Writing Dump

Short Story Collection 3

Short Story One

Flames licked at a small house, sending coils of smoke into the star-speckled sky. Dancing flames coated the residence, twisting this way and that way. In the pith of the fire was a youthful girl with fiery ginger hair. Her cerulean eyes were dark with an unreadable menace. She flicked her hands about, sending spurts of fire every which way. The tips of her fingers were a singed black, flames whirling at her very fingertips. Sirens shrieked in the once quiet background, trepidation flickering through the child's eyes briefly. She exited the room, walking through the flames with a renewed confidence. Ashes dappled the air, giving everything a mild grey tone to its color. She passed a bedroom, only hesitating for a second to listen to the panicked screaming of that inside. Wretched sobs being the only thing to halt the shrieks of terror. The young girl's emotions appeared as hollow as a pin-pricked egg as she left the house. Her movements were ghostly ethereal, her feet barely making a sound as she walked along the sidewalk. The burning house was behind her now, the cries for help only a distant memory. Not once did she look back. Not once did she show resent.

Days came and went as they tend to do. She gradually realized she was walking over an ocean of emotion. She was stepping over an ocean she wouldn't be able to dip herself in, ever. It came across as almost sinful to her to show emotion. To reveal the guilt that washed over her, to show anyone her struggles. She couldn't. What would they think of her? They would know what a freak she was. They would know about the scars that laced her arms, counting everyone she had killed. That night, she stared at the markings. Her eyes burned with the constant threat of tears she refused to let fall. She took the small knife from her pocket, the moon shining off the blade-like broken glass. She rested it against the skin of her arm, pressing it into the soft surface. Crimson beads bloomed along the clean-cut, creating a ragged line of her blood. She pulled her sleeve down, the feeling of blood running along her arm sending chills down her spine. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the moon's lighting much like a flashlight would. If one could get past her murderous intentions, she could almost be attractive. In one fluid movement, she got up beginning to walk.(unfinished)

Short Story Two

Lack of motivation and inspiration. Kind of a boring title, right? Kind of a boring thing to write about. In the grand scheme of things, what is the point of inspiration? Why not just steal some other ideas? Isn't that easier than making your own? And motivation. Lovely, lovely, motivation. What happens when you run out of motivation? Do you simply become useless energy, taking up space on this planet? Or do you take away your place on this planet?

Short Story Three

Foaming Prussian waves left imprints on the pale sand, seaweed residue left behind carelessly. Footprints left in the sand were washed away like forgotten memories. The water lashed upwards for a heartbeat only to fall back to the quiet retreat of the tide. Hints of color shifted in the water as fish swam by in quick dashes. The darkening sky was offset by setting sun. It had begun to dip beneath the churning sea, painting the water an array of colors. Byzantine purple, Cerise pink, Sacramento green, Carmine red, and several other shades of exquisite hues decorated the sea. Faint twinkling was seen as the stars began to appear. The stars watched the colors fade with the sun, leaving a washed-out Eggplant purple in its wake. The short-lived colors had mirrored themselves brightly on schools of fish, however. They darted just under the surface, displaying colors of Fandango pink, Tuscany yellow, Floral purple, and every color in between. The stars grew bright as more appeared, dappling the deep indigo sky. They danced across the dark indigo sky. Soon enough, the sun began to rise. It reflected across the rippling tides, shining as brightly as ever. The stars winked one last time before the milky dawn hid them away, the hum of the ocean waves just a memory.

Short Story Four(just this once because i feel it belongs here)

Rainbowed arrays of coral and grey fish contrasted each other. The water was tainted with ink, blue, pink, purple, yellow. Smudges of black outlined the edges, drops of water raining onto the paper. The ink began to smudge, running downwards and leaving off-white behind it.