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bending_sickleWords Written Today - 1,900
At This Rate You Will Finish On- November 24, 2001
I went out for a walk but got punched in the chest with anxiety so I came home and tried to write and I am so, so tired and I can't focus for shit, I have no idea what I've written at all and I'm sure it's all crap anyway but at least it's not what I'm going to have to write tomorrow which is our heroes against not one but two big bads and it's the big climactic ROCKS FALL EVERYONE DIES moment except rocks don't fall and only a few people die and I don't know if I'm going to be up to it at all but at least I can stop writing for today and curl up in a horrified ball as I watch American Horror Story and try to ignore the fact that I've been unemployed for a year now and I am going to die in a ditch and possibly my mother's going to throw me in that ditch and yes not good also my desk chair is hard as fuck and my back hurts.
30481 / 50000 words. 61% done!
* Ralph Waldo Trine
At This Rate You Will Finish On- November 24, 2001
I went out for a walk but got punched in the chest with anxiety so I came home and tried to write and I am so, so tired and I can't focus for shit, I have no idea what I've written at all and I'm sure it's all crap anyway but at least it's not what I'm going to have to write tomorrow which is our heroes against not one but two big bads and it's the big climactic ROCKS FALL EVERYONE DIES moment except rocks don't fall and only a few people die and I don't know if I'm going to be up to it at all but at least I can stop writing for today and curl up in a horrified ball as I watch American Horror Story and try to ignore the fact that I've been unemployed for a year now and I am going to die in a ditch and possibly my mother's going to throw me in that ditch and yes not good also my desk chair is hard as fuck and my back hurts.
Kezef heard it, the sweet siren call that rang out throughout the world and echoed in heaven. The word ran through the angels, leaping from wing to wing and garrison to garrison, threading its way through them like a lover’s caress, wanting fingers moving through hair and leaving behind a terrible empty yearning. The want for the voice dug into every angel’s grace like a hook would a fish, sharp and satisfying. And like the line tied to the hook in a fish’s mouth or halfway down it’s stomach, the acceptance tugged and pulled and dragged on them, drawing them closer.
Even Kezef could feel the intoxicating magnetic pull of a vessel opening itself for the taking, like a sacrificial bull under the knife, the blood under the skin pounding against the knife, and even if it had not been in his plans to do so, Kezef would have followed the pull.
* Ralph Waldo Trine
