Her green’ness gave her wings of light. Graham watched as his teacher walk back and forth across the whiteboard, always keeping his eyes focused— or unfocused rather— on the space directly following her.

It was a thing he’d begun to notice. Wings. Everybody had a color, even if it were white or black: the color defined their personality. But only so many people had wing… things. Ms. Schroeder had wings, and Graham still couldn’t understand why or how.

They weren’t wings in the literal sense, but rather a stream of something behind her. Attached at the shoulder, and driving higher.

He asked me how I was dressed the night I was attacked. “The night in question,” I should say. That cock sucker.

Never mind that fucking fetish freak tried to rape me, but that… It just doesn’t fucking matter. It shouldn’t. I was out jogging. What the fuck else would I be wearing? Sweats, a tee-shirt, sock, shoe, and my prosthetic; same shit every night I go out jogging.

It’s not my fault this kid had a weird fetish for amputees. It’s not my fault that I am one. It’s not my fault this pyrokinesis shit is real.

Fuck him.




----------

Authors note: Okay, so I'm going to try and start gearing this challenge toward projects I've been trying to write, but not actually getting into. So I'll note it both in the title, and in the tags. In the title I'll give the title of this particular story, followed by the name of the series and if the case calls for it the character whose voice it's in. Like this:

Story Title; Series [Character]

Aye, me! Woe to honesty!

Alas, mine is not a life meant to be lived in such an abysmally shameful way. A life where nothingness perverses my being. A life of apathy and disillusion, on a path to nowhere quick.

Hark!

I hear the bells of death singing in a voice mine own! I take thee to sign as the mark of my time. Good night, sweet sorrow! I thank ye for your honesty. But tonight, I end this life wrought with disinteresting qualities.

To chain, to chain, this stone around my neck… and blow you kisses from the bay.

A bit late on this. Hope I won't be tomorrow.

-----


I’d survived.

Three hours stuck in a meat freezer, and despite the carnage I had witnessed I was now amongst the living once again.

Racks of lamb, and fillets of beef; chicken, pork, hell even bison and ostrich… Before this day I would have considered myself a connoisseur of carnivorism, but no longer could I bear such a title. No, today meat has been ruined for me… forever.

One hour, I could have laughed it off. Two hours, I could have gotten over it. But there’s something about three… Three was just the limit. Something psychological about it, I guess.

So I’ve been turned onto something cool, something called 100 Words A Day. That, itself, is a blog for certain writers to use as a way of keeping their writing up to snuff by means of continuous practice. Neat, isn’t it? Seeing as how I’ve fallen way behind on my writing prowess, I think it’d be a fun way to keep myself motivated and writing.

This ain’t no fan fiction thing I’m going to be doing here. All original stuff, because that’s where I need the most practice.

When do I start, you ask? Why, my dear, I already have.