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Bitter and Foul.

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Happy Blood Cell

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PostPosted: Wed Jul 04, 2012 2:44 pm


Okay, Bitter and Foul is going to a be a romance, sense that's all that seems to be in my head lately so I'm hoping I'll stay interested and finish it. Yes, I know, vampires, vampire, VAMPIRE, is all people hear now a days, but I really like the idea of vampires and the twilight novel wasn't that bad. So get over it. Okay, before I start ranting, I'm going to give the basic summary. Enjoy.



Viola has spent her life under the shade of the swamps, slowly starving herself from the blood she craves so dearly. She's comfortable in her home of wood and rust, she doesn't want anything more. She despises anything more. Humans never come even close to her home, sense it's infested with snakes and mosquitos, everyone knew better until Daine. Until Daine's blood was spilled, she hadn't smelt human blood in at least a hundred years. Until Daine, she'd never blacked out. Until Daine, she'd never lost control.



I hope to make it a first person. Forgive me for the vampire part, who could help it? Well maybe those anti-vampire people. But Viola was a character too perfect not to be the undead.
PostPosted: Wed Jul 04, 2012 3:04 pm


Quote:
home, sense it's infested with snakes and mosquitos

*since
1. Twilight had no character building, and was all around awkward.
2. Please, please, please, if another vampire story has to exist in this world- make it unique.
3. Without character flaws, the audience feels nothing- and being a vampire is not a flaw. Such as in Moby d**k- Ahab chases the whale because he hates himself, he merely places his own insecurities on something else. This is what made the book great- the fact that this struggle is there within all of us; it is the wonder and fear of our own existence. Give Viola this and suddenly people will feel more connected- they will cry at her struggles because she can't handle the fact that she herself is a vampire, or they will get mad at the world because they have connected to the idea that she herself is truly anti-social.
4. Lastly, every story has meaning. Give it a purpose and teach people something with your work, even if they already know it- this is most important. Without this, literature would be a pointless profession.  

m0ffle


Happy Blood Cell

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PostPosted: Wed Jul 04, 2012 3:59 pm


M0ffle


Thank you for your tips. I'll probably need them.

I will try my best to make it unique, and I didn't mean the vampire thing as a flaw, though it probably sounded that way since I word a lot things centered towards myself more than others reading it (I apologize for that. xP ) . I really do want to insult myself on this idea, since the preview is beginning to sound like the common vampire story. Hopefully I'll sculpt something out of the common cliche' I see so often in the vampire myth. As for the lesson, I can only pray that it will help someone.
PostPosted: Wed Jul 04, 2012 5:04 pm


Chapter 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I sit here, mud caking my feet. Sure, I could wash them, but then I wouldn't feel like I belonged here. I need to wake in filth. I want to belong in filth. It's doubtful anyone would understand, since they're not here. Not in Mercy Swamp, not beside me, their mouth doesn't taste salt, their feet aren't caked in mud, and sweat would be on their forehead, I'm pretty sure outside my shell of filth it's hot.
I decide to get up, it's not worth it to sit out here, not without the crickets. Crickets tickle my ears in the night air, reminding me of nothing, but simply sound nice. Towards the left of my ear I hear a mosquito land on me, I wait for it to pierce my skin. It does. I wonder if this particular mosquito had some disease in which the skinnies die from. Them dying sounds nice. They take up so much room. Room I used to have, but I don't have anymore. Mercy swamp is my limit, I refuse to leave.
I walk for a few moments, staring at a new patch of moss. It's on one of the younger trees, which is nice I suppose. I don't know why it's nice.
It's raining, I know because a few drops of water hit my neck and I'm not near the water, because the water is beside my house, and I'm not at my house yet. The water makes me sneeze, I wipe the sticky red substance on my dress, it's not going to make a difference. All of my dresses have the red stains. When Witch lived out here, she used to curse and sputter when she saw the dresses I 'ruin'. They're perfectly wearable. She was just a btch.
My dress clings to me, it's already in threads. Maybe I can fix it. Or maybe I can walk around nude. I smile alittle, I remember the stories of naked women bathing. I wonder if they ever existed in swamps. It's doubtful, or maybe I'll be the first. The difference is that no one will see me. Except maybe the mosquitos. The sun sets, turning the sky a fleshy pink with streaks of orange. It's okay. The prettiest sunsets are slightly blue. My house comes into the view after passing the twin trees, their moss hasn't changed a bit sense I first came here. I wish for them to keep that way. I hate it when things change. Change is never good, and to me it never truly will be.
The place I call my home stands a foot in the air on stilts with a 'dock' made out of planks on tires. Coke bottle lanturns hang from the mossy roof, the glass bottles look sort of burnt from last night, but they'll do as they always do, their faded red labels glowing in the darkness. I hop on to the dock, it wobbles a little, but that's normal. Nothing ever changes. This place is perfect for me, and only me. Because i'm unique, unique in my own way. Physical and mental, I am unique.
Walking into my home I walk half-heartedly towards the medicine cabinet, which stands towering in the corner, surround by my peeling wall paper. Did I mention that my entire house, inside and out, is covered in faded pink flowery wall-paper? I think that's unique about me too. I like things unique. Unique like me.
My lips are dry, but so is my mouth. I push the curtain that serves as my door back as I walk outside and on to the dock. I get down on to my knees and put my lips to the water. This water makes the skinnies sick. But it tastes just fine to me. It tastes like earth. Earth is a bitter flavor, but bitter is my sweet. The memory of bitter makes me remember that I was heading towards the medicine cabinet. I feel sort of stupid since I can barely hold a thought. I wipe the dirt off my knees and stand up, nearly falling backwards as the dock wobbles. I chuckle at myself, it the only human sound I've heard in a long while. I'm disgusted.
Apon opening the medicine cabinet, about fifty bottles of vitamens come into view, I'm running out, which is not wanted. I take a bottle and pour a hand full, popping them like skinnies pop candy. I sit down in a faded velvet chair, running my hands against grimey wallpaper for a few moment before removing a radio from under the chair. I sneeze again, and wipe the red on the chair instead of the dress. I begin messing with the dials until the radio turns on, some rap-bullshit comes from the speakers. Pointless skinny music. I tap a button until I hear sound of opera. I smile and hum along with the sweet, filling music. I brush a few strands of hair behind my shoulder, waiting for sleep to come.
Before my eyes close for good, I wipe the mosquito from my skin. It's hard and sort of crystalized. I flick it to the floor, finally asleep.

Happy Blood Cell

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Happy Blood Cell

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PostPosted: Fri Jul 06, 2012 12:03 am


Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



I wake up, my eyes feel crusted, but they aren't. The sound of water makes me smile, my lips curved upward, though no one sees it. My heart doesn't pound when I wake up anymore, infact, now, instead of a beat I hear a slosh. I run my fingers across my forehead, aching for something I forget, which was forgotten a long time ago. I don't see the point of yawning, so I hold it in, my eyes narrowing on the dead bird laying right under my curtain. A few drops of red turned brown lays on the floor beside it, like someone had held their finger above it and let red drip. I lick my lips, which are awfully dry this morning, missing a moisture I don't care to find. I stare at the few drops of brown red beside the dead bird. My red stays red. So ugly other things can be. But the bird itself is pretty, it's feathers sleek and brown. My hair is white. Uncolored and pointless. So plain. It doesn't even shine. I admit skinnies' hair is prettier then mine. I forget when I saw one last. I've forgotten alot of things lately.
I force my muscles to move myself upward, so I can go examine the bird. I don't feel like changing dresses today. I don't feel anything anymore. I feel like dust. Lovely, grey, dust on an old lamp that isn't so bright anymore. I bend down to bird, picking up it's fragile corpse, stiff, frozen in the time of it's death. I lift a wing, to see a sticky reddish hole on it's side. I stare in wonder, my fingers moving without my permission to widen it, the flesh wanting to rip under my nails. I put my nose to the wound, taking in a sniff. The stench makes me want to cringe. I drop the bird on to the bird and leave it there, maggots I could care less about.
I pick up a few stray dresses from around my house and floor, covered in blood and dirt. The swamp water only makes them dirtier, but It makes me feel civilized. The cloth is dainty and feels over-washed, but it covers nudity. Eve would've gladly taken this dress instead of leaves, I bet, and so sha'll I. The swamp smells putrid as I approach the water, spotting a snake nearby. It's scales reflect sunlight, I stare for awhile before I drop my dresses into the water and wring them out a couple times. My hands feel rough as I do this, but they usually return to smooth when I'm down. My eyes narrow in the sunlight, something I cannot control. I put my feet in the water, letting mud cover them, sighing in the pleasure of letting my feet be cooled. A small humming escapes my lips, as my eyes dart to the sky and watch clouds pass. They're wispy today, like streaks of milk, simply floating in a pool of blue. **TO BE CONTINUED*
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Romantic

 
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