Empty My Soul (original) (raw)
at November 15th, 2005 (10:25 pm)
at November 8th, 2005 (04:28 pm)
( More than before...Collapse )
[Ed.: I'm sorry for the cliffhanger. I'm tired. It's about 30 minutes till my birthday. My husband will be home soon. I'm done for the night.]
at November 7th, 2005 (10:50 pm)
[Ed.: Again, directly continued from previous entry.]
[Ed.: I REALLY need caffeine if I'm going to do writing after my son's in bed, I get so worn down, so quickly otherwise, and I really do have more plotted out in my head, but just no... more... energy...]
at November 4th, 2005 (10:36 pm)
at November 3rd, 2005 (10:29 pm)
[Ed.: This is continued directly from last night's installment.]
News of Mick's spectacle in the ring spread quickly through suburban Detroit, and soon the 16-year-old was more of a household name than KISS. He became a real underground sensation, and his matches became more organized and planned, much more akin to WWF in that respect. He took on an alias, Donavan, because he's read that it meant "dark warrior," and given the black clouds that oft times overtook him during the fights, it seemed an appropriate choice. When he could, Mikey acted as his manager, promoter, and tag-team partner. He even set Donovan up with matches against seniors on the high school football team, which for an incoming sophomore, was no small feat. Donovan went largely undefeated and his "black-outs" were always crowd-pleasers. He and Mikey eventually aquired a staff, an enterouge as it were, to help bring him out of such episodes. And, his knowledge of cleaning up smears of bodily fluids was also put to use on canvases from one corner of Motown to the other.
It was, in fact, during upkeep of one of the rings, that Mick somehow mustered the bravery to explain his fighting ability to Mikey. Both of them down on their knees with rags and buckets, Mick sat back on his heels and took a deep breath.
Second installment, ends rather abruptly, might continue this tomorrow
at November 2nd, 2005 (02:31 pm)
"Hey, Woods! Your mom gonna let ya out of the house, ya fuckin' psycho?!"
If the voice wasn't so familiar and welcome, Mick would have ignored it, stayed away from the window for his own good. But it was Mikey, the scraggly little scrub who was his only friend in the world. He ran out the door, pulling his shoes on and shouting to whoever could hear him that he was going out. Trotting down the walk he could see Mikey's smile and knew he had something in mind for the day. As Mick spoke, he returned the grin.
"What's goin' on?"
"Get your bike, I got somethin' ta show ya." Mick gave him a suspiscious look.
"Where at?"
"For God's sake Mick, just come on! I promise you'll like it." Mikey's grin got wider.
"Well... OK, but we gotta be quick, it's gonna be dinner time soon." ( Read more...Collapse )
First installment, not bad for less than 8 hours' work...
at November 1st, 2005 (09:17 pm)
The eyes all around were all he could see. If it had been light, he could have seen the mists. But as it was, there were only the eyes. Red, glowing, taunting embers in the darkness that reached even to the corners of his mind, haunting his very soul. They never moved, never blinked, only watched. He could feel their scrutiny, their scorn, their criticism, their disapproval. He couldn't make them stop. He'd tried so many other nights, trying to tell himself they weren't real, a trick of what little light there was, present only in his imagination. They were still there when he closed his eyes. Nothing made them leave or diminish, fade away into the constant darkness. Always around him, always on him, and every night he prayed to find out why. But there was never an answer, never a voice from Above or Around or Within with any semblance of an explanation. Just the still, silent, piercing eyes. Always lonely, never alone, he started to wish for Death, but that entity too ignored his silent pleas.
The worst of it was, he remembered how it all began. He would have greatly preferred to block it all out. And most of the rest of his childhood, for that matter. All the cruel jokes at his expense, the beatings, the harsh words. And it had all only gotten worse after being hospitalized. Now not only was he an outcast, but crazy too. It had been impossible to catch up in his classes after being out for so long, and rather than fail, he simply stopped going, made excuses to stay home, blaming his condition.
( Cut to save flists, and for disturbing, triggering imagery.Collapse )