A demon ate my muse
The Memorist looked tired; exhausted even. It was an exhausting thing she did for people, taking on their memories.
(Based on Grimms’ Sleeping Beauty) It had been only a single gasp of air that alerted her to the trouble.
You are a snowflake
Jagged edges, crystalline
Furtive in my grip.
(A re-imagining of Grimm’s Rapunzel) It began with a peculiar blossom. The winter had been long and frigid and barren, but for a tiny blossoming plant outside her window.
Smile, sucralose sweet; Assaultingly artificial. Eyes, whispering half truths in the dark. Mouth, filled to the brim; Spilling over with things said and not said. Glare as sharp as knives. Tongue spoiling into venom. Behind that smile, A sugary death awaits.
“You have to keep up with the times,” his father’s voice whispered uninvitedly in his ear.
Help! My Restless Stories Syndrome is all flared up, and I don’t know what to do about it.
2018 was my second go at NaNoWriMo, and my first win (to win, you have to make the 50,000 word count by November 30th, and validate the text through the nanwrimo website). Gotta say – it feels pretty good.