I once was lost
Oct. 28th, 2006 09:11 pmI've been working on my
spn_halloween fic for what seems like forever, and this is all I've got:
My prompt:
8. The family is staying in Salem, Massachusetts and come All Hallows Eve victims of the witch trials (actual witches or not) are back for revenge.
“The Burying Point”
I was there and then I was not.
I awake with the sounds falling from my lips, “I have not! I do not! I can not!”
An endless moment filled with sparse recollections of before. Cold seeping into my skin; the wind caressing my hair, the warmth of the sun on my upturned face, for a moment only and then the world disappears.
I was. I am not. I’ve become.
*
Leaves crunch underfoot as they move through the path in the graveyard. Breath mists outwards from open mouths, fingerless gloves tight on their fingers, keeping the worst of the chill from their hands. Guns are poised on their shoulders, but nothing seems to be moving through the graveyard except for the barren tree branches above and the fallen leaves below.
...Why hast my muse forsaken me so?
Damn sickness. My head feels like it weighs half my weight, and my dreams have been vivid and odd last night and today. Everybody is sick in my house, with the exception of Ash, who was sick two weeks ago.
I need drugs, but I'm too lazy to get up and go into the kitchen for some.
Bleah.
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My prompt:
8. The family is staying in Salem, Massachusetts and come All Hallows Eve victims of the witch trials (actual witches or not) are back for revenge.
“The Burying Point”
I was there and then I was not.
I awake with the sounds falling from my lips, “I have not! I do not! I can not!”
An endless moment filled with sparse recollections of before. Cold seeping into my skin; the wind caressing my hair, the warmth of the sun on my upturned face, for a moment only and then the world disappears.
I was. I am not. I’ve become.
*
Leaves crunch underfoot as they move through the path in the graveyard. Breath mists outwards from open mouths, fingerless gloves tight on their fingers, keeping the worst of the chill from their hands. Guns are poised on their shoulders, but nothing seems to be moving through the graveyard except for the barren tree branches above and the fallen leaves below.
...Why hast my muse forsaken me so?
Damn sickness. My head feels like it weighs half my weight, and my dreams have been vivid and odd last night and today. Everybody is sick in my house, with the exception of Ash, who was sick two weeks ago.
I need drugs, but I'm too lazy to get up and go into the kitchen for some.
Bleah.