love's.uneven.remainders (breakxorxbury) wrote in roguecowgirl,

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Story-type thing.

Well I started a book a while back. Not much planning went ito it really, it was rather spur of the moment. Anyway, I wrote quite a bit then lost most of it when my computer was formatted. I haven't been bothered to carry on since, but maybe one day when I have time and I'm feeling more creative..

The jagged stone cut like a blade. The girl was steadily slipping as it carved its merciless signature deep into the gentle flesh of her palms. The laughter of one rang cold and clear through the howling winds as he watched the girl with hungry eyes. He willed her to slip. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to watch her lose grasp of her only salvation and see her plummet to a serrated, bitter grave. His violet eyes stared fixedly at the defenceless figure hanging from the ledge before him and a twisted smirk of pleasure formed across his frosty lips.

"It’s over." His voice had a psychotic calmness about it, sending a single shiver all the way up through the girl’s spine. She tried to cry out to him for mercy, but her cries paused as they reached the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t breathe. For a moment that felt like hours, she hung from the rock, choking on her own frantic words. She watched him take a step closer, his sturdy leather riding boots nearing her delicate, blood strewn fingers. It happened so fast, but to the raven-haired girl everything was in slow motion; the crunch as his heel came down; the scream that finally burst its way through her lungs; the slashing sound of her fleshy hands as they finally lost their grip. It was over.


Elita awoke suddenly as she hit the hard, wooden floor.

"Ugh.." She groaned, pushing her long, black tresses from her eyes and pulling herself up into a sitting position. A single shaft of moonlight filtered in through the dirty, dormitory window and rested gently on her pale features. Elita peered around the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the little light she had. The rest of the beds and their owners were swallowed up by the darkness and it was difficult to make anything out, let alone the clock that she was curious to see. Clambering back up onto her bed, Elita realized what a pointless addition to the room the clock was. In the dark it was impossible to see it at all, and switching the light on just to check would more than likely result in a severe beating.

As the orphan girl lay back into her lumpy pillow, visions of the same malevolent man draped in a black cloak came to her. Although she had seen him many a time in her dreams, she could never quite remember his face; just his abnormally purple eyes. He had been haunting her in her sleep for as long as she could remember now, but recently his behaviour toward her had become more threatening. Sometimes Elita feared slipping into her chaotic dream land in case of the inability to wake up. This scared her more than anything in the world.

Holding the covers close, she waited for dawn.

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