1
A massacre.
Mutilated bodies lied haphazardly on the pave.
Faces shredded beyond recognition.
NAME knelt down. lifting up the remnants of a stuffed bear, comforted in a pool of crimson. The smell lingered in the air. Fear. Dread.
Blood.
She could hear the faint wail of sirens drowned through the tumultuous screams and cries of passerby's and witnesses. The howling wind blew hard. The sight was nauseating.
And she loved it.
Her prestigious uniform, smeared with red, her navy Ita bag, bedazzled with glittery pins and stickers, drenched with warm blood. Her lipstick indistinguishable from the red stains. The feeling was exhilarating. Energy coursed through her veins. She longed to feel this alive.
NAME gazed lazily around her, surrounded by the people she saw merely as desolate flesh. Food to satiate her hunger. But her time was limited, and she knew it.
She was malicious, hell, even a little narcissistic with a hint of sweet sardonicism, but she was far from ignorant.
2
Months earlier.
NAME arose.
Her bed's duvet, horrible tattered and patched kept the relentless cold away from her. She pulled the loose strands of any coherent thoughts that remained together and sat at the edge of her mattress, punctured with small tears and a few loose springs. The one thing she and an inanimate object had in common it seemed.
I've been better.
I've lived better.
I deserve better.
She checked her phone, squinting; 7:20.
She slipped a pair of tropical sandals, the cheap print peeling off, pricked her heels, and she trudged over to the bathroom.
She was a blur, yet she could tell she was a mess in the foggy mirror.
Her normally silky brunette hair, with golden streaks was stiff and tangled, her brown sun-kissed skin was dry and pasty. She certainly looked better too. But balancing copious amounts of hefty school assignments and working part-time to help her father pay off the centuries worth of debt her mother had left behind was tearing them apart.
She undressed and slipped into the bathtub, adjusting the plug with he foot as she tried to find a comfortable position.
It began to fill with cold water. She shivered and hit the faucet to change the temperature. She closed her eyes and thought;
'I wonder where we'll lay in a few weeks time. What's going to happen to us?'
3
NAME lathered a thick layer of lotion and combed her hair into it's naturally silky form. She dressed casually in a black dress, leather jacket with chunky boots and a small assortment of pawned jewellery her father bough for her at last month's flea market sale.
{STATE NAME + CITY} was a strangle place. A no man's land as some say.
It was as if all the liveliness and colourful, bustling streets full of culture and tourists had been drained and rung dry, discarded, like a disheveled dish cloth.
She was lucky to have even have a part-time student contract through a pharmaceutical agency, or she'd be forced to sell drugs for some measly change.
YOU ARE READING
STORY DRAFTS/OPENINGS
General FictionI'll just be writing some opening and see if I ever want to elaborate/continue on the ideas in future references and maybe commit to writing a whole story that COULDDDD maybe get published someday... Feedback is rlly appreciated!! Also (TW!) if you...
