Young Writers Society

This is a story I've started writing in relation to my poetry series http://www.mylastsunrise.tk which really outlines, I think, the story and accentuates the series.

So, here it is:

Prelude:

I inspected my wings. The left one, which I tore flying to tonight’s abode, was healing slowly. It didn’t bleed of course; I’d stopped bleeding at all since my morbid transformation.

“Curses to all of you,” I screamed in an eerie shrill and punched the ground in rage, “Curses to you and your beloveds!”

I sat there and breathed heavily through cracked lips before I suddenly notice a sharp light on the ground. It was the remains of a mirror. A mirror left and disregarded by the previous tenants. I picked up the tiny fragment and observed parts of my face and body slowly using the broken glass, passing down from my long, dark hair onto my green-red eyes. My pupils were small and sharp. I still wasn’t used to my physical self yet and spent much time staring into the dark depths of my seemingly lifeless pupils almost admiring them. Using the broken glass I continued to observe my face. Down my cold, grey nose and onto my blue, cracked lips. I gave the makeshift mirror a devilish smile and shuddered in fear at the fangs I’d acquired recently. Doc didn’t say it would be easy I thought as I threw the glass from my hand against the wall with certain finesse. Night three and still no Doc. I wondered if I was some sadistic experiment of that beast. Did he convert me to understand himself? Has he left me here to die, alone?

Many human attributes had left me recently but paranoia wasn’t one of them.

I placed myself down on the concrete of the abandoned room. I could now see pictures on the walls. Pictures of a family. Pictures of a man, a woman and a child… they seemed so happy. Why had they left and why has such a place now become a resting place for a beast? The thoughts were melancholy, depressing and even angering me. I decided to jump off that train of thought.

The grey of the concrete floor blended perfectly with my skin. The floor was warm against my lifeless skin, a testimony to my loss.

I closed my eyes but didn’t sleep. I hadn’t slept since I was human and if the Doc was telling the truth then that was the last time I ever would…

Chapter 1:

I sat in the car on the way home from another tedious day of schooling. Rubbing my temples with my lead-stained hands I let out a faint groan. I was getting sick of this.

It seemed I did the same thing everyday with the uncommon exception of something mildly and temporarily amusing. I couldn’t help but get angry at the general stupidity of the students at my school and especially in my class. There is this one girl, May, whose brain has obviously been tampered with. Some say it was the fumes her mother inhaled from paint when May was in her womb. I couldn’t stand her no matter what was wrong with her. Her constant bliss was something I just couldn’t understand.

My constant outbursts of verbal rage towards her probably didn’t help in any way, I doubt she even really listened to me, no one ever did.

I looked to my right, where my mother sat driving the car. She was mouthing something to me. I pulled the earphones out of my ears apathetically and listened to what she had to say.

“Had a good day?” I was experience with this question and tried my best to push aside my feelings for the moment.

“Yeah, fine” I replied and place the earphones back into my ears. I honestly couldn’t stand my family. They have that kind of in-your-face attitude that can really aggravate you if you over-analyse the things they say, which I regularly tend to do.

As we arrived at home, it was still on my mind. She was on my mind. She was special to me and she knew this. It was her weapon of choice for her countless and relentless barrages of insults and comments that somehow hit home. I was a very affectionate person, that was, until countless failed relationships dulled my sense and indeed my want for like, love and relationships. She never hesitated to use this to her advantage either.

I didn’t know why I was so attracted to her I the first place. After all she did, you’d think I’d quit her. But she had a certain something that kept me coming back for more. She had died black hair and a modest figure with slight imperfections I couldn’t help but love. Her mood was all over the place but nevertheless I wanted nothing more than to share all her downs, ups and hormonal catastrophes or whatever she decided to be. I longed to hold her and to be part of her life. If only she felt the same.

I’d be content if it ended there, if she was just a dream. Unfortunately it wasn’t that merciful. She was a nightmare, a harpy, a witch and a temptress that, in a quest to find herself, didn’t much care who she trod on. With me, she was just showing off however. I would muster the courage to speak to her and be turned away in an instant in what could only be compared to the pierce of a poison-tipped blade driven through the vital organs, twisted then removed.

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That's it for now. If you want a fuller understanding on the story, I suggest visiting the site and reading the poetry.

Thanks. Comments appreciated.