Last June I decided that I would write for 10 minutes every day to get me in the habit of writing every day. That lasted for one day. :P Oi... I was looking through some of my other writings tonight and found my "Daily 10 Minutes" folder. I opened it up to find one lonely file. I read through it and it seemed a little weird to me. I remember the scene in my head, but I don't really recall writing it. I think I just closed my eyes and let my mind drift while my fingers did their thing.
It isn't fabulous writing, the Daily 10s aren't expected to be I wouldn't think... but it was kind of interesting. Maybe I'm the only one that will think so, but I'm going to post it anyway. Let you have a glimpse into my inner psyche :P
"My breath reminds me of the tide rushing to shore in the middle of the night. No other sounds around, no other light in the darkness but the moon shattering on the flecks of water. Calm, peaceful, serene. There is a hint of a mystery as well, perhaps a feeling of foreboding inching in, how can it not? I sit in the chill early Spring air and gaze at the stars to quiet my mind. Something in the back will not be quieted.
I want to be alone, but it seems someone else has been seduced by the call of the waves. I wrap my shawl closer around me as a chill raises the hairs on my arms. Not from the breeze, but from the silhouette of the figure drawing closer. This isn't how I wanted my night to go. Why must there always be some figure to disrupt my solitude? Why can't night be the calm peaceful place I need it to be? I am comfortable with my aloneness, I prefer it. But he refuses to leave me alone.
I dream and he is there, a shadow in the background, a constant presence. I don't know what his purpose is, but he scares me. He takes many shapes and forms, but in the end it is the same. Dark hair, pale skin, dark clothes, dark eyes. Do I not know how to draw a villain any other way? Does he have to be a villain? There is always a sense of disquiet in me when he is near. A nervousness I can't explain or dispel. He stalks me.
The coolness of the night sharpens, the breeze once welcome now scraping against my skin. The sand beneath me no longer comfortable. He's stopped his progression, just standing there watching me. The moonlight bleaches out all shades. Everything is black and white. Everything is grey. I try to get up, but find I cannot. Does he know I am writing about him? Is he smirking at my fear?
A part of me wonders what would happen if I were to approach him, but another part knows. We've spoken before. We've touched. We've touched in ways I cannot explain, even to myself. I don't want to understand. The unknowing is frightening, but I'm terrified to know. Who would I be if he went away? I breathe. There is a faint whispering, scraping in the sound.
I have been here so many times before. This beach, this night, this man. I should know the steps. I do know the steps, but each time I am afraid. He raises a hand toward me and I shrink back as much as I lean forward. My heart is cold, icy. So are his fingertips. His face flashes before my eyes, full of hate. I don't understand. What could he hate so much? His finger points to me, and I know. I hate it, too.
Looking down in the darkness, the black white grey world, looking down I don't see an icy cold heart. I see a dark sucking hole. Soon I begin to fold inward, being pulled into the void, sinking inward with nothing but bleakness. The scene is too bright, too dark. Nothing is as it should be. The black water, the grey sand. The black sky, my grey hand. He stands there smirking."