Hastily Written

Tuki: This is the outcome of a ten minute writing exercise I decided to try, with minimal editing done afterwards. It isn't anything special, but perhaps it could inspire a similar experiment? :)

    The wind blew strongly across the moor, carrying with it a sickly sweet smell that he had grown to loathe. It reminded him of the decaying life surrounding him, fragile to a touch and always on the verge of crumbling. He turned away from the window, slamming the shutters.

    The weeks he spent shut up in that room were torture for him and now his only reprieve was taken from him; that he should inhale fresh air seemed impossible, for now even going to the window was painful.

    His mother had warned him but now he only hears her voice in his dreams. Dreams that swiftly turn into nightmares until he breaks free and awakes, drenched in sweat. During the day, he sometimes found peace by writing the words he hears on an empty page, filling it with his untidy scrawl.

    If sleeping was becoming a challenge, eating was an obstacle worth medals for overcoming. The maid tried so hard, bless her soul, to entice him with his most fancied foods but even they could not wrench him free from the misery he felt. It had been only weeks, he kept reminding himself, but then.. time was life's strongest enemy.

    He could not evade nor escape the words in his head; the screaming would start whenever he tried. He began to think it was his mind that hurt the most, not his heart. For though he grieved, it was knowledge of dwelling in such a pitiful state that angered him to the point of blind rage. He, the family's leader, had locked himself in a room to be alone with the demons that chased him from dawn until dusk.

    The candlelight cast unearthly shadows as he sat once more at his desk, contemplating the page before him. He wondered briefly if it would become another piece of writing hastily done to relieve himself of his most troubling thoughts, only to be cast off with the others.

    Lifting the pen, staring at the ink as it dripped slowly, he made a decision. This would be the last time he devulged his heart on paper; the last confession of a tortured soul. 

    The thin scratch of pen on paper filled his ears as it grew faster and faster to drown out the sobs and sighs he heard in his head. In a frenzy, he devoted every eloquent word he knew into describing all around him. From the desk he sat at to the pen in his hand, to the trees in the garden to the maids that scurried around him in fear. He wrote until the candle burned down and even in the dim light, he continued, uncaring of how difficult it was quickly becoming to see.

    When he finished, he sat staring at his hand for a very long time, marvelling that it could work in coaction of his body so willingly; so painstakingly. It was with that thought, that amazement, that he reached for the flintlock pistol tucked in the desk's foremost drawer and staring at his hand, lifted it to his temple.

Reviews

[Popble]

Very efficient for ten minutes, this is a complete story, I'm impressed. Very few errors for hardly any editing too, good job. I like your work, keep it up!

[Aly Skeens]

I thought I'd take a look at your writing just to see what it was like, and you are amazing. I hope that I'll be able to write like that some day. It's just really good.

[omnes]

Such pain...there is so much beauty in pain. If this is hasty I would love to see how you write normally.

[Daniela May]

Your writing is very good, i can't believe that took you ten minutes! well done, seriously x

[dontwakeme]

Your writing has a certain voice to it...its almost as if I can hear a troubled man whispering the words in my ear. You did a very good job. It is very beautiful.