"I have tried simply to write the best I can. Sometimes I have good luck and write better than I can." -Ernest Hemingway

“The only living works are those which have drained much of the author's own life into them.” –Samuel Butler

Friday, January 24, 2014

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Release)

Heat sears my heart. My blood is bubbling in my veins, spreading my disease. Acid rolls in my stomach. My lungs shrivel and my throat collapses. Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them free.
My hands shake as if I was dying from thirst and shivers attack my bones, at war with my boiling blood. Fog settles into my mind. My vision fills with black emptiness.
A silent scream lodges in my throat. Pain begins to pound in my head and I fight to gain control. My body betrays me and I collapse.
Fear and Anger fight for dominance. They are choking me with their weapons of destruction. Fear makes me cold and empty, but Anger fills the void with fire. My body is torn between freezing and burning.
The world seems to shatter around me and I’m left in the debilitating darkness. There’s no sun to caress my chilled skin, nor breeze to still the frenzied beating of my heart. The silence presses in to further distress me.
In panic, I reach out for anything to distract me from this horror. My frantic fingers brush against the cool metal of a pen. I clench onto it like a lifeline. The tip presses against the floor next to my broken body and I begin to write.
All my ailments rush down my arm and out of me. My mind clears and forms the words now appearing beneath me. Every unpleasant emotion escapes my chest and my lungs fill with sweet air. A weight is lifted from my stooped shoulders and I’m freed from the burdens of life.
I have been set free from my cage and allowed to soar simply because I put my pen to the awaiting paper.

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