High expectations
Oh, I wish I were younger, or a little bit older
so we wouldn't get closer
than just friends. And I keep playing it over
the story line that's mine, praying to god it will change
But here I am, looking over the mountains that we viewed,
dangling from the monkey bars where we played and stewed.
I wonder what you would say sometimes.
I wanted forever, close to never
God must've mixed them up, but I want you for more than forever
Cause I want to live and die,
I want to fall and fly.
Now I'm searching for somebody to stay young with
To hell with growing older,
Play in the halls with me
A ghost or not, stay with me.
Not until we die do we part,
I want to hell and back.
So, just promise me you're mine for keeping
or I'll move on,
Promise you're the one to stay young with,
Or I'll grow old alone, in my thoughts.
Hair remembers, but so does the Heart
Missing people is a vague thing I think. Sometimes, If I keep busy, it's like they were never there in the first place. A lost thought from another world that was never mine. But, when I stop. When I know, in the back of my mind. It hurts. Like it was always there, I just took a pain killer for a second. And somedays I wake up thinking, I can't wait to see them today.
Then reality hurts. There's no such thing as seeing them today. No such thing as dangling form monkey bars in our little space to talk, ignoring whatever anybody else was saying. And it's not like normal wounds, when people say they heal over time. Sometimes, when you're not thinking it's not there. The constant pain, the constant memories. But, over time. The less I see them, the more it hurts. Like a wound that opens deeper, every day without fail.
Sometimes when I see them in dreams, I sob. Wake up sobbing from sadness, but also because I'm happy. For them, to know that maybe one day we'll run into each other again. But then, probably not. This world is bigger than we give it credit for. I both hate it and love it. Because if we fell into each other again, what would happen? What if they don't remember? What if every little insignificant thing they taught me was nothing to them? What if, everything they taught me, they taught some one else to? What if they've moved on and I still feel bad moving away. Like I can't forget the memories.
The scariest part. I want to forget them, but every time I try. What if I never remember again? What if I try to move on, and the face to the unknown boy in my heart disappears? What if I forget, but only remember enough to make it hurt? I've cut my hair, they say it holds memories. Yes, but so does the heart. And the heart remembering makes it hurt way worse, because I can't carve it from my own chest can I?
Painted Smiles
My mother told me that I looked like I had a smile always painted on my face today. She was upset, angry and tired. Talking to me in angry tones, and she stopped abruptly. She asked me why I always looked to have a smile painted on my face. I shrugged. What should I answer that with?
At first I didn't believe her. Nobody can always look to have a smile. But my sisters all looked at me and agreed with my mom. Now I wonder, why? I've read, lived, the most heartbreaking stories. I've felt pain deep in my soul. But I always seem to have a smile painted on my face. Although I have no clue why.
I suppose I will take it as a compliment. A smile brightens every ones day. And a smile always painted on your face, hiding in worried creases and a serious face. In a solemn moment when that might be the only thing to brighten the mood.
But what if it's also a curse? What if a painted smile at all times isn't always the best thing? I've been called to friendly before, by friends. Called to talkative and inclusive. To nice, but never naive. And never before have I been asked about my always painted smile that seems to hide from me in the mirror. Only about the consistent book glued to my nose. But I don't know what to think. Is it more curse or blessing? Who else sees it? Who else wonders about it? Who thinks it's good, and who thinks it's bad? I've heard people call laughter the call of heaven, a smile brighten the coldest day. but what if the laughter that always floats in the air gets annoying, like a song that gets listened to too often. The smile fades away like the sun? There but not always acknowledged. Ignored, and hated by people? I simply don't know what to think.
Living to the Fullest
Sometimes words aren't enough to explain. No matter how much you twirl them. Sometimes it's hard to explain what you're feeling, what your making. To understand what lies at our fingertips. We just have to make the most out of it. Live out our feelings. Speak whatever we can, never hold back. Although we do, because we want to be excepted. But what is the point of being excepted if it's only your alter ego that gets accepted? But we don't need to show everything about us. People aren't just a few levels. Our souls run deep. Deeper than the rivers have carved into canyons. We have different ripples, different reactions. Different stories and reasons, and everything else. We aren't superficial, not like A.I. Something that they would envy if they knew how to. But also something that hurts, scars run deeper than the skin. But we don't need to cover up those scars, the scars gave us new choices. Made us who we are, made part of us. Good or bad. Acceptable socially or not. But they don't understand, and that's fine, because we won't always understand them. We can try, or we can live life to the fullest. Not completely carefree, but as carefree as we can get so that we can enjoy what we have. Go back to God with a light heart, bright soul, and laughter that follows.
Mystery #8
Most people believe that friends are the people who you talk to in life. The people who sit by your side. But, that’s wrong. Those people are acquaintances. Not real friends. Not somebody who you should be terrified of losing, because acquaintances come and go depending on the season of your life, what phase you’re going through.
Real friends are events. They are steady. They try to fight through with you no matter what. The people that aren’t afraid to tell you that you’re wrong, what you need to fix. They don’t tolerate you like normal people would, they come straight out and say what you need to fix. Friends are the people that we would call without thinking, who know exactly what to say- either to tell us we need to clean up our act or that today was just a bad day and we’ll be okay- no matter what situation we’re thrown in.
But, how do we come across these strangers that mean so much? How do they stumble into our life as nobody and come out as somebody we will never forget? How even do you stumble into somebody’s life just like that and become something more than ever thought possible? If we added an eighth mystery to unsolvable mysteries in the world, it would be this. How did we meet our best friends?
Trauma Reverse
"It's funny. They all have a simple fallback. All think the same. Programmed robots in humans, to go to the same default thought. The same thing over and over again.
If you were getting abused why didn't you tell anyone? You got raped, what were you wearing? Why do they always find ways to put the blame on the victim? Your shorts were short, shoulda worn snow pants to a ninety degree party. Shouldn't have drank that much alcohol. You should've told somebody, that's your fault. Ok, then I'll be the monster.
When he pulled out his fists, I pulled out the pistol. Guess the neighbors complained about the noise, even though they never did when I screamed. Cops think the noise is worth looking into this time, not last time. Now he's a victim of murder, well so's my soul.
He creeped from the alley with threats. I played him like a guitar, left him soiled and bloody in the very same alley that he crawled out of. I suppose that pocket knives really can't compare to actual daggers. I don't think that he'll think of doing that again.
A kidnapper tried to take me for some warrant. Only one of us made it out of the fire. I'm telling the story now aren't I?" I make eye contact with the reporter. The one who called me a psychopath. Her warm brown eyes commit mydriasis into fear. Wide and wild like a does.
"Thank y-you for y-your ummmm t-thoughts?" She asks. Not at all like the confident reporter who walked in. I smile, stretching the cut sliding down my eye and cheek. My white, bloody teeth biting into the air.
" Thank you for your useless criticism." I reply. Shifting closer. Her curly blonde shimmering in the prison cell's light. Her back stiffens.
" Did you have. . . father issues?" She asks quietly. Leaning back, I laugh.
" Darling. I don't have father issues. I pulled a little stunt. I pulled a trauma reverse."
Oh, Dear Alice the Heartless
Alice, you're the mad hatter
I cannot believe the story you tell
Because, before you, fell down the rabbit hole
there was just the baker and her jester
Raven the best friend, no killer in sight
Cheshire a cat who ate pumpkin seeds.
No queen of hearts to be seen
the key to the king's heart was the lime
and the jabberwockies were long gone.
Alice, I can't believe you
you're the mad hatter and time has caught up with your trauma
dear rabbit do you remember the girl in the red dress?
Spinning in circles
Before the red roses were painted pink
there were no roses to be red
no red mud to coil with out story
you are lying, keep your tragedy imagination to yourself.
because my happy ever after,
was just Catherine the baker and the jester
with white rosed dreams.
Chapter 1 Attempted
The shadows aren’t moving right. Swaying wrong, or staying still in this drafty room. Somebody really needs to teach them. Maybe in the afterlife though. I ignore them. The later they realize I’ve caught sight of them, the less knowledgeable they are, the longer I have to prepare. The better my chances are.
“Where’s my payment Graham?” I ask recklessly, throwing my bag with the dead head inside of it. He laughs, attempting a menacing chuckle. Too bad he sounds like a toddler trying to chuckle, and looks chubby enough to be one too. And completely ignores the head that I just threw onto his desk. Rude!
“Oh no Cath, you aren't getting paid this time around. Why is it that I’ve found that you know many of my secrets?” He asks. I shrug.
“Because you looked?” I ask, a completely sarcastic remark. Graham shakes his head slightly with an annoyed sigh. If you don’t want a smart alec answer- or sarcastic- don't ask stupid questions.
“I’ve noticed that you know many of my secrets. More than I’d like. And some I’d rather prefer you not knowi-”
“ Like how you’re balding?” I interject
“And” He continues strongly. “I think you might need to forget all of that. Betrayal is common nowadays.” Graham states. Honestly this is pretty stupid. I roll my eyes, he couldn’t even kill me over something good. Or really a good line or something just epic. Why won’t god give me an epic ending? Is that too much to ask? Dumb men.
“Really?” I drawl, innocent sarcasm so thick it's practically dripping from the brim of my voice, foaming at my mouth.
“Yes.” Graham growls back. I can’t believe he thinks so lowly of me. Betrayal? Please, I’d merely crush him with it. That’s a little beyond betrayal. I’m offended. “ And I don’t want you- a pathetic sixteen year-old to exploit me.”
“Well for somebody that just killed another person that, mind you, two other people tried to kill and died. Yeah, I am pretty pathetic.” I reply. Pure sarcasm. Yet again this man cannot even muster up a good insult. All of these are fake and bad. He needs to learn.
An annoyed and most likely pissed Graham continues. But honestly, the more he talks the more pathetic he sounds. Like, seriously, fix your scary talk. It needs a lot of work. More work than I have put into tonight.
“ I honestly don’t have time for you and your surprising superpower of pissing people off all the time.” He exasperates. I smile, because he just opened yet another opportunity for me. It would be rather irresponsible not to take it. And I’ve been working on my responsibility skills.
“Thanks, I honestly didn’t know I had a useful superpower. And you are absolutely right. You can’t waste another second, even though you’re the one who pleaded with me and had to use money to open up my busy schedule for you. Money you don’t even have. Scoundrel.” I remark, popping into a random chair as if it were a throne. My throne. Now he’s absolutely, indefinitely pissed.
“That’s it! Maybe I’ll teach your sorry ass how to be humble.” He fumes, practically yelling. Hmmm, nice quote to add to my book. Although he’s got it all wrong.
“Ummm, actually it’s my sarcastic ass, and I’m not sorry for one thing. ” I reply. Graham fumes even more, although it seems as though he can’t speak. Two of the shadows quietly laugh. Barely making any movement or noise. Graham flicks his hand towards me. I shift the poison back into my cloak pocket and zip it. Barely able to hide the movement from anybody’s detection. I still sit lazily on my chair throne.
Six shadows morph from they’re poorly hidden dark corners. All of them are most likely men. From they’re thick build, tall frame, and masculine scent. Awww, I’m rather flattered. Six is a lot of assassins to kill just one pun sixteen year old that Graham referred to me as. So maybe he does in fact fear me a little bit.
Already three daggers are lodged right where they need to be. One in Graham's right chest, although not poisoned because I still have a few words to say to him. Two quickly poisoned ones in the chest area of two assassins. The daggers have Lovely Lilac and snake venom. Nobody’s immune, I like to call it Darlas Night. Just because I can. Their movements will be slow until they die in about five or three minutes. Depending on how close to their hearts I got. Plus their chats are already bleeding out, the poison so close to their hearts already. In their blood flow. A secret. Poison is a secret.
The other four assassins are quick to take up their walking dead brothers' places. Okay, so maybe I should poison all of them. Honestly, why shouldn’t they hesitate? I took down three men in less than ten seconds. Although their formation thing that they had going on is quite the disaster currently. All four of them stop, as if hearing my thought and plucking it away. They mutter and fight with each other for a second. Shifting and stepping slightly. Going around and getting in the right spots.
Wow, I really need to join one of these things. An assassin band? People actually stop their semi-epic attack to time it right? I have the slightest bit of respect. At least it’ll be way more epic when they come in to kill me. I raise one of my brows slightly. Although I guess they wouldn’t be able to see because it’s dark and they’re busy getting they’re formation together correctly. Goof balls. I really need to join one of these things.
“ Are you princes ready to fight me? Or do you need to pamper yourselves more?” I ask. One of them glares at me for a split second, and then he’s pushed. But actually he’s handsome. Blue cold eyes, thick black lashes that contradict his dirty blonde hair. A strict jawline. Although I must say his chin protrudes too much forward.
Finally they get their formation together. Okay, so maybe it is a bit more epic when they walk forward on beat together. I wish life had a background music because, damn these guys would be rocking it. Looks epic at least. Huh. . . whatever.
“Random fun fact, actually, my name in fact is not Cath.” I pop out just because it relieves stress somehow. Just to talk. Or fight. Maybe just because it releases steam. Gives you something to make it harder to focus so you have to zero into whatever you’re doing. Maybe not.
None of them reply. Deathly silent as they start fighting me. My brain immediately focuses. Something that only really ever happens when I could possibly die. Comforting. Although I do love the feeling, the way my heart speeds, my brain focuses, my mind races, my muscles shake with anticipation. The adrenaline rush. The, probably, only thing I’m truly addicted to. Well, other than my sarcasm at least. I would literally die if I couldn’t be sarcastic. True hell right there. Maybe that’s where God will put me when I finally do die.
One thick, long dagger in my hand and a longsword in the other. I stand to fight. Easily deflecting and attacking. Although it is a bit of a strain. Four swords to deflect is pretty hard to get a hold of, to keep up with. Or even keep track of all four, I only have two eyes.
My original defense and attack plan just is not going to work. I fall into a simple stance, one that usually isn’t used for fighting with daggers. I turn my body, long dagger in my right hand, close to my chest. The long deathly sword in my left hand attacking. A lot of people would recognize it as the position you get into to fist fight. But it’s perfect for this case.
Still, nothing is completely perfect. A sword gets through my defenses, cutting into the skin of my right thigh. Not too deep, but deep enough to hurt. Hopefully they didn’t put venom on their swords. Even if it is in fact one of the venoms I am immune to. They still slow me down.
I grit my teeth, it feels like my jaw is about to break. Try to keep control over my breathing. That’s the most important thing, is even breathing, keeping your head about you.
I have made a number of blows on each assassin, but it’s still not enough. Why aren’t they slowing down? I need them to slow down. Mt brain freaking hurts right now. I have a pounding headache just by trying to keep up with everything they’re doing.
Aiming, I send the long thick dagger past my defense, through every barricade. It’s a move they probably weren’t expecting because nobody seemed to see it. None of them even try to deflect it. It digs deep into the middle right man's stomach. He drops his sword with a quiet clatter compared to the clashing of my sword against his companions.
In my hand I already have another dagger. Deflecting anything that gets too close. The man looks shocked as his hand clutches my dagger, but he’s smart enough to know not to pull it out. Still, he falls to the ground, leaning onto the edge assassin. Great, now I have to only focus on two swords for a second. The live assassin shoves his companion. His body hits the floor, a sickening sound that never gets better. Although I am used to it. Still my stomach turns.
The other three assassins don’t seem to mind. But I suppose to them, I don’t seem to care either. It really doesn’t matter anymore. So I try to forget it, like I always do. Something you get quite good at after some time and practice. Something that I use to scare myself because of how perfect I am at it. At least I’m not a psychopath. Yet.
“C’mon guys, Graham’s dead. Let’s just, you know. . . move past this.” I say. Obviously they do not heed my words. They get pretty annoyed by it though because one locks his jaw. My mask digs into my face. “No? But, we could put our differences aside. All get out of here alive.”
“ You have killed three of us.” One snaps. He pants while saying it before snapping his mouth shut and breathing through his nose. That’s good. Although I’m pretty sure I sounded the same way. Ok, so I am not forgiven yet.
“ In my defense, they did try to kill me. It’s called self defense. I have a right to protect my life.” I reply matter-of-factly.
They all ignore me. I shift my eyes away from the fight, checking the room out as quickly as possible. Searching for a way to escape. Too far away from the door. There’s a door to the left of this small square room. Most likely locked. Not going to try that and waste my time. Or my valuable life.
Tod is soo gonna kill me. If I’m not already dead before he figures out what I’ve done. Knowing that it was going to happen. But in my defense I didn’t think that Graham would get six assassins, and be able to pay them for it. I was thinking two at the most. But he has to be annoying and unpredictable which would be respectable if he wasn’t such a snake.
Graham’s desk is right across from the door, hiding another door. But I would have to pick up his body and move him before being able to unlock or open the door. That’s not the way to go.
At the right there is a door. Slightly cracked open. The stairwell most likely, after all, this is a warehouse. I wonder who’s going to get it after Graham is found dead. Maybe Tod is going to get it. I mean Tod is like Graham's employer benign the Ledger. I bet Graham just wanted to kill me because I’m the only Heir in front of him. That would make a lot of sense.
I have a game plan.
I shift my position very slightly. All my weight on my left foot. Leaning out of everybody else's reach. Ready to jump forward when the time arises.
Then I slide my sword. More of a hack than a real slice and decapitate the assassin in front of me. My eyes are closed, but I still feel the warm wet liquid on my upper face. Still can smell the metallic tang in the air. Then I pounce forward, blindly wiping away the blood from my eyelids.
The other two assassin’s still getting pounded by the bloody squirt. Blinded. For now anyway. I rush up the staircase, not even shutting the door behind me. I only have at least ten seconds before they start moving again. Forty-two steps up, skipping almost half, I reach the top door with my calves burning.
“ Up there!” One person yells. It echoes through the stairwell. Two sets of pounding footsteps rushing toward me. I test the knob. Locked. My hair is soo going to die today. I pull out my hair clips, shoving them into the doorknob. Playing quietly. I know Graham has guards at the top of his rooftop. I’ve seen them so many times on my way around town.
If it would just. . . Click! I stealthily open the door and shut it. Jumping up onto the box of the stairwell. Rolling onto my stomach, peering over the edge to watch whatever is about to go down. Against the cold cement. Six, five, four, three, two, one. I hold my breath. As if the guards or assassins could even hear my breathing. Wolves can. Predators can.
The last two burst through the door. Unaware of the four guards at every corner of the rooftop. Damn, they really need to do their research. Learn about places before going there. Just so that this exact thing won’t happen to them. Somebody needs to give them assassin's one oh one.
All four guards turn at the incomers. Ready to fight now. The two assassins realizing what’s going on quickly sweep for me. Finding nothing but themselves and the guards. Hopefully the guards take them out. Guards are the easiest people to get around or fight. They just aren’t all that prepared or taught that well. They’re taught with choppy, jerky movements. Slow and loud. Predictable.
Never trust anybody but yourself to protect what is yours. That’s what Tod has always taught me. Unless you know you can trust somebody with your life. Yet we both have nobody we would trust with our lives. Except maybe for each other. Still, it would depend on the situation. Sometimes I wonder how I can live in such a gentle world. Something that trust is so hard to come by.
I’ll never trust anybody. That’s for sure. Not even my own father who’s taught me nearly every trick in the book. Keeping a few secrets to himself in case I get ideas. Weird how normal people would trust their friends, and I can not even trust my own father. So deeply engraved with fear that trust is not a possibility. Or it’s more likely improbable.
I roll over, pressing against the cold, letting it bite deep into my back if only to hide myself from any angle of view. It could mean life or death. Sometimes I wonder why everybody fears the Grim Reaper.
How lonely must he be? Hiding in the dark spaces between the stars. Never does anybody want him. Like the younger brother of the sun. Always overlooked. Never seen for his personality. Just for his job. His menacing smile that he means to be welcoming. He just accompanies you, so you can never actually die alone. He carries you to the stars. But still everybody hates the Grim Reaper.
The moon smiles down at me. Cold and welcoming at the same time. Not her fault that she was made out of darkness and ice. Pure white and light blue ice that brings the beautiful dreams we dream every night.
I remember when I was a child. Looking at the stars. I always believed that diamonds were stars that fell down. And like werewolves they had a weakness to silver. So they were caught in jewelry. But that was just a small fable of a child. Something that I can’t even keep. The beautiful explanations of an uncruel world. Malleable still.
Tod would always yell at me because whenever I got my hands on anything with a diamond I would pull the diamond out, and leave it on my windowsill to fly away. But they never did. They never will. I only ever kept the diamond on my dagger because it fit in so perfectly. A little rose that I couldn’t bring myself to release. Humans are weird that way. We kill or keep anything that is beautiful. An imperfect way of us all.
One body thuds to the ground. Five more to go.
Daggers are so ugly, but pretty at the same time. They are to thick at the bottom, evening out too slowly. They’re handles ugly and thick. But then there are some that are thin, serrated edges that gleam, even through blood.
Four.
And their handles smile with silver prettily made to destroy. But it was so particular. If you ever change which type of knife you want it takes too long to regroup. Annoyingly.
Three.
Sometimes I think people forget that the sun is just another star. A star that has worked so hard to get above all the others. To be brighter, to be better. How long has it taken to grow? To improve and shine so brightly? But now it cannot falter because everything relies on the sun. If it left everybody would think it of a myth before it gets forgotten. So it keeps going, no matter how tired it must be. That’s why you never want to be the best. Put twenty-four percent effort. Then when you put a hundred people will think that you’re god.
Two.
An impending number really. A couple that could shatter at any time. Easily or break so hard that it hurts everybody that’s anywhere close. So close to the end that if one fails then you can’t go on. Relying on each other and if the other dies, you have no chance. So stay and be independent. Two have to coexist. That’s why if you have friends, have three. You learn to rely on neither. Easy to gaslight yourself out of the relationship. And one is just perfectly set. Lonely, but able to do anything. Untrustworthy but perfect to get whatever job done after some practice.
One.
It’s time for me to get down. I sit up. My hair cascading over my shoulder. Soft thick, silky waves around my shoulders. About ready to go in front of my eyes. Funny how we can see through ourselves, our hair, but other people can’t.
Jumping down, I settle my back against the box wall. My dagger set to scrape everything from beneath my fingernails. A nonchalant, but very menacing position. Something that everybody can do, but few people can make look as if they’re ready to gut you while doing it. Like you’re contemplating the best way to cut up the person in front of you. Of course an assassin made it. Not a guard. Sad. The assassin growls.
“ Good job. You know, killing all the guards. I was afraid for a moment there that I would have to help you.” I say. Not looking up from my work. He growls again softly.
“ Although I am afraid to tell you, dog noises don’t scare me.”
“ You are going to die!” He yells. Dude, be quiet, people are sleeping. Of course my hood has fallen off completely. Only to show my eyes, hair, and black metallic mask that somehow gleams off even more darkening light. I lift my eyes, not lifting my head. Glaring through my lashes and making direct eye-contact. Stopping my work for a second.
“ Funny, you know. They’ve been saying that. Every single time you know? Sometimes I think you need better lines.” I reply before dropping my eyes back and continuing my work. Then keep going. “Yet, sometimes I think you really believe it. So, tell me what makes you so convinced of this?”
“ I’m not going to die.” He growls.
“ Bold assumption. Very bold, so tell me. What are your last words going to be?” I ask.
“ I’m not going to die.” He repeats. I roll my eyes, which he can now see I suppose. His jaw ticks, as if he actually has a reason to be upset at me for a simple eye roll. Well, actually considering the situation, he might have the right. Might. “ What are your last words going to be?” A challenge. I smirk, although he won’t see it from under my black mask.
“ They had to send six trained, male assassins to kill me.” I answer. A little sassy. Oops?
“ That’s real cute.” He sneers. Walking toward me. He is being a tad bit scary if I’m being honest. But not as scary as Tod if I don’t come home.
“ Something tells me that you don’t really think it is. But, I do rather think it would make a great headstone. Don’t you think?” I ask. He answers by shoving his sword in my face which I promptly duck away from. “ Hey, that’s not a very nice thing to say in a conversation.”
“ I didn’t say anything.” He grinds out. Low and deep, and annoyed. He slices at me again, and again I shy away from him. Just barely out of reach.
“ It’s the body language that counts.” I chim chime. I would honestly let this go on longer, but I’m ready for bed. And again Tod is probably close to killing me at this time. Plus, Graham won’t last much longer. I shove my dagger back into its sheath then pull out my sword again. It’s got the blood crusting on it. Grose. Then I pull out my second sword, gleaming and clean. Very handy.
Finally we fight. Properly might I add. He’s not actually good without his companions. It’s simple to get him on his knees. That’s why you’re independent. You don’t rely on other people to improvise for you.
“ Your last words sir?” I ask a simple and easy questions. Also extremely mocking. It makes me a little happy on the inside that I have in fact tricked this man and well, rubbed it in his face. And in the face of death too. Too bad I don’t have an adrenaline high anymore.
“ You bitch.” He spats. I smile, big and fake and plastic. Although he’ll never actually get graced with seeing it.
“ Oh, come on. You have to be more creative than that.” I sigh. In a soft graceful motion I decapitate his head from his body. Pulling away from the spray of blood easily. “ As you wish, though.”
I slowly trudge down the staircase. Forty-two. My feet landing on each and every one of them. Still, I almost trip twice. But who can blame me? I’m tired and my adrenaline rush has left me. So, whatever.
Graham is still breathing. His eyes follow me as I walk toward him. At least giving myself enough dignity to be graceful, pretend to not be tired. He’s in shock though, so he can’t move. Shock from my slow poison. I kneel beside him, getting close enough to whisper. He whimpers. I set my sword in position.
“ By the way, I’m seventeen. Not sixteen.” I whisper into his ear before the sound of my sword hitting through cement echoes through the room.
Tittle: Heart & Dagger
Genre: Crime/fluffy romance
Word Count: 4,049
Author: Elisheva L
I believe my story is an okay fit because it's really a story for young readers who have strictish parents but still want to be in the thrill of books and fluffy romance.
Synopsis: Assassin who is the king's advisors daughter being forced to get married off to the youngest Prince Malcolm who runs the country during a war that had started. Everly ( assassin) has been trying to kill the heir of the throne Prince Merde because he's going to be a tyrant.
target Audience: 13-18
Bio
platform????
Education: Intermediate School
Experience: Not much that's for sure
Personality: Intelligent, goofy as my friends put it, extremely sarcastic when I get the chances, and perky??
Writing style: Fantasy mostly, sometimes modern, usually not though
Hobbies: Reading, writing, drawing, and anything with animals. Occasional photography
Hometown: Hotchkiss Co
Drug: Adrenaline
Jumping from rooftop to rooftop
always looking down, never looking up.
They always say that it's better to never look at what you could fall through
I just stare. Let my mind reel and my heart burst.
Climbing up a wall without a holster,
slipping and giggling,
laughing like a menace.
Breaking and crumbling below the pressure
Running across a heavily busy street,
Jumping from a swing to high up
Reading the fight scenes until I think my heart will attack
Slowly dying from the inside out
A different drug that is still bad
Something I can get from going against the rules
Running to fast on slippery ice
Loving every moment
hand on hand combat,
never thinking, always moving
Letting the familiar feeling flood through my veins
hotter than blood, thicker than water
I'm sure someday my heart will burst
Will stop freaking out at everything I do
But it's not today
So I keep going.
Attacking every menacing thing that lies before me
Stealing the drug I love so much
So that one day my prescription bottle will lie
I'll go to rehab but I think I'll still get the high
fly down stairs, trying other medicine
going against every rule.
The doctor writes down my antidote.
A small glass room to do nothing in.
Not big enough to run
Not big enough to fly
But still I get my high
Talking myself into it
Such a risky trip
Still I go for more because it's what I love
It doesn't kill my lungs
Doesn't ruin my legs
Just sloshes my heart
Races my mind
My drug.
My antidote.
My adrenaline high.