I have not been able to get enough writing done. I had a major essay to write and that took a lot of researching and time that I wished could have been spent on writing, but it wasn't.
I know you're probably wondering where today's teaser is coming from. Well, it's not from Mirror, Mirror or Playing the Field.
I was working on Playing the Field today. I had the document open and everything. But somehow I started writing something different.
At the time I didn't know what the heck was going on. I was just writing. I didn't have a plot or a title, I just had this voice, this voice that wouldn't stop talking.
But after hours of deciding, I am thinking about calling this story STARLIGHT. It looks better in capital letters, doesn't it?
I don't know much about this WIP but I can tell you it will have a possible love triangle and it will feature some really nasty, slimy creatures called Nightmares.
Some of you who did FNW with me today, already read this and so I apologize for not having something new. Hopefully, though, I'll have something sparkly and new for next week.
***I felt like my head was on a carousel. It was spinning around and around and around. Pressing my nails into the Styrofoam cup, I tried my best to stand up.
God, I was so wasted. Lola told me I would have more fun if I had a beer or two or four. If I remembered correctly, I had six cups. But I could be wrong.
Lola was wrong too. I wasn't having fun. Having a headache the size of Texas and feeling like I was going to throw up any moment, wasn't my idea of fun.
It wasn't even close to it.
In fact, I was having fun six drinks ago, when the music wasn't painful to listen to and when all I wanted to do was sway side to side wildly with my hands waving in the air.
Now I just want to sit back down and go to sleep. But I can't. I need to find Lola.
I need to get home.
I'm drunk. I am so drunk, so drunk I can't tell which way is up and which way is down. But I know something is wrong. I don't need to be sober to know that. I can feel it in my bones.
No one is dancing. The music is playing, playing, playing, but no one is moving, swaying. I don't know what time it is, but I know that it's too early for this party to be over. Lola said that parties usually end when everyone passes out.
Everyone is passed out.
"Lola," I called. It was of no use. My voice was drowned out by the music. But I kept looking, hoping that one of the faces on the floor would look familiar.
None of them did. Lola had probably introduced me to half of these people, and I couldn't even remember who they were.
But I had to wake somebody up. It didn't matter who, I just needed to talk to someone, anyone.
Nearby a boy was laying face-down on the steps. I probably knew his name once, but I didn't now.
I moved towards him, and started poking him. Hard, hard, harder. He didn't budge.
"Come on, wake up!" I yelled. He couldn't hear me over the music. I moved closer until my lips were pressed against his ear. "Wake up!"
Still no movement. He was as still as a doorknob, as still as the dead.
For all I know, he could be dead.
I gripped both of his shoulders and pulled him up. My stomach started doing jumping jacks and a wave of nausea washed over me.
A large red stain covered the front of his shirt and his throat, his throat was slit.
This was why he didn't move. This was why he didn't hear or feel me. He was dead.
And I was pretty sure everyone else was too.