Pink Ribbon Scars

The typewriter leaks ink on the muddied floor of my mashed up mind, but here in white crayon the letters unfold beneath blue splattered lines. I have scribbled in unfathomable words the discord of heart crimes and regrets. A waxen figure cuts the page, all pale silhouette.

A character of bittersweet memory and cloaked intent, she is my queen of disconnection.

Her tongue stabs with paper cuts in inkblot stains. This is my saviour. This is my wax scrawled beauty, half-sighted and sore. In broken dreams she haunts me.

I’ve been writing, properly, for the first time in a while. Stripped of my passion, a grey and staccato world has called to me in discordance and chill. It’s like emptiness and emptiness have collided to bring about something.

Shall I stop talking in riddles?

Basically, I’ve written a little of something from a dream that I’ve had stashed away a while. It’s not a lot but it’s better than the nothing I was writing. I just haven’t had the heart for it. Then I forced myself to read through this piece, which is selfish and jumpy, and I realised that everything I’m feeling or not feeling (as the case may be) could be twisted into this tale.

So this new WIP is giving me a break from everything. I intend to finish off Preying On Time but as that is in the editing stage I can afford to write a little of this before I go back to it. The new WIP’s working title is Breaking Cadence. It feels more dystopian than anything else right now.

I’ll update you all in the future as to how I’m getting along with it. For now, I’ll give you a small preview of a couple of paragraphs in the first page of my draft:

My key checked the car door with a soft chink like locking it would really matter in a place like this. My shadow cut a dark line in the dull orange light. The neighbours were probably watching behind their darkened curtains, but the street remained eerily quiet all except for the sound of the skittering rain. I moved past my brother’s car, hand sliding across the cold, wet paintwork as I passed.

He would be inside the house courting the girl, but that was no excuse for taking it. He was getting us all into trouble.

I stepped up to the door and instead of just turning the handle, I knocked. An uneasy feeling unfolded in my stomach like the separation of haemoglobin and ochre plasma in a bag full of blood. You were supposed to knock, but I hadn’t knocked in a very long time.

I hope you all enjoy the excerpt. I know it’s not much, but it shows you at least a little of what I’m working on. There’s also this, which has one of my favourite lines so far inside.

I stepped inside, moving smoothly past her as she recoiled. Frightened rabbit syndrome scratched her gaze. The kitchen felt loveless, the kind of place where food preparation had no passion and eating was a task forced in silence. It was a graveyard to fine dining, the pale bulb sluicing everything in a jaundiced light.

And for now that’s all I’m willing to share. Let me know what you’re working on and if you have any favourite lines, please post them in the comments!

*Lyrics in the title are from Today by Smashing Pumpkins.

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