair in her palm and making the young dame look into her eyes.

"You're my prize now."  

[PetitMule]

Hallo!
I'm gergopasztor, but refer to me as Gary or Gee please, as it is easier and faster to write whee
I find my insanity quite useful for writing.
The style I'm currently embarking is science fiction, the DNA twisting one, and horror, and little bit of medieval, bit of religion.
I do like peolpe talking to me sweatdrop  

[Rainswept_Meadows]

Hello, everyone. I'm Rainswept_Meadows, but please, call me Rain. It's nice to meet so many fellow writers in one place.

I've always loved reading, ever since I was very young. I've been known to read books from several different genres, but pieces in the Fantasy/Sci-Fi/Adventure genres are the sort that truly captivate me. It's so easy for me to be completely absorbed in a good Fantasy novel, to the point that, upon finishing it, I'm left in a distracted daze for at least a few hours afterwards. This can become slightly problematic when I make the unwise decision to read such novels during free periods in school. Examples of the kinds of Fantasy/Sci-Fi/Adventure novels that have made their way to my "favorites" list include the Bartimaeus Trilogy (by Jonathan Stroud), the Young Wizards series (by Diane Duane), and, my personal favorite, the Kingkiller Chronicle (by Patrick Rothfuss.) And, just for the record, Patrick Rothfuss has the most beautiful writing style I've ever seen. He doesn't just tell his stories, he makes them truly live. If you haven't read his work, (and the Kingkiller Chronicle is the only series he's written thus far,) you should.

As for my writing style, it's rather difficult for me to describe. I tend to absorb bits and pieces of other people's writing styles when I read their stories, so I guess you could call mine a patchwork of styles. I suppose it's descriptive, though I've seen styles that are more descriptive than mine. Usually I have a very distinct "voice" that can be clearly detected in all of my pieces, but lately that voice has faded to a vague whisper. It bothers me more than it probably should. I'm not sure why the quality of my writing style is fading, but it's really very distressing. Like a singer losing their voice. Or a pianist injuring their fingers.

In all honesty, the reason behind my browsing the Writing Contests forum was simply to make gold. Being fairly new to Gaia *cough*onthisaccount*cough*, I don't have much money, and decided that the best way to earn more would be to cash in on my hobbies. I'll be frank- I clicked on the link to the 365 Day Challenge thread because of the "50,000g" included in the title. But when I read through it, I was honestly excited. I want to take on this challenge, not for the money anymore, but for fun. I believe it will help me grow as an author, teach me some much-needed time-management skills, and maybe even bring my dying writing style back to life. And I'll enjoy every second of it.

In any case, it's nice to meet you all, and I wish everyone the best of luck in completing this challenge!

/endramble

*Edit* I don't think I'll post a sample, seeing as I haven't written anything I'm particularly proud of lately.  

[Abundant Merci]

Hello! I'm The Maiden of Midnight, but Midnight is fine. It's nice to see so many people taking the challenge!

My grandma taught me to read at three years old. In first grade, I was reading little house on the prairie and The Giver. I've always been ahead in my age group when it came to reading in school; my love of reading stretched far into my free time. I didn't really start writing until about five years ago, when I was introduced into the world of fanfiction. When people commented and said they were hooked and that they wanted to read more, I knew I loved writing. To inspire people to read and to want to read more right away is something very precious. Soon I began writing papers for class, but short stories on the internet. I've been entering contests, writing short stories for my friends, about my friends, about the world and it's problems, and everything in between. I also write non-fiction, poetry, and fictional letters. I'm also just getting into writing collaborations now, and I'm very excited.

I recently entered a contest, so hot off the presses, I will give you my most recent piece of the pie that is my writing. It could use work, lots of it, especially since I've only edited through it once. But, without further ado, here it is. Enjoy!


Hannah was prone to pain beyond her control. All of her life she seemed to suffer a run in with death frequently. Even in the womb, her mother's umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck. But, it didn't stop there. No, it definitely didn't stop there. At three years old, Hannah broke her arm twice by falling off of the counter, accidentally kicking the dog in the process which bit her already broken arm. When she was four, she climbed into the washing machine when her mother wasn't looking and almost drowned; she was incredibly lucky that her mother knew where to run to get the crowbar. When she was five she had been run over by her stepfather's car, her leg fractured from the impact of two tires holding over a ton of metal crushing her tiny leg. At six, Hannah got her hair caught in a combine on a field trip to the local farm; the hair was ripped from her scalp and luckily didn't take her whole head. At seven her airplane to her grandmother's house crash landed in a field. She got a severe concussion from being thrown around, and almost didn't make it through the week. At ten, Hannah had been bitten by two rabid dogs and scratched by a rabid raccoon in the same week.

Despite Hannah's obvious luck when it came to evading Death, she felt that Death itself had stopped playing games and was planning something big to get the job done. She was seventeen now, and nothing had happened since ten. Death was getting crafty, she just knew it. She felt like a puppet in a game between Death and Destiny. She wasn't looking forward to it, and maybe she was just suspicious, because Death wasn't an actual person but an event, but she knew something funny was going on.

October 21st, 2012 was a normal day. Hannah's alarm clock rang and Hannah pressed the button, sliding out of bed slower than a three toed sloth. She had changed since ten years old. All of the accidents had kept her from growing very large, but she stood confident with a curvy 5'5" build. A fiery girl, Hannah's naturally straight blonde hair was died a deep red. Hannah stumbled over to her closet to shimmy into an outfit that included black skinny jeans and a plain white v-neck. With black high heels, silver bangles and hoop earrings, people often wondered how she made simple things look so trendy. She loved fashion, and plus, one had to look their best on any given day, because nobody knew if they would be dying that day or not.

Hannah did her make up and made her way downstairs with her black backpack slung over her shoulder, going out to the garage. There was no noise in the house. It was normal. Hannah knew that her parents both got up and went to work early, and came back at late hours of the night. Having developed a death complex by age ten, Hannah used to be scared of being all alone in the house, but she knew now that her neighbors were always looking out for her. The Johnsons were nosy and called the police about suspicious looking characters in the neighborhood about once a week, and Herman Frederickson was a 30 year old body builder that had a loyalty to protect the neighborhood and only stepped out of his house for six hours a week to go to a bodybuilding competition on Fridays. Yes, if anyone was going to get to Hannah, they'd have to be invisible and a techno-freak, seeing as the house had an intricate alarm system installed as well, courtesy of Hannah's paranoia. Death wasn't catching Hannah off guard any time soon.

Hannah was halfway through her fifteen minute drive to school now. It would have been a five minute drive, but her best friend insisted on driving with her, because his ride was a piece of crap. Hannah slowly pulled up into her best friend Damien's driveway, careful not to damage her car by pulling up the steep incline the wrong way. She had done that many a time, and got an ultimatum from her parents. Hannah took out her phone and sent him a quick text. In only a moment, she got a little text back.

"Be right out! wink "

Hannah giggled, still only half awake, and closed her phone; waiting for Damien to finish up with his regular eggo waffle breakfast like she normally did she flipped the radio stations frequently, not wanting to listen to the pop culture mumbo jumbo that filled the heads of millions of mindless people. Hannah was sitting for less than a minute before Damien came out in almost the same thing Hannah was wearing, minus the hoop earrings and bangles. He did have studs, and had pierced his lip awhile back when Hannah had convinced him he needed to get a piercing with her. She had gotten her belly button done, and they had squeezed each other's hands the whole way through. Yes, it was good to have a best friend.

"Woah! Call the fashion police, we've got a fraud." Damien said laughing down the driveway. Hannah rolled her eyes and unlocked the car.

"Hey, how much do you want to bet that I got up first? You ain't got nothin' on me boy!" Hannah retorted as Damien slid into the car. Damien was gorgeous. With blonde hair, blue eyes, and a slightly muscular frame, he was every high school girl's dream. Well, except Hannah's. He was better than a dream. He had been her best friend for almost eight years. He had been bullied a lot when they were younger, but Hannah stood up for him, and they'd been friends ever since. But, things changed with time. Damien had gone from loser to complete hunk in a mere four years, outgrowing Hannah by a good seven inches and attracting every other member of the opposite sex in the process.

"So," Damien laughed, buckling his seatbelt, "Ready for that wicked Physics quiz? Oh, that's right, you don't take Physics. I do have something on you, so don't get cocky!" Hannah huffed and rolled her eyes, flipping the music station. Her eyes were off the road for only a second.

"Hannah! Watch out!" Damien shouted, grabbing the wheel. Hannah slammed on the breaks just in time to see the deer bounding across the street. Hannah watched it go all the way across before she relaxed.

"Woah.." Hannah said, putting her hand over her heart. Damien let go of the wheel and put his hand on her shoulder and shook it.

"You okay Hannah? You look worse than a deer in the headlights." Hannah smacked Damien's shoulder with a scowl.

"Too soon?" Damien said with a grin. Hannah couldn't stay scared with that goofy smile right across from her. Hannah laughed and started driving again.

"I don't know how you do that." Hannah said, driving a little more carefully in case there were more deer around, "You know, laugh right after we could have just totaled my car." Damien was silent for a second and then sighed.

"Oh Hannah, didn't you know? I'm eighteen. Until I'm eight years older and my thinking changes everything revolves around me and therefore I'm immortal." Hannah rolled her eyes.

The rest of the ride was smooth and filled with laughter. Hannah pulled up to the school and they both got out, planning the rest of the day and for a study session/movie night after school. They had separate lunches, so they wouldn't see each other until school got out. They waved goodbye, Damien catching up with his girlfriend of the week and Hannah seeing Melody, one of her other friends, waving at her from the entrance.
---

"So what's the deal with you and Damien anyway?"

Hannah was jarred from her canvas as she looked toward Thomas, her boyfriend of eight months. Hannah got a goofy grin on her face and dabbed her paintbrush onto his nose. She laughed.

"Marvelous! What a masterpiece." Hannah laughed. Thomas still frowned. Hannah lost her grin and sighed. Even with long brown hair and soft brown eyes that could melt the hardest of hearts, Thomas still managed to ruin her mood.

"What's wrong with him Thomas? We've been over this before, we're friends. We drive to school every day, nothing else." Hannah explained turning back to her painting. It seemed to be missing something, but she couldn't think when she knew Thomas was staring at her expecting a better explanation.

"Look," Hannah said, "We're best friends. I've known him for seven years. We know everything about each other. Plus, he's got a girlfriend too, so I don't know why you're jealous. There's no chance he's going to steal you away from me." Thomas sighed.

"I just.. I'm not comfortable. Every time I try to hang out with you, he's there. Every time I try talk to you in the hall, he manages to get to you first. Sometimes I see him glare at me for no reason during Physics. He's just freaky. Not to mention he's like a male copy of you almost every day. Are you sure he's not stalking you or anything?" Thomas questioned. Hannah laughed.

"Don't be silly! I stalk him." Hannah said. Thomas frowned, his brow crinkled. "Oh come on! Lighten up will you? I spontaneously put on what I want in the morning, so unless he has a time machine I doubt it's possible. Look, I was going to have a movie night with him tonight, but you can come. Maybe it'll put your fears to rest, hm?" Hannah questioned. Thomas smiled and slipped his arms around her waist. Hannah smiled and leaned her head back, finding just the right stroke she needed to complete the painting. Thomas was a good guy. She was always so comfortable around him.

"Hey! Thomas, Hannah, no more PDA or I have to send you to the office. Again!"

The art teacher, Mr. Berkley barked from across the room and Thomas got back to his painting. Hannah laughed to herself.

"Next time you're going to ask me if I'm having a secret affair with Mr. Berkley aren't you?" Hannah snickered. Thomas laughed this time.

"Nah. I'll just assume." Hannah hit his shoulder and smiled, rinsing off her paintbrushes. Thomas looked at her warily from his painting. "Why, I shouldn't be worried should I?"

Hannah laughed and rolled her eyes.
"Oh yeah. He's a real lady killer. You better watch your back. I'm eighteen tomorrow."

---

Hannah sat in her car, watching Damien sucking his girlfriend's face off. It was the end of the school day, and kids were flooding to the buses and to the parking lot faster than an ocean wave. Hannah turned on her car and listened to the top 40 radio station fill the car. Hannah sighed. There was no way Damien would be glaring at Thomas. Damien was up to his waist in whatever girl would want him. She swore there was a waiting list. Damien also knew Thomas was a good guy. Hannah talked about him a lot to Damien, how happy he made her... No, to a best friend who knew she was being treated well, that would be cause for a smile, not a glare. Thomas must have been imagining things.

Hannah heard a slap and lifted her head to see Damien's girlfriend, or who she now assumed was an ex-girlfriend, storm off. Damien rubbed his cheek and looked into Hannah's car with a raised eyebrow. Hannah laughed to herself. Typical Damien. It was that time of the week, wasn't it?

Damien slid into Hannah's car and buckled his seatbelt with a grin. Hannah rolled her eyes.

"You have no shame." Hannah accused, putting her car in reverse. Damien laughed.

"I have shame, you know, before I use them." Damien looked out the window. "Oh, hold on, I see my next victim." Hannah braked and rolled her eyes. Damien hopped out of the car and approached a hot blonde in skimpy clothing. He was talking, and gestured over to the car. Hannah wondered what he was saying, but it didn't last long. He was there for less than ten seconds before sliding back into the car. Hannah raised her eyebrow expectantly.

"Oh, her? Booty call. Tomorrow at seven. She don't mean a thing doll, you're my everything." Damien said with a wink, running his finger down Hannah's arm. Hannah burst out laughing and started driving.

"Like I said, no shame."

---

"So... you're going on a trip?" Hannah questioned. She and Damien were sitting in her living room, eating cheetos from a clear bowl. Hannah was on the cell phone with her mother as Damien listened half-heartedly, watching some show on an ironically named teenage channel. A girl threw her used tampon at another girl and a fight broke out. Damien's face twisted in disgust as he inserted another cheeto into his mouth. Hannah listened to her mother for a reply.

"Yes hon. We figured that it's your eighteenth birthday, so we should turn our heads for a couple of days. You can do anything you'd like. It's our present... we also have something for you when we get back! So have fun!" Her mother's voice came through the other line. Hannah was excited immediately. She began bouncing up and down on her seat on the couch, causing Damien to turn his attention to her.

"Mom, you're so great!" Hannah said, "I promise, everything will be normal when you get back."

"Well, I expected so! Now, no big parties. The neighbors are.. well.. you know. But, you can have a couple friends, maybe just you and your boyfriend. The wine's in the cellar, we've left about a thousand dollars in your bedroom, the rest is for you to decide." Hannah celebrated in her seat by dancing around. Damien was amused, listening intently while munching on his cheetos, TV show forgotten.

"Wine in the cellar, money in my room. Thank you so much Mom! I love you so much!" Hannah said. Her mother laughed.

"You're welcome. I love you too sweetie. Enjoy your birthday! Goodbye."

Hannah hung up the phone and celebrated. She got up and danced, Damien laughing, the left half of his tongue orange from the artificial coloring.

"What's the good news?" Damien questioned. Hannah burst out as soon as Damien was done with the question.

"The parents are gone! I get to do whatever I want, spend what I want, with whomever I want. All. Weekend." Hannah said, pouncing on Damien. She was inches from his face. She kissed his cheek.

"It's too bad you have a booty call tomorrow. You could spend the best day ever with yours truly." Hannah said with a grin, "Just best friends. Come on, I know you want to!" Hannah grabbed his hands and pulled him off the couch. Damien dropped his hands.

"I don't have a booty call." Damien said with a smile. Hannah froze.

"What?" Hannah questioned. "But you told me-"

"Yeah. I didn't ask her for a booty call. I told her what I've been telling every other girl I've hooked up with for the past four years." Damien grabbed Hannah's shoulders and brought her in close, kissing her. Hannah felt his breath and his body against hers. She raised her arms and slung them around his neck. Damien backed away, his breath against her lips.

"Hannah, I love you. Those girls mean nothing. I've loved you since the day I met you, I'm just.. stupid. You were always taken. We were always joking and having fun, and I thought you'd feel something eventually.. When you said 'just best friends' I couldn't.. I can't be 'just' anything anymore. I need to be your everything. This is my birthday present. Hannah... be mine?" Hannah backed away. He looked completely sincere. He had been in front of her this entire time.. was that why he dated girls for only a week at a time? Had he just been waiting for her to break up with her current boyfriend? Hannah smiled and walked up to him, kissing him. Yes. Best birthday present, ever. It was intoxicating. She just wanted to get lost in the moment..

Hannah's cell phone rang. Hannah reluctantly let go of Damien and walked over to the coffee table.

"Oh my god. It's Thomas." Hannah looked over at Damien. In a single moment she had managed to forget all about Thomas. How would she break it to him? He was such a good guy, always worried for her. He was nurturing and protective.. He hadn't done anything wrong. She.. she really liked him. He was the type of guy that every girl dreamed of; the good looking yet faithful guy. If she dumped him for Damien on a whim it would break him down from the inside out. Hannah reached for her phone and answered it, wondering what to say.

"Thomas?" Hannah questioned.

"Hannah, Thank God." Thomas said with a sigh of relief on the phone, "Listen I'm coming over early okay? There's something I have to show you."

"Thomas. I don't think you can ever come over anymore..." Hannah said. It was straightforward... maybe if she did it quickly it wouldn't hurt as badly. She hoped it wouldn't. She just wanted... Oh god. There was no easy way to do this. She only knew that she did prefer Damien. He did sleep around before but.. Damien had just said it. He was going to be faithful, fun and her best friend for the rest of her life. There was a long silence on the other end.

"Hannah, what are you-" Hannah cut him off.

"Thomas, it's over. Look, Damien's here and I finally realize what I've known for a long time. I'm in love with him. I guess you were right to be suspicious but.. I didn't cheat on you I swear! It just came up!"

"Damien? Hannah, listen to me you-"

"Goodbye, Thomas." Hannah hung up the cell phone and threw it on the couch. She looked at it for a second, contemplating if she had done the right thing. She got a little chill down her spine. It was getting darker. Hannah turned. Damien was gone. Hannah looked around, bewildered. Maybe he had left out of courtesy, so he wouldn't get in the way.

"Damien?" Hannah called. Her call echoed unanswered through her house. Hannah's cellphone rang again, making her jump. She looked at the caller ID. It was Thomas again. Hannah sighed. She wasn't going to do it. There was nothing Thomas could say to change her decision. He would stop calling soon enough. She had to be strong... She had Damien now.

Hannah went into the kitchen. She rubbed her forehead, looking around again.

"Damien? My phone call's done! Come here! Can we talk?"

There was still no answer. She was beginning to get a little paranoid. The sun was beginning to set, the first shades of pink, purple, orange and yellow were beginning to show over the tops of the houses. Somehow the warm colors didn't bring her comfort. Hannah looked on the counter. Her keys were still there, and Damien wouldn't attempt to walk home in the dark, not that he would have stolen her car either. The woods were creepy at night, and Damien was sassy, but never had mood swings big enough to cause him to leave after saying something so huge.

"Damien, I don't want to play hide and seek! Please, no more jokes!"

There was still no answer. Hannah bit her lip and grabbed for one of the butcher knives. One of them was missing. Hannah looked around and found it lying in the sink with the remains of last night's pizza sauce stuck to it. Hannah grabbed the second biggest one because it was clean and gripped it to her chest. The sun was almost set now. The whole house was filled with the low pink and purple light of the fading rays of sun. Her footsteps echoed through the house, chilling her to the bone. What had happened to Damien? Was he lurking around a corner trying to surprise her? Or had somebody snuck into the house and taken him captive while she had her back turned? Had Thomas been in the house the whole time, waiting to kill his competition? Every thought chilled her further. She had a vague feeling that somebody was getting satisfaction from her fear. It was an odd feeling.

"Damien?"

Hannah thought maybe he had gone to the bathroom. Hannah ascended the stairway and walked down the large hallway. She pushed the bathroom door open. There was nobody there. Hannah looked down at the end of the hallway. Her bedroom light was on. She breathed a sigh of relief and walked to her room. She pushed open the door. Damien was sitting on the bed, cross legged. He had poured two glasses of wine that sat on the end table. He was relaxed and had a silly grin on his face.

"Damien! Why didn't you answer?" Damien smiled.

"Wow, you're paranoid. Think I got snatched did you?" Damien questioned, looking at the butcher knife. Hannah blushed and hid it behind her back.

"Yeah well, you know about my views on that." Hannah muttered, walking to the bed. She put the knife under her mattress and sat on the bed. Damien laughed.

"What do you mean? I think it's obvious by now you're invincible. Death was just tired of trying. Besides," Damien said, wrapping an arm around Hannah's shoulders, "Death isn't going to take my fun away from me." Hannah laughed.

"Oh, just pass the wine." Hannah said. Damien handed her one and raised it in a toast.

"To you, Hannah. May you be mine forever." Hannah grinned. They clinked the glasses together, and Damien downed his. Hannah put hers to her lips before she was yanked from the bed.

Hannah struggled, but found herself grasped in Thomas' arms.

"Don't you touch her!" Thomas shouted at Damien. Damien's eyes were wide, and then they narrowed.

Hannah paled. She'd never seen a more evil look in her life. She looked up at Thomas.

"Let me go! You're trespassing on private property! I dumped you just accept it!" Hannah said, "You're being crazy!"

"I'm not crazy!" Thomas shouted, "He is." Hannah struggled, but then Damien stood up. He clapped his hands together slowly. Hannah stopped.

"Damien?" Hannah questioned.

"Well done, Thomas." Damien said in a sarcastic tone, "You found me out." Hannah wriggled, trying to get away from him.

"What are you-" Hannah started. Thomas cut her off.

"He's not human. He's a demon. An incubus. A close friend of death himself. He kept glaring at me, and I knew something was wrong. " Thomas started ranting. Hannah shook her head.

"No! No! I grew up with him! He has parents, he aged! He's just a guy!" Hannah insisted.

"No he's not!" Thomas shouted. "He sleeps around constantly and he knows what you're going to wear before you wear it. He's just here because death couldn't get you by himself! It makes sense doesn't it? You told me that death was planning something big! Well this is it! This has been a plan eight years in the making!"

"You're crazy!" Hannah said, finally wriggling out of Thomas' grip. Hannah backed away from the both of them, towards the door. Damien frowned.

"You don't believe him do you?" Damien questioned.

"No." Hannah said, "Both of you are crazy. Just.. calm down. Both of you, go home." Damien scratched his head. Thomas seemed mad, his eyes fixed on Damien.

"Crazy." Thomas said. He pulled out a knife. "I'll show you crazy!" Hannah screamed. Damien was quick. He reached under the mattress and pulled out the butcher's knife.

"Woah! P-put the knife down!" Damien shouted.

"You can't fool me you soul sucking Demon! I won't let you hurt Hannah! She's my everything! I've loved her since the day I met her! I won't let you take her away from me!"

Hannah's eyes widened.

"Oh my god."

They both stopped.

"Y-you..." Hannah stopped. Thomas stopped.

"That's exactly what Damien said. You've been listening the whole time, haven't you?" Damien glared at Thomas. Thomas glared at Damien. Thomas charged.

Hannah screamed. Thomas brought down the knife, but Damien stabbed Thomas right through the heart and removed it. Thomas stumbled backwards, holding his heart. His blood was spreading fast.

"Hannah.." Thomas breathed, "Bed..."

He was dead. Hannah rushed over to Damien, who had dropped the knife. He was looking over at Thomas, pale and shaking. Hannah hugged Damien, who hugged her back tightly. Her eyes started to get blurry.

"I think Thomas was here the whole time. He must have heard when you told me... Oh god. He could have killed us!" Hannah gripped Damien closely. "He was stalking me. He probably would have killed me if you weren't here."

"Shh.." Damien said, stroking her back. "It's alright. We'll... we'll call the police. It was self defense. You can tell them the whole story.."

But Hannah didn't respond. Thomas' last word echoed in her head. She looked over to her bedspread, where the wine had spilled. It had burned straight through the comforter and the mattress, revealing springs. Hannah backed away in horror. Damien looked back at the bedspread and chuckled.

"Well, damn." Damien said lowly with a smile. Hannah backed away. What was happening? She started shaking all over. Thomas was right.. Damien was the crazy one. Damien reached down for the butcher knife and Hannah ran.

Her heart was beating in her ears. She needed to get to her car.. no, she wouldn't have time. The garage door was closed. But, if she opened it and took her keys, she could slip under before he could get her. Hannah ran into the kitchen and grabbed her keys, running into the garage. She hit the button and slid under, fully aware that the door to the garage had opened. She ran as hard as she could. The Johnson's lights were out. It was Friday.. Herman was at a weightlifting competition until early hours of the morning. She only had one route of escape.

Not knowing what to do, Hannah ran down the road towards the forest. There was no way Damien could find her if she hid well enough. She didn't dare look behind her now. In the distance, she heard a car start. She stopped and looked back. Thomas' car was pulling out of her driveway. Damien had taken Thomas' keys. Hannah froze, and then ran as hard as she could. She didn't know if she could make it to the forest in time... but she had to try.

"Oh Hannah!" Damien called out. His voice rang out, filling the air, "You're not getting away! Death promised me 8 years of torture for you before he took you! One for every year I was with you!"

The car was speeding toward her now. Hannah ran desperately, hoping, praying that she would get to the forest in time. It was so close now. Hannah started to cry. The headlights turned on. Hannah turned around, her eyes widening, like a deer in the headlights.

---

Hannah woke up with a start. Her mother was looking over her, stroking her face.

"Honey! Honey she's awake!"

Hannah's mouth was dry. There was an oxygen tube in her nose. She had a splitting headache. Hannah coughed, and a glass of water was lifted to her lips. She looked up at her mother. Her mother smiled down at her. She was awake.

Later, the doctor came in and explained everything.

"You and your friend Damien had been drinking wine on your bed, as permitted by your parents as I've been told. You drank a little too much and blacked out. Damien took care of you, but noticed you were showing signs of alcohol poisoning. Damien was driving you here, but a deer ran in front of the car and you went flying out of the passengers seat. Of course, Damien still rushed you here. You're lucky to be alive little lady, and to have such a faithful friend. Why, he hasn't moved an inch from that corner."

It had all been a dream.. one twisted dream. It all seemed so clear though...

The day went on. People came in and out with flowers and cards. She was due to be released tomorrow before school, but when she'd asked about Thomas, everybody said he hadn't showed up to school. She'd been so careless... but Damien was sitting in the corner. It made her smile. The dream had been so vivid.. she could have sworn that it was like.. an alternate reality. Hannah shivered. Finally it was just her and Damien left in the room. Damien was sitting right next to Hannah's bed. Everything was normal. He was just a loyal best friend again.

"Weird dream, huh?" Hannah said, laughing. Damien chuckled. "Do you know they say that Thomas is missing now? I wonder where he is... I hope he wasn't too upset when I broke up with him."

"Yeah. Well, I'm sure they'll find him soon." Damien smiled.

"It was just.. you know.. so real. And so long! It spanned an entire day. I remember it like a memory. It isn't a screwed up sub-conscious understanding dream, it was completely literal. It blew my mind." Hannah laughed, "It was incredible. But... never again. No, I'll be happy if I never dream again."

Damien laughed. Then he leaned in close, and whispered into Hannah's ear.

"Oh.. why never dream again.. when you have 7 years and 364 days to go?"

Hannah's eyes widened and Damien's tongue slid into her ear and through her flesh straight through to the other ear. Hannah panicked and screamed, hitting the call button as she writhed away from Damien. The slime filled her ears and was unbearable. She hit the call button over and over, agony filling her head. Her eyes rolled back and she seized scratching at her head.

Hannah awoke in her hospital bed, being shaken awake by the nurse. Hannah grabbed the nurse's arms, something solid to hold. Hannah looked up at her in fear. It was 3:00 in the morning.

"Shh... you were just having a bad dream. Go to sleep honey.. you're fine." The nurse calmed her down. Hannah looked over to the corner of the room. Damien was sleeping there. The nurse looked over at him.

"We have security cameras. You fell asleep, and he went back to the corner. He hasn't moved since. Don't worry, you're fine." Hannah nodded and the nurse left.

As soon as she left, Damien lifted his head in the corner of the room.

"Why Hannah, the night's only half through. You wouldn't lose precious hours of sleep on your eighteenth birthday would you?" Damien grinned.

Hannah started to cry.

"What do you want from me!?" Hannah shouted at him. Damien laughed.

"Don't you remember? Death gave me a year to torture you for every insufferable year I had to spend laughing with you. Somebody's watching over you, Hannah. In universal terms, it's not your set time to die. Your Death's little experiment. See, Death wasn't allowed to have you, but the law never said he couldn't torture you."

Hannah sobbed and hugged herself.

"And... Thomas..." Hannah rocked back and forth.

"Thomas is taken care of. I buried him in your wine cellar. Everything but the head. I gouged the eyes out. It's taped to the bottom of your bed." Hannah sobbed harder.

"I just want to sleep. No, this is a dream, I want to wake up. Thomas... What did I ever do? I just want to sleep. No nightmares. Please. Go away.. I just want life to be normal again." Hannah pleaded to herself, begging.

Damien laughed.

"You were the object Death couldn't have. You will sleep Hannah, and you will have the worlds most gruesome nightmares every single night for seven years, and three hundred and sixty four days. You can't evade sleep Hannah. Without sleep, you die. And because it's not your time, you will sleep." Damien laughed a long, deep, maniacal laugh. "You know what the best part is?" Damien questioned. Hannah rocked back and forth holding onto herself for dear life.

"The best part is, you won't even remember it's me."

Hannah cried, trying to stay awake. She couldn't succumb, she wouldn't. Her head was in her knees, and Damien sang a tune to Rockabye Baby in the corner.

"Rockabye Hannah,
you can't escape,
horrendous nightmares,
are your true fate.

Wish as you may,
and wish as you might,
you're a deer in the headlights,
you'll die every night."

His voice soared over her head and into her ears, a spell, relaxing her muscles. She couldn't resist. Tears streaming down her face, she succumbed once more to sleep, Damien's eyes glinting in the corner.

"Sleep Hannah... your nightmares await."  

[Blue Eyed Wallflower]

Hello, folks. I like to go by Blue or Miss Icia online. I am 21-years old and I just got married on July 22, 2012. I also got my first apartment earlier that month on July 13, 2012. I am currently working as a cashier at a local home improvement store. I really like it there. I get a good amount of hours, and most of the people I work with are pretty nice. I want to go back to college soon, but I have to figure out what I want to do. I'm looking into practical things like working in IT or as a medical transcriptionist. I want to work some art in there somehow. I love art.

I could give you a small example of something I've written before. This particular excerpt is from a story I wrote about six years ago. It's called Scavenged.

~~~~~
"I began to feel as though I imagined this boy. Seeing him would validate my sanity, but he's nowhere. Rustling noises ensue, and just as miraculously as the previous afternoon, the boy appears. He flings himself from the lowest branches of the tree. What a beautiful sight it is. Black trench, blacker-than-black hair, he could easily blend with the night. A sliver of blue - his irises - break up the dark wash. I then wonder if the bird is still in his trench pocket. Rather than ask him, I decide on another round of stalking.

The boy hurls himself away from the tree, walking almost drunkenly in the same direction as the day before. I nearly trip on my ballet flats, desperately trying to catch up to the boy without alerting him of my presence.

The Library. We meet again. I see him enter, then minutes later exit with a tower of books filling his arms. The boy sets the careening stack down at the foot of the library stairs, and makes his way to the side alley. I crane my neck to see a Radio Flyer filled with bags of toys. 'Ah, Santa. It is all clear now,' I think to myself. I feel like diving, right into those toys. To be four again, without the worry of popularity, and mysterious boys with mesmerizing eyes. I think about traipsing up to this boy, and asking him to have a tea party with me. That of course would not help in my quest to keep a low profile. I wave the thought away. The boy begins pulling the wagon along the sidewalk, books now heaped in the wagon. On top, a book about dogs. Where was his dog?"  

[whimsicaldreamer]

Hello, I am Whimsicaldreamer although if you want to shorten it I respond to Whimsi.

I love to read fantasy, science fiction, and historical fiction. I write mainly full length high fantasy. I plan on doing poetry for some of these prompts and while I do not intend on writing fantasy for this (I have other stories going) my characters will more than likely still make an appearance.

And here is a short story I wrote for another contest. I plan on using and expanding the idea and characters in some of the prompts.

The Red Bound Book

There was a window on the wall, I noticed that for some reason as I walked into the room, a nice square window with a white wood frame, the trees outside distorted by handmade glass. I opened the window and smiled as distant memories of rocks bouncing off the glass in the middle of the night drifted by, remembering why. The slight breeze caught the edge of a piece of paper on my writing desk making a slight rustling noise like the leaves outside. I turned back into the room and picked the source of the sound up, a piece of paper so worn and faded with age I could only make out the words for the same reason creases had torn through in places, I had read it more times than God himself could count since I received it.

How about we meet sometime, instead of writing each other letters and slipping them into this book. Say the twenty-first of October at three? -J

I had found the note in the same book it was always in, a red bound copy of a book at the local library. I quickly scrawled a yes onto another piece before sliding it in and handing the book back to the librarian who gave me a knowing smile. She was the reason the book was always there for us.

I had arrived on the twenty-third of the month, to find that J was not there, I sat in the library reading the red bound book until night fell and the librarian told me that it was closing time. It did not take me long to figure out why J had not shown up, there had been a draft for the war that week.

I had received letters from J throughout the war, the librarian received them and placed them in the book for me, telling me that when he got back home he would meet me at the library. He stayed in, past when his draft was up, and when I did not receive his letters I would fear something had happened to him. They would all be eased when a stack arrived and the librarian handed me them instead of the book.

The war ended and the letters stopped coming, October the twenty-first came and went with no sign of my J. I returned the next year and the one after that, hoping that one of the days I would find J waiting there with the red bound book. Years and decades passed, the librarian retired and with her gone the library was soon to follow. I found the red bound book on my door step one morning not long after that, with a note saying I should keep searching for my prince charming. I doubt she meant my J.

I pulled open a drawer and lifted out the red bound book, the spine cracked and the color faded, along with a stack of letters. I added the first to them as I left the room to resume my vigil at the spot of the library. The building itself still stood and although the books were gone it was still a place people came to read. I guess my story had spread because a few years back some young girl trying to find her way in the world bought it and named it the Rouge Livre Cafe.

She had placed chairs and tables out front that I found nice to sit at on a sunny or almost sunny day and made it a habit to visit at least once a week. It was October twenty-first and although I had long ago came to the fact that J would never show up there was still a part of me, the part that had made me pick up the book in the first place, that hoped one time he might. I sat down and began to read my red bound book.

The girl who owned the cafe came to take my order, she still had an accent from when she came over from France. She smiled at me and looked a little nervous as she pulled something out of her apron. "My grandfather was supposed to meet a girl here on the twenty-third years ago." I looked at the slip of paper she was holding up, my hand had written the only word on it. I smiled and nodded, feeling tears leak from my eyes. "He told me the story of a girl who stole his heart with a red bound book."

She sat down and we talked, she told me that he had stayed in France after the war and that he had always wanted to return to the library but was too afraid I would not be waiting for him. As the sun began to set and the autumn chill became cold, my daughter and granddaughter walked by with delighted screams for Granny.  

[smutty cannibal prince]

Hello all! I'm ShadowDancingPrince, feel free to shorten it however you would like. I'm not picky really.

I read anything that captures my interest. Lately that has been several non-fiction works. My desk is piled with them. I tend to write whatever come to mind and try not to limit myself and expand my horizons.

I intend to use this challenge as a way of "patchwork writing" a story I've been trying to for a while but haven't been able to, so my characters will definatly be in every single prompt. At least for prompts that it will work for.

And I suppose a short sample is in order. Just a poem I wrote a couple weeks ago, although it hasn't been through the editing and fixing stage yet.

Mirror, Mirror

defective, deformed, unlike the norm
forced seclusion, no children, forever alone.

a hatchet, a mallet, a neighbor, a friend
butchered and bullied and bloodied, the end.

herded, beat, dehumanized, desensitized
camps, chambers, trains, all specialized.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who is the cruelest of us all?