31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 16 - 'Tears'

"It's still another girl, Penny. You're still dating another girl."
Hope wasn't quite shouting, but the volume of her voice was increasing. Tears welled in her eyes. She didn't want this. She didn't want to make Penny feel guilty, to see the pain she'd caused. Taking a deep breathe, Hope managed to retain some composure and continued:

"I get why, I guess, she can do the one thing I can't: truly understand. She gets what you are going through, I mean, she's been through it. But that doesn't mean you had to choose her. It doesn't mean she'd be better for you or love you more. And it doesn't make it hurt any less."

"Hope..."

"Don't. Just don't. There is nothing you can say right now to make this better."

Penny and Hope just stared at each other. Penny wanting to comfort the girl who had always loved her and shown it in both small and big ways. The girl who had given everything she had to support and care for her. But Penny knew she couldn't give into the urge to hold Hope as she cried.

Tears were streaming down her face. She didn't even try to wipe them away. Penny watched as her Hope, her emotional cheerleader, broke in front of her. Because of her, the positivity, every ounce of it, seemed to have been completely eradicated from her beautiful, eternal optimist.

'I'm not worth this.' Penny thought. 

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 15 - 'Calm'

A feeling of complete calm came over Selene: her permanently tense muscles relaxed, her over-active mind was silenced. She could feel her breathing and heart-rate slow. Her ever burning anger, seemed to be extinguished. This feeling of calm was...nice. She couldn't remember the last time she had thought the word 'nice', let alone, said it. 

Thought. She realised her thoughts were becoming more muddled, more...distant. So were her feelings. Something was off. Selene forced herself to focus, to make her mind find a clear thought. She pushed her mind to see through the fog. She knew she should feel panicked, or at least anxious. But she didn't. Come to think of it, she didn't feel much of anything. That's when she realised: she wasn't calm, she was numb. Mentally and physically numb. 

This was not good. The last time they put her through this; the last time they numbed her; the last time they stopped her free will, she woke surrounded by bodies and was moments away from killing Dov, her hands encircling his throat. Selene had sprang back, off Dov and backed into the opposite wall. 

She looked at her unconscious friend, scared of what she had done, of what she was becoming. She hated it, hated that they were turning her into something she feared.

Now it was happening again and Selene knew the carnage she could, and likely would, be made to cause. 

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 14 - 'The Law.'

Parent's wept and children disappeared the day 'The Law' was passed. No one thought it would pass, no one except the people who had the power to stop it. They didn't. 
'The Law' decreed that every first born child would be taken by The Leaders for 'the cause'. No one really knew what that meant, only what they had been told: 'It is for your own good', 'it is for the good of the cause', 'it is a necessary evil', and so on. What really mattered to the people was that their first child was taken within days of being born; ripped heartlessly from the arms of their mothers.
The only time children older than a few days were taken was the day 'The Law' came into effect, the eldest children (under the age of sixteen) of each family were appropriated. Some lucky parents who were there when it happened, were told what was happening and had the chance to say good bye. Many parents weren't so lucky, kids were taken from parks, schools, arcades, some were snatched from the streets, their parents were not alerted; their children just never came home.

Selene was taken while her parent's slept. She was two months old. Her mother was still breast-feeding. Her father never forgave himself for not protecting his daughter, her mother never forgave herself for not waking up. Neither ever forgave The Leaders for taking the only child they would ever have, their miracle. They could never work out how anyone was able to enter a home with locked doors and windows without setting off the alarm and then take Selene without waking them. They never heard her cry. Did she cry? Where was she? Does she know how loved she is?

Rafe was told the story of his appropriation: that he had a twin brother; that his father did nothing to protect him and that his mother chose her other child, that she had clung to the other twin while she watched Rafe carried out of her life. Rafe was made to believe his mother didn't want him, that she didn't love him. The story of that day is the only lie The Leaders (and their lower levels) told him that Rafe ever believed. 

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 13 - 'Unwritten.'

My life is unwritten, my story has not been told. I don't mean that in the hopeful, 'the future is mine for the taking' kind of unwritten. I mean it in the 'I'm lost, someone tell me what the fuck to do' kind of way. My life is like the most complicated piece of build-it-yourself furniture and no one has bothered to give me the damn instructions. 
I am surrounded by people who know what they are doing; where they are going and exactly how they will get there. It's like they have this written plan (or possibly the full story) for their lives downloaded into their brain like there's a Kindle app in there. Seriously, did everyone get a personalised 'This Is Your Life: The Handbook'? And where the hell was I? Asleep? Zoned Out? Oh god, was it while I was invested in a new TV show? Or lost in a book? 

WHERE THE FUCK IS MY DAMN HANDBOOK?!

And to make it worse, my mum keeps looking at me and treating me like I should have it figure out. Is she thinking: 'Hasn't she read her handbook? What is she playing at? Why isn't she following the steps carefully laid out in her handbook?' I don't have the handbook, mother. And I also don't have a bloody clue what they hell I'm doing or going to do or where I'm going. I am honestly the personification of the word 'lost'.

I used to love the idea that my life was unwritten, that I could write it. As a writer, that appealed to me. But as an indecisive person who has lots of 'oh, I'd quite like to do that', half-baked ambition type ideas, the uncertainty isn't working for me. Could a mysterious stranger just hand me a book or folder that contains information on my life. I don't even need, or really want, specifics, just a few bullet points:

• You should go to college/Uni and study....
• Don't worry, you will find your person. You will spend your life with someone. They're worth the wait.
• More importantly, you will be a dog owner -several times over.
• When given the option to ______ this is what you need to do...

Things like that. That's all I need, some basic instructions and reassurances. It's not too much to ask. Especially as the rest of the world seems to already have this.

I'm sick of an unwritten life and the responsibility of being the sole person that has to write it. It's hard enough trying to get me to write a damn fictional novel. 

Someone please, just give me a hint. What should I do? Pursue my writing or go back into education? Work with animals or decide to be an actress? I should not be left to make decisions. Ever. Especially life altering ones. 

My life is flowing by me while I drown in indecision. 

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 12 - 'My BFF'

"You're my BFF." 

"Don't say that."

"What? Why not? Amn't I your best friend? I thought we are BFFs."

"You are my best friend. Of course you are. Just don't say forever or BFFs or whatever. OK?"

"Why not? What the hell is wrong?"

"Forever is like a promise. One that no one keeps or ever could keep. Every time someone says 'forever' to me, they always leave. 'We'll be together forever.', 'We'll be friends forever.'. 'I will love you forever.' 'I'll be there for you forever.' People say 'forever' and I believe them, and then they leave. Forevers are for fairy tales and movies. They aren't real. The word forever is a jinx disguised as promise. So, just don't say 'forever'. It should be like 'never', something to never say. OK?"

"OK. Whatever you want. You're still my best friend though. And I don't see that ever changing,"

"You're my best friend too. Love ya."

"Love ya too."

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 11 - 'Rehab'

Selene heard the blow land, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Something wasn't right. She propelled one sparring partner off the training platform, landing in a crouch, she swung her right leg around, tripping up the approaching fighter and turned in time to see Rathmore's victorious smirk.

"This one needs to be rehabilitated." 

Rafe. What have you done this time?

Selene watched, expressionless, as the only human she had ever trusted was dragged away, three tasers and a gun aimed at him, despite the fact he would co-operate, he always did. He wouldn't fight or struggle. 'That's what they want.' he'd always say, 'They want me react, to show weakness, beg for mercy. They want me to fail their standards. They want me to give them a reason to get rid of me. Permanently.' So Rafe would let them take him to 'Rehab'. Again. 

'Rehab' was the same for most of The Appropriated. Solitary, beatings and humiliation. Just enough to remind you that you were to obey, enough to crush whatever piece of soul you had shown. 

But it was unspoken yet understood by all, that for Rafe 'Rehab' was a very different thing. It was strongly suspected that when it came to Rafe, when Rathmore said 'rehabilitation' it actually meant 'torture' carried out by Rathmore himself. The rest of them were usually dealt with by lackies. Unless, of course, Rathmore was feeling particularly bored or villainous. No one knew what happened to Rafe in 'Rehab' - not even Selene. He refused to tell me, all he'd say is that it would never work, they would never get what they wanted. He would never let them win. They were trying to break him, turn him into the beast they wanted, into the monster that he could never be. 

Rafe was the strongest 'soldier' Rathmore had. He was the best fighter with the most strategic of minds. He should have been Rathmore's favourate, and he would of been, that was the plan. In the beginning, when Rafe's talents became apparent, Rathmore saw the potential for a perfect warrior; a right-hand man; a prodigy. He had such high hopes for Rafe's future, for his own future. But, soon enough, Rafe's humanity, heart and uncrushable spirit became as apparent as his physical attributes. Rathmore quickly realised that his 'perfect soldier' could, in fact, be the undoing of him, so, every day since, he had made it his mission to break Rafe completely. The only thing that rivalled Rathmore's determination to succeed, was Rafe's obstinate resolve to make sure Rathmore failed.

As Rafe and his Rehabilitation parade disappeared through the door, Selene was attacked from both sides. The two burly men she had bested moments before had come for revenge. Between the two of them, they pinned her to the mat. She looked at them both and smiled. Upon seeing said smile, the proud looks on the mens' faces faltered. That smile, on Selene, meant one thing and it wasn't going to end well for either of them.

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 10 - 'Fire'

The permanent flames covered his arms from wrist to elbows. Bright yellow, red and orange ink in a complex, almost life-like pattern. If you looked close enough, you could see the scars that the fire covered: fire had caused the damage and now it concealed the proof.

Rafe had got the tattoos for her, had sat for hours having his scar tissue coloured in because of her and her guilt. Rafe knew that Selene couldn't bear to see the scars. They were her fault. 

It had happened during 'training', she had failed the assignment, trapped by flames - no one was supposed to help her. They wanted warriors, mercenaries, cold-blooded assassins; not soldiers, not comrades. They didn't want them to be human, they wanted them to be killers. Selene had stood, facing the flames without showing her fear, she would die with dignity. She would not scream, she would not allow any sound of pain. Sounds of her suffering would only distract Rafe, throw off his focus. Her last act would be to suffer in silence so that he would have the best chance to survive. Maybe he'd shoot her  - that had been their deal. God, she hoped he'd shoot her before she burned. That's when a pair for strong arms grabbed her and pulled her through the flames. Her clothes caught fire on the way but were put out before she had much time to feel it. She had a few small burns, a couple of scars, but she was alive. They were the second pair to complete the assignment.

This didn't reduce Rafe's punishment. He had shown mercy, humanity. He should have shot her, although they'd have rather he'd just let her burn. But he didn't. And he was whipped for it. He was stripped naked and whipped in front of a group of people trained to take advantage of every weakness. They tried to humiliate him, they tried to break him and turn him into something he wasn't. They had been trying to so hard for so long, and they always failed. Even as they whipped him, every moment he wasn't grimacing with each strike, he bore his hate-filled gaze into the face of Rathmore, the man who had ordered the whipping. 

Rafe's permanent rewards for saving her life haunted Selene. In my waking hours when they were paired together for 'training'; when they ate together: when they bunked together, the scars were there. Always there. And at night, Selene would either lie sleepless thinking of how they were her fault, and, if she was lucky enough to sleep,  she dreamed of them, of him hating her for them. She never worked out how he knew how much she felt seeing them, she didn't show emotion, none of them do. It had been trained, beaten and abused out of them. But he did. That's when the flames appeared: wild, unpredictable - just like Rafe - and a reminded (he claimed) of what they had put them through, and of what he did, of who he was. The flames were a reminder of his humanity and how had to fight to keep it. He couldn't let them take it from him. 

Along with the flames on his arms, animal claw marks were carved into Rafe's back, perfectly aligned to the tracks left by the whip. Selene didn't know why this made things better. She knew the scars were still there, some covered by the very thing that made them, but she no longer felt so guilty, was less haunted and could sleep. Rafe had taken care of her...again. 

But that's what they did, Selene and Rafe, they took care of each other. It's what that had always done - ever since they had been appropriated.

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 9 (late) - 'Phones'

Samsung? Maybe. Apple? Preferably not. Windows? Definitely not. Oh, Sony Xperia, I've heard good things about them. Might be worth getting one of them. Hmm...

Millie stood casually perusing the phones, killing time before meeting Dara. She had been considering changing phones recently, but as her phone was still working fine, she was in no rush to make a decision or purchase, and was therefore only looking for ideas.

She was momentarily lost in the numbers involved in describing phones, when he got Millie in his sights. Millie knew almost instantly, she didn't need to look. She could sense his eyes on her and then him beginning to approach. God, she could not be bothered with this. All she wanted to do was look at the phones, quietly and on her own. She could feel him stalking closer, knew it was only moments before he forced an encounter. Why her? Couldn't she just be left alone? She wasn't looking for this, didn't want it. Millie still wouldn't look in his direction, hoping if she didn't engage, he wouldn't either. She knew full well from experience this wouldn't work, it was going to happen. And it would happen in: 3...2...1

"Hi. Welcome to The Phone Factory. Can I help you at all today?"

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 8 - 'Feathers'

He was trapped. The weight of the net slowly crushing him. The loud, ferocious, continual barking combined with shock and fear had caused any ability to think of a way out to flee his brain. His one automatic survival instinct was to spread his wings and fly, but every attempt just caused him to become more tangled. 

The he saw her: red lips and enchanting green eyes, an aura of power and magic emanating from her. She would save him, somehow he knew she would stop this, he was as sure of it as if she had saved him many times before. But he had never seen the fairy before. 

He was still struggling. still calling shrilly. Waiting for her to move, to do something, to save him. But she did nothing. She just watched. The dogs to approach. Barking. Growling. Closer and closer. And still she did nothing.

A canine jaw appeared in front of his face, he could smell it's rancid breath and it prepared to decapitate him with it's teeth.

"Diaval." her commanding voice tore him back to consciousness. It had just been a nightmare, a horrifying version of a memory, but a bad dream nonetheless. He was just bringing himself to being fully awake and adjusting his feathers, when he felt that familiar tingle. It was painless, but he begrudged it, no, hated it none the less. The powerless feeling of your limps, your muscles, you bones, all moving, stretching, contracting, independently of your will.  

'If she turns me into a sodding canine again, I swear to God, I'll tear one of those horns off her head.' He huffed to himself. Finally, he felt his muscles settle and it was over. He could tell instantly what he was, just by the lanky feel of his limbs. Human. Naked and human. Why did she never give him clothes? She knew what form she was giving him. Bloody fairy.

"Diaval. Get down here. Is it necessary for you to always be sulking in tree?" Impatience and that ridiculous cold act of her's was written all over her face. 

"Because I'm a bloody raven. Although you'd never bloody know these days. How am I supposed to 'be your wings' if I never have mine?"

Her red lips almost formed a grin, and her eyes nearly smiled, but as soon as the moment was there, it was gone. 

"Beastie is at thorn wall again. Go keep an eye on her. I can't have the guards kill her before the curse can be enacted." With a swish of her cloak, she turned and strode away. He watched her go for a moment, a dark and beautiful but intimidating figure. The massive, loving heart he knew was there, buried deep in layers of anger, fear and defense mechanisms, She's never let anyone in, never had since Stefan. That's what happens when you trust a human.

Stupid, bloody fairy.

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 7 - 'Lost Keys'

It all started with a set of keys and now her life had ended with them. She had been clutching them so tightly that there were now crescent-shaped wounds from fingernails digging into palm marring her hand. He knelt down and tore the keys from her lifeless hand. She wasn't fighting anymore. Who would have thought this meager, clumsy, pathetic girl could cause him so much trouble. All because of something he could never have anticipated: her compassion.

He had hunted her, threatened her and caused her both physical and emotional harm, yet this girl, this unassuming, wallflower of a girl, and not one of his many allies and henchmen, was the one who laid her life on the line to save his. All because she realised his maliciousness wasn't about her, it was about the keys; because she didn't think anyone should or needed to die; because, no matter what he did, she had too much warmth and compassion in her heart to wish her tormentor dead. He had not seen that coming. 

This girl was never part of the plan. She wasn't supposed to be involved. They were supposed to send Anthony Barker, a trained professional, not this defenseless girl with no clue what she was doing. Barker was the one that had been tracking him, the one that he had some kind of near-death, back-and-forth repartee with for years. But now, when everything he had worked for, when everything he had ever wanted or cared for, was on the line, they send this...child. Why wouldn't she just give him the keys? She had no reason to give up her life to protect them, she didn't even know what they were for. What was it she said when he had her cornered, when he ordered her to give him the keys? Tears streaming down her face, her body language screaming 'panic'.

"No, I can't. I have to protect you."

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 6 - 'To Do'.

She sat there, eyes closed and facing the sun, feeling the rays caress her skin. She inhaled deeply, a smile playing on her lips, then exhaled with a contented sigh. A to-do list of things she had planned to do upon her arrival home from work, had melted away with the ice in her strawberry and kiwi cider. Her responsibilities postponed until tomorrow. Days like this rarely happened so she was going to make the most of it. Her cares, and stresses of the day, had left her body with each drop of sweat the heat caused. 

She sat up, opened her eyes and waited for them to adjust. The book being held in her hands was placed on the table next to her and the ice cold drink picked up. The refreshing benefits of the cider was immediate. Sitting there for a minute, holding the glass and considering whether to give up a few moments in the sun in order to retrieve a new book from inside the house to replace the one she had just finished. Or she could just stay here and not break whatever spell the sun had cast on her.

That's when she heard the door. He was home early. Her beautiful time of blissful, summer solitude was over. 

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 5 - 'Time'

I'll always remember how you manipulated time.

The way you'd speed it up when I was having a hard day, all I had to do was be near you and the minutes would race by.

And you'd slow it down when we shared our deepest thoughts and fears, so that I could commit every word to my memory.

The way that time would cease to exist (along with the world) when I was wrapped in your arms, that must have been you too. 

Time didn't matter when we held each other tight, neither wanting, or needing to let go so you'd send it away.

How did you manage to stop time with just a smile? Did you do it to make sure I didn't miss it, because you knew I fell more in love with you each time? 

The past visiting me must be you're doing too. The way time flies backwards around me, so I relive our best and worst. That way you're always the one on my mind. Are you trying to make sure my heart never forgets? Never lets go? 

The future I was so sure was firmly within my grasp suddenly turning into thin air has to be another of your manipulations, only you could make time disappear. 

Yes, you did so many incredible things with time, my darling, but, by far, the most impressive trick you did with time, was turning forever into a few months.

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 4 - 'Candy Wrapper'.

"He wouldn't look at me. His eyes fixed straight ahead, like he was determined not to look anywhere else. My eyes were watching his hands and the sweet wrapper they were manipulating. He was fidgeting. Avery fidgeting was never a good sign. It meant he was anxious. His refusal to look at me or down at his hands, meant he was guilty. Of what I didn't know.

I watched him twist the fluorescent pink plastic square until I was sure it would tear, before untwisting and flattening it out. The process was repeated with the wrapper being twisted in the opposite direction. Again and again, twisting and untwisting, over and over. The sweet that once belonged to the wrapper rattled against his teeth. He didn't want to talk, was avoiding saying anything. It was the only reason he ever sucked on sweets. 

Whatever it was he was avoiding saying, he'd better get over the hesitation and quick. Our friends were dead, crucial people to our team, to our cause, were gone. And it was my responsibility, as leader, to round up those left; to find a way for us to fight back, to survive. 

Suddenly, Avery stopped fidgeting, he was so still I wasn't sure he was even breathing. I looked at his profile: at my mother's nose and my father's chin, and waited, for an explanation, for him to say or do something.

Then he looked at me. Unblinking. And I knew. Whether it was because I knew him almost as well as I knew myself or because of our supposed 'special connection', I knew without him saying a single word. I knew what he had done, what he had been made to do. I knew what he had caused.

We sat there, looking into each other's eyes. Neither of us needed to say anything. I knew what he had done, knew it wasn't really his fault and knew that that fact didn't matter. We both knew what I'd have to do now. Everything that needed to be said was communicated wordlessly. 

I stood up and walked away, without a word or looking back. I walked out of the room, pausing briefly in  front of the guard just outside the doorway.

"They've got to him." The guard responded with a curt nod. 

I strode off, away from the room, away what I had just ordered. My head held high, my stride sure, projecting all the strength and level-mindedness that I didn't feel.

Then I heard the gun shot. It was done. My blood ran cold but my stride and stoic expression didn't falter. I was a leader, that's what I had to be, I didn't have the luxury of being anyone's sister, of being able to crumble and grieve. 

Do you think I wouldn't have saved him if I could have? They had his mind. He was lost already. I was responsibly for the lives of many, I couldn't give Avery special treatment because of something as inconsequential as DNA. 

Yes, I was cold. Yes, I ordered the execution of one of my own team. I made a tough call, the toughest call I have ever had to make. But I did what we all know I had to do.

If this tribunal feels that my actions deserve further consequences and punishment than grief, guilt and the loss of my beloved twin brother, I accept their decision and my sentencing." 

Aoife stood in the stand, her posture and mask the same as when she walked away from Avery for the last time: strong, sure, with her head held high and jaw set. She would not break.

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 3 - 'Horses'

(Author's note: yes, I know it's after midnight but I haven't been to sleep so I still count it as Day 3.)

Evangeline pushed Tallulah out of the window. She heard her little sister scream as she fell then the sound of her landing. Evangeline didn't have much time, she climbed onto the window sill, relieved to see Tallulah had fallen into Alex's waiting arms as planned. They had both fallen to the ground on impact, but seemed unhurt. The two were picking themselves up off the ground when the smoke began to slither it's way into the room and Evangaline could hear the wooden structures in the house crackling and breaking, louder and louder, as the flames continued their assault through the house - towards her.
Evangeline climbed out of the side of the window and began her descent down the trellises that covered most of the outside of the wall. She went quickly and with ease; sneaking out almost nightly was paying off. 
As soon as she reached the ground, a hand grabbed her arm.

"Come, Miss Evangeline."

Alex ran, pulling both girls along with him. Evangeline kept pace without much difficulty, but Tallulah and her little legs could not. Alex had Tallulah in his arms and was back running to safety in seconds. To her right, Evangeline saw the barn consumed by flames. It had been the fire's origin, the embers caught in the night's breeze then ignited the house. As she ran, Evangeline felt a moment of relief that they didn't keep animals in the barn.

Animals! The horses!

Her relief vanished and the panic she felt before getting her sister out of the house returned. Surely someone would have released the horses. It was only a matter of time before the wind blew the embers from the house over and the stables suffered the same fate as the two buildings before it. But there was no sign of any human or horse leaving the stables, it couldn't take that long to get them out. Evangeline grabbed Alex's arm.

"Get Lullah to my parents. I wont be far behind." Before Alex could stop her, Evangeline was away, Alex continued towards safety.

As Evangeline got closer to the stables, she could hear panicked neighs and metal horse-shoes hitting stone floor. The horses were still locked in, and they were terrified, By the time Evangeline had reached the stables the roof was already ablaze. Without hesitating, she ran straight to the first stall.. She unlocked it, swung open the door then moved onto the next one, She knew Ted wouldn't leave while scared without encouragement (which she didn't have time for), unless he was following Duchess. As soon as her stall door opened, the piebald mare dashed out, neighing as she went, the sandy-coloured sheltand pony springing out of the first stall after her.
Evangeline had already unlocked the third and fourth stall, Trusty and Luna galloping away, hopefully in the right direction. She had unlocked Thunder's stall door when he decided to free himself by hind-kicking the door. The stall door flew open, hitting Evangeline full force and propelling her into the wall. Winded and dizzy, Evangeline watched as Thunder disappeared in a blur of jet black. She knew she had to move. But the smoke was further hindering her already lessened ability to breath. She fell to her hands and knees, crawling, trying to stay below the smoke level. As she crawled, she saw boots running towards her.

"Hold this over your nose and mouth." A piece of cloth appeared in front of her face.

Freddie. Of course Freddie would come for the horses.

Freddie had Evangeline up, over his shoulder and on the way to safety before she could react. Evangeline chest hurt with every breath and the pressure of her body against Freddie's shoulder made the pains almost unbearable. But bear it, she would. They needed to get away from the fire and their current strategy was the quickest way to achieve that. The pain of a broken rib, or two, was nothing compared to the threat of the flames.
As Freddie got them both to safety, Evangeline watched the scene they left behind; she watched the destruction of her home. She knew it was no accident. 

Someone was going to pay for this.

31 Day Writing Challene: Day 2 - 'Hunger'

I have never been hungry. Not really.

I've been 'I haven't eaten in a few hours so now I feel like eating' hungry, but I have never been truly hungry. I've never missed a meal because my family couldn't afford to feed everyone. I have never went days without a full meal so that my younger siblings could eat.I have never had to worry about where my next meal will come from.

But HE has.

He promised me he would eat. He promised. He can't live like this. Literally. 

Why won't he just let me help him? That boy and his stupid pride.

It's not charity, idiot. I just want to do what I can for someone that I care about. A lot.

He thinks I pity him. I don't pity him. I've seen him make every sacrifice necessary to take care of his family. I have seen him starve himself so that his younger siblings never know true hunger. No, he is not someone to be pitied, he is someone to be respected. I have never pitied him, I just worry about him. I just want to feed him.

And, if I'm honest, I just want him to let me love him.

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 1 - 'Angels'

"This isn't exactly the change in the world you envisioned, is it, brother?"

Michael placed his hand on Araqiel's shoulder and looked out over the Earth. Earthquakes scarred the planet; the gashes in the surface filled by the never-ending downpour, along with every river, lake, bank and sea. Meteorologists and atmospheric scientists across the globe were confounded, not one among them could explain the twenty-four/seven, worldwide, torrential rain. No-one had any answers. No-one, except the two figures, who should not have been there: one standing stoically, the other kneeling, cradling the body of a woman, his eyes glued to her face.

"He really is going Old Testament." Araqiel looked up from the woman's face. Michael looked at his brother with exasperation at Araqiel's colloquial tone.

"The Almighty is employing a biblical technique in order to punish his mortal children, yes. But this time there is no ark, no messenger and no saviour." Araqiel looked out at the death and destruction, defeated.

 "You did everything you could, you gave them every chance to change, to seek redemption." Michael tried to reassure his brother, "You risked everything for them. You sacrificed everything to save them." Both looked down at the mortal woman's face - she looked almost angelic.

"You cannot ever return to Heaven, Araqiel." Michael said softly, but with conviction. "Our Lord has decreed it,"

"Brother?" Araqiel's face shot up, his eyes meeting those of his brother's with a look of disbelief mixed with pleading.

"You interfered; you favoured one mortal over all other; you broke commandments; you renounced The Lord, claimed you did not believe. Araqiel, you broke more sacred and holy rules than can be forgiven. You are eternally banished." As Michael spoke, Araqiel's face became distorted by anger.

"Everything I did, I did to save HIS children!" Araqiel's anger was echoed by the Earth shaking and splitting.

"Araqiel, some of what you did was not for loyalty to Him or in service of all his children; but in for love of one of His children." Michael looked at the woman cradled, lifeless, in his brother's arms, knowing that his brother was experiencing love, loss and grief but unable to comprehend such mortal feelings and, therefore, knowing that he could not truly comfort him.

"He made me mortal, Michael, in all His infinite wisdom. He gave me the capacity for mortal, human feelings. How can I be blamed for feeling them, for acting on them?"

"You loved her more than the Lord, Araqiel. You may have been made mortal, but you are...were an Angel of the Lord. Our core, our centre is loving and being loyal to none more than the Lord. He shall be loved above all else."

Araqiel was silent, contemplating the features of the woman's face.

"Loving a mortal more than the Lord, our God, is but one stage removed from what led the human race to this; loving oneself more than the Lord and fellow man."

Michael looked up from Araqiel, at the wasteland that the Earth  had become. The landscape unrecognisable. The air had become so polluted that one breath would kill a mortal; except those protected by angelic presence. Michael thought back to Eden, the paradise the Father had built, that His children had betrayed and been banished from. Millenniums later and they had learned nothing.

     
      When Michael again looked at his brother, Araqiel was fixated on the pale, feminine face framed by matted and dirty hair.

"Please tell me she has a place in our Father's house."

"Yes, She has been welcomed by her Lord and Saviour. She served him well." Araqiel's body relaxed slightly at his brother's words. Then he stood, still cradling his love's mortal shell.

       The two figures, an arch angel and his fallen brother, stood looking over the graveyard that was once the thriving planet Earth. Buildings had been flattened; continents turned into mosaics  and whole countries had been flooded. Both knew that everything that was once living was now dead and facing the Lord's judgement.

"Why did He not save the animals?" Araqiel wondered out loud.

"There were minimal species and numbers left to save and they would have not survived, let alone thrived, in the environment left behind. It is another consequence of human greed and selfishness."

They stood in silence for a moment, before Arch Angel Michael ascended and his brother fell to the ground and joined his mortal brothers and sisters who were found wanting; those in purgatory.

The Angel Araqiel, the human race's last saviour, was dead.

31 Days, 31 Prompts and, hopefully, 31 Pieces of Writing.

I know it isn't October and that I haven't started this writing challenge on the first of the month. However, I will still be attempting this writing challenge. Everyday, for the next thirty-one days, I will write and post a piece based on each prompt. Each piece could be anything from a few lines to a couple of paragraphs to a short story.
As I will be writing these pieces daily and during times between working full time, socialising, sleeping, eating...basically just living life; what I write will likely be first drafts with little to no editing. Therefore, probably wont be my best work. Just keep that in mind.

Let's see how this goes...

A Daydreamer's Outlet.

Hello fellow Daydreamers

(and other readers, hello to you too).

So this is my blog: Outlet of a Daydreamer.

I'm Sam (said daydreamer), hi. :) As the name of this blog suggests, this is going to be an outlet for me.

 I am an aspiring (but, unfortunately, also very easily distracted) writer/author who is a life long procrastinator. But the procrastination ends now. The plan for this blog is for me to post some of my work; the results from me attempting writing challenges; book reviews and the highs and lows of my attempts to write my first novel. 

Writing a novel and having some of my work published are two of my life goals, and it is about time I got serious about trying to reach them. Unfortunately, I am easily distracted by my own ideas, I will be trying to focus on my novel, planning not to work on anything else for a while, but my brain will end up coming up with story and plot ideas that have nothing to do with what I am working on. When I get an idea, I have to write it down, and as i write, the original idea grows arms and legs before, eventually, I get writers block on the idea too. It's fun and seriously makes it so easy to finish...well, anything. 

I am hoping that this blog will help me get into the habit of writing everyday and relieve some of my continual writers' block.

So, here goes...