Why not write?

(I would like to start with how the girl who is starting this story is not me. Shes my character. And though she's in a book she is writing a book as her main action. Just don't get confused when her point of view switches back and forth from her to her character. I hope it's good!)

I sat down at the farthest table found in our small cafeteria. With the wall to my back and know one to see my notebook I turn the page to a new, fresh sheet of college-ruled lines. Now for the hard part, ending what I know will be the story of all time when it's found out by some big publishing company. I can see it now; thousands upon thousands of prints of books, all with my name in big, loopy lettering. Adrianna Ryan.

But first, the ending...

When I first got into writing, it was all fan-fictions of my favorite bands and books and TV shows. I would sit for hours and wait for a comment on my latest work, or at least a like. I never got more than 10 people to follow me, and that's when I came to the most important realization of my life; I suck at this. I had absolutely ZERO talent when it came to weaving a brilliant plot that left readers gasping in despair or jumping with happiness. I simply sucked. So I tried something a little different like writing down what was on my mind. And this is what happened.

The girl ran gasping down the cobblestone path as the lights flashed brilliantly behind her. With her light brown hair trailing and her navy blue skirt tail billowing behind her she turned down the next alley way. She knew that she could not out-run them and what she saw before her only added to the growing despair in her stomach; a dead-end to the alley. She whipped around and hiked up her skirt once more as her hair was caught on the wind and pulling across her face, hiding her from the now shining light in her eyes. "No," she whispered to herself. 

Then the men jumpd from the cart and began to close in on her. "No. No. no. " Her voice got quieter as the men came closer to contact with her. "You can't. Not me. Not-"

"Quiet girly," the man on the right sneered. "You've been nothin' but trouble since i've had my eye on you! And now you've tried runnin' so I has' to track you down, now don't I?" His hot sweaty hand clamped down on her wrist and yanked back hard, forcing her to the ground. "Now I ain't lookin' for trouble, I just wanted to... talk." He looked over at the man on the left, and with a slight nod the man produced a pair of iron cuffs that glinted off of the light on the cart. 

"NO!" She screamed as loud as she could and desperately clawed at the man's hand that was now twisting her wrist beyond the point of breaking. "Stop! Please! I can't go with you! You must understand! STOP! You don't know what you're doing!" She warned them, tears of hers flinging onto the cool stones below their feet a she frantically shook her head. I have too keep them away from me. I can't-

"Get her still. I can't put 'em on her if she's movin' like that."  The men finally had her pinned to the wall, her cries now more of a last effort, with no real conviction. Why do they have to do this every time. If only they left me alone, the curse wouldn't need to effect them. They brought her to the back of the cart, now the man holding her arm on the left also gripped the hair at her scalp, exposing her forth head and revealing what the witch hunter's hoped to be true. 

"The marks' there. I reckon' we sell her quick to the nobles to let them do what they see fit," the man on the right whispered the last bit into her ear, getting close enough to make her skin crawl right off. 

The mark of a new witch glowed faintly off of her exposed skin, just above her brow. It was the shape of a blooming magnolia flower, but was clouded over and dark maroon, showing that she was a cursed soul and warning off other witches. Men wouldn't know. They just grab what they can and hope it sells for more than their own lives were worth.

Sometimes she liked to think Maybe they get what they deserve. If they know not to touch me, I warn them after all, then it's their own damn fault that they suffer afterward. But after watching her first captor writhing around on the floor at her feet she couldn't bear to think that of anyone who touches her skin. 

They threw her into the back and fastened a rope through the chains on her scarred wrists onto the post to the side of the back. A sack was tugged over her head pulling her into an abyss of strange smells and dark dreams. Just before they used unnecessary force to plunge her mind into the black around her vision the man said, "Don't worry. We won't do anything to you while you sleep here." with a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips, he brought down the knife hilt onto her temple.