Prompt for January 20: Two Haiku about Trauma

Standard

[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .  I had some prompts saved in an email from one of my class days that I’m now just getting around to posting. Sorry.]

With blood spewing out

And arms and legs falling off,

They rush through the doors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car crashed right there.

And, though she was not inside,

She is still haunted.

Advertisements

Prompt for May 23: Four Lines of Prose about Something Overflowing

Standard

[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ . Characters and story from a novel series idea of mine: Hand of Fate.]

I always knew that arterial blood had pressure behind it, that that is why blood draws were aimed at veins instead. But I had no idea how it could just keep pouring out of a wound like the dagger in Evander’s back. Within the time it took for him to fall to his knees, his vest had already darkened, the sun reflected off the wetness blooming around the dagger hilt.

As mesmerizing and terrifying as it was, I wrenched my gaze away from Evander and towards Cris experiencing his own outpouring around the arrow lodged into his chest.

Old Painful Memories – Alchemic Maiden

Standard

[An excerpt from Alchemic Maiden for all of you! I am still behind on my word count, but only by one day. I have resigned myself to the fact that I’ll most likely stay behind until Thanksgiving Break when I’ll be able to write without constantly worrying about upcoming tests, even though I’ll still be studying during that week. I should finish the next chapter soon!]

Step. Drag. Step. Drag. My good leg was son beginning to send waves of soreness and pain rushing to my spine.
Step. Drag. Step. Drag. Every time my body screamed at me to stop, I thought of Arven fending off the horde of guards and heard his scream echo inside my head. Step. Drag. Step. Drag.

Oddly enough, the woods had a sort of beauty I never truly expected. It was entirely different than the bright colors and lovely discrete fragrances. Only once did I accompany my Father on a hunt in the woods immediately beyond the walls. I remember hours of sitting on a horse on the rough saddle, wishing I could just get back to the palace and sit in front of a fire, playing chess with my Mother or reading a book. I paid no attention to the rustle of the wind through the branches or the unique woodsy smell in the air—something between the natural aroma of wind mixed with spices and pine needles. I remember being cold and bored, wishing I had never asked to join the hunt. All I did was sit on my horse and follow the dogs; I wasn’t even allowed to actually kill any of the animals we were chasing.

“How many creatures do we have to slaughter to have a successful hunt?” I had asked my father after he added another hare to his growing array hanging on a string on his red embroidered saddle.

He laughed at me. “Not one for the hunt, my dear?”

I had shook my head. Arven and Fage were ahead of us, intimately involved with whatever beast’s scent the dogs caught and followed. Father was more along for the ride and as a symbol than an actual participant. “It is cold and I’m growing hungry.”

“Traditionally, the hunt does not cease until a boar is caught and killed. But worry not, I believe the dogs are on the trail as we speak.”

I remember being joyous at the thought of not spending another moment in the woods.
But now, with no fire to return to and no one to play chess with or book to read, I finally realized just how magnificent the woods could be. Every sound seemed to have a purpose as it echoed off of the blooming trees and the peeling shades of bark. The smell I remembered was more complex with several undertones of indescribable pleasantries. The wind was alive, is touch caressing and caring for me instead of the harsh nonliving being I remembered. Even the muted colors that surrounded me, colors that I knew would brighten and expand in the coming months told of the variety of life that constituted every single day within the wood. Thinking about the resilience of nature, even after all the trees we cut down for wood and shelter, after all the spaces we claimed as our own, inspired hope within me and helped me to continue walking.

Step. Drag. Step. Drag. What I wouldn’t give for a hard horse’s saddle now. Step. Drag. Step. Drag.

Injured – Alchemic Maiden

Standard

[Excerpt from chapter three. I have written 10,121 words now! We shall see how long I stay caught up, though. I have two tests next week that I should start studying for.]

My legs were lead, heavier than ten swords, as I stood to gather my bearings. The woods looked exactly the same no matter which way I turned. Even though I collapsed during the night, I was pretty sure the tree had been in front of my path. Continuing past it should keep me from backtracking towards the castle. I took a step and cried out in pain, buckling knees dropping me to the floor.

My thigh was on fire. The slightest pressure was like being slashed over and over with a hot knife. I glanced around me—mocking myself as I did so since I doubted anyone would be aimlessly walking in the woods—before rolling up my dress.

There, on the inside of my thigh snaking around towards the back, was an angry thick red line. A yellow-pink liquid oozed from the center and it was hot to the touch. Those pointed gate pickets. I never understood why the gardeners took such care protecting that damned statue anyway. No one was going to go through the trouble of mastering the maze to steal the Clotairene seal etched into marble. The castle was full of more valuable items for the itchy palmed.

That was all I needed: a leg wound impeding me from reaching my goal. I cursed under my breath then blushed at my rudeness. Never would I have been able to express such foul language at Court. Rebelling in such a slight way, throwing decency to the wind after my life had been wrecked beyond the point of recognition, lifted the weight constricting my chest. I cursed again then giggled. I cured louder and laughed. After all that befell my family, all I received was a leg wound?

Laughter racked my body and I feel back against the tree. I knew it wasn’t funny—nothing that had happened would ever be funny—but I couldn’t stop myself. I continued to laugh until my sides hurt and I could no longer breathe. When finally everything around me solidified, sadness once again overtook me. With it came cold, hard determination. Nothing, not even a leg wound, would stop me.