By definition a whisp is a small thin or twisted bunch, piece, or amount of something. In here you will find little bits of writings that have come to mind and I have written out because of boredom. Some of these have started some of my books, other...
This is what brought me the idea to write my story Goodbye, Butterfly. This actual text doesn't come from the story itself, however, but brought the inspiration.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Clutching the second place ribbons in her hand tightly, Zakiya slides down the wall. Tears ran down her face in silence. They left tracks down her dirt covered face. It was the only thing that was clean on her. Dirt covered her arms, legs, face and anywhere else it could get at. Her hands were bloodied from the cuts on her wrists that thighs. The physical pain wasn't enough. She had to get away and to her there was only one choice left. Nothing mattered to her anymore. No one cared.
Now that she was alone she finally had her chance. Parting her lips slightly she lets go of her breath only to take in another soft moan. Tucking her brown hair behind her ear and snuffling softly, she moves the ribbons to her chest and leans her head back against the wood shed. Trying to calm herself enough to stop the useless tears, Zakiya takes a few deep breaths of the kerosene filled air.
Looking over at the counter where most of the books sat, she slowly reached out to grab the matchbox sitting at the edge. She looked at the small box for a moment as if second guessing herself. Shaking her head she frowns. The matchbox slid open and, with a shaky hand, pulls out a single match. It's all she needed. With a slow exhale, the match's sulfur tip rests along the strike strip along the side. She began to count slowly, her voice just above a whisper.
one.
two.
three.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As the match sparked to life, Zakiya let it fall to the ground. She watched as the flame barely touched the pool of Kerosene before the flames raced and leapt along its new fuel source in hungry desperation.
The flames stretched around the edges of the shed, coming to a stop on the opposite side of where she dropped the match. The crackling of the wood soon started to fade as she stared at the climbing red-orange flames, mesmerized fully by their beauty. She heard nothing. Felt nothing. A smile curled and parted her lips into a truly genuine smile just moments before the shed blew apart with a thunderous sound and became fully engulfed in flames.
With the ricochet of the sound wave passing through her, Zakiya fell unconscious. Flames had already started climbing her clothes. As they devoured the threads, they lapped at her flesh. The result was black crispened skin and red raw flesh oozing clear fluid. Her head had tipped to the side, mouth slightly open. No one could tell if she was still alive for her chest hardly moved.
Her hand slid down to her side. The ribbons slid partially from her grasp. The flames immediately reached their greedy tongues, eager to devour them. The rush of rapidly heated air managed to scatter the top ribbon into the flames and out of her hand completely. Below that single ribbon, sandwiched between the other two, she held a picture of her friends. Written below the faces were two words she never truly believed: Love You!
