A lil something....

[Misschoco]

Boredom contributed a little I started writing the start of a short story. I used to write short stories a lot (hell do I know where I saved them)...So I re-started on some creativity. I try not to integrate dialogue as I prefer to concentrate on the detail more. Most people complain about it taking too long to read someone’s story, but this is one paragraph so far, so no excuses If it doesn’t make sense at all and I talking a load of crap...please feel free to tell me. Not that I ever make sense anyways....



Enjoy

A momentary look at her reflection a glimpse at the pallid cheeks and discoloured complexion, grazes etched into the sullen cheeks. Hair dishevelled, torn at and mutilated. She is still troubled. She reminisces over her actions, accidental of course, but rid her of her rationality and perception of life. A shell of her previous self remains, she never experiences a fluctuation of emotions, joy, sadness, pain: all feelings are diminished. Her reflection continues to examine herself, curiosity prominent in those pathetic eyes. The requested photograph remains on the tarnished floor. So too does the figure possess its mother’s complexion....

Blah blah blah to be continued ...........................

[Misschoco]

And so the second part of this depressive saga I wanted to try and dwell into the mothers mind a lil. I probably failed at this but you’re the judges-what the mother does in the paragraph is a lil subtle. Btw:I didn’t go for a linear storyline. Enjoy.

The face blemished with her faded fingerprint. The abyss remains indented into the child’s right socket cavernous in magnitude and matted. The frenzied hands quiver fiercely, slashing at the remnants of the child in an incoherent haste. Her reflection instigates admiration at this triumph. Minuscule fragments remain, clusters of it accumulated into solitary piles. The abyss can be distinguished no more.

Her ears straining to discern the sounds from below. Apprehension overwhelms her, but the two quavering figures remain enclosed in the corner of the obscure room. A lethal weight intensifies the accumulating tension in her moist hands. The door is abruptly flung open, the deafening boom resounds repetitively through the air. Its small frame lies wedged in the doorway, crimson pools emerging from the delicate skull.


And again blah blah blah To be continued..............