Her Path to Hell

 

Normally, these get posted on my blog site http://rqshortstories.wordpress.com However I clicked on the wrong blog. I’m working a few short stories over the weekend to wake my muses up for Camp Nanowrimo July.

Now onto the fictional story. . .

 

She shouldn’t have done it. Stress killed her rational thought, while she was still shattered and crushed from the breakup. She was in pain and still helped him. It was just type of person she was . . .loyal and devoted.

One half of her family yelling at her feeling used, but it was not her intension. It was never her intent, but she is not going back to the looks of bitter disappointment and half yelling lectures of being used with half rolled eyes watching her on her knees while telling her “we told you so.”
She also was not going to cause wedges between members, so she left and didn’t look back. It was best for everyone. She just didn’t know she was going down the dark path.

Everyone yelling at doctors. . . specialist telling everyone different things. Some days she had three or less hours of sleep. She was sleeping in the hallways of the hospital waiting for answer. Then a weak voice ask to go home, and he listened to her advice. The final few days everything declined making her feel like a useless liar.
He left the earthly realm, and so did part of her heart and soul. She felt empty and purposeless. She was simply a walking hallow shell of a human. The dim light of her soul barely sparked, and she bared got out of bed. So many pushed her, encouraged her, but by the time she woke up and everyone was gone. They all moved on with their own lives. She instantly felt lost and alone.

Drama with landlord. . . rules upon rules, she felt like she was in a prison not a rental. There was a prison of her heart and mind locked in her cautious and scared soul. She was locked with “what ifs” for bars. The endless verbal rules made her even more alone. . .
No cats, shoo away the stray cats, fees if you feed them, no guests after ten, payments by third, keep windows close, don’t talk to neighbors in the middle of the sidewalk, do not discuss rent prices.

Soon she just locked herself away until one day the nightmares got louder, scarier, and more confusing.
So she ran, but turned the wrong way. The lifted truck came out of nowhere, she had no chance. Secretly, she didn’t want one.

Extreme scream pain coursed throughout her body with seconds, and then instant black numbing silence.
She waited in a line only to greeted by her ex with the words “What are you doing here?”

Then he begins to step back and panic. . . “It’s too early, you are not supposed to here.” A siren blares hard and like a mixture of flat angels singing blended into bitter souls screaming and slowed aged bells.
“Oh God, gun, what did you do?” his eyes got large in terror as armored angels grabbed her both sides and pulled her out of line.
“You are the wrong location, miss.”

They drug her away and pushed her into a slide. . . whispering words and thoughts twisted.. . .it was bright turned into a redness, crimson shadow into a darker blackness. . .lacking light and warmth. Whispering word of gossip and lies turned into harsh shrieking, blood curdling screams.
She landed on a hard black slab or cold rock. The only thing she could hear was the arguing bitterness and cries of old friends and separated family blaming each other for her death. . .

Time went by . . she wasn’t sure how much because she was alone in her darkness with her past playing over and over in her head.

Finally there was a candle. . .although it was a dim light it was enough to burn her delicate eyes. Her head felt as if someone drilled a screw in her head through her eyes. She squinted and lowered her eyes to the harsh yet dim flame lighting most of the room.
Then a slim man walks into the room, she saw his dirty feet. She looked at him and instantly looked up and memories of her childhood crush replayed in her head.
He was still beautiful with his dirty skin and greasy hair. For one second she was stunned. . .
Until said “no, I cannot do this.” There was no sorry just a look of unattractive disgust.

 


At that moment, she knew she was in hell.

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Camp Nanowrimo July Survival list

Every year in Nanowrimo forums they always ask you what is your survival list. . . Things you need to get through the month of writing your Camp Nanowrimo project.

  • Outlines
  • Notes
  • Character sketches

Most of this is my notebooks

  • Colorful pens
  • Tyneol (between hand cramps and headache)
  • Empty notebooks
  • Backpack (so I can take my writing every where I go.)

As I am writing 30,000 words by hand

  • Calendar (for word count and appointment)
  • Coffee with my creamer
  • Caffeinated soda (I write weird hours)
  • Candy or a treat (word sprints can wear you out)
  • Timer or clock for word sprints
  • Mom to go on walks with. . . (Too much writing can strain my eyes)

I’m keeping it simple this year.

Writing Challenges (possible fixes)

  • Internet which can be a list of distractions
  • Chatting
  • Gaming
  • Facebook stuff
  • Blogging
  • Looking websites
  • Emailing
  • Personals

(I can give myself internet time for reward for reaching a certain number count. Note: buy a timer or use a timer on tablet.)

  • TV

(Writing sprints during commercials if show doesn’t re-air. If the show re-airs, then watch it later, write first.)

  • Health
  • Depression/anxiety/worry (write out feelings)
  • Nightmare or dreams (twisted them into stories)
  • Sleep issues (if you can focus write or write notes)
  • Pelvic pain (see a doctor soon.)
  • Hands: swollen/ painful joints (Writing sprints and take breaks)
  • Errand (bring notebook for notes, scenes outlines etc.)
  • Friends (notebooks or write before or after visit.)

Note: not I have possible fixes there are no excuses

Random writing facts about me

  1. I feel I can never write too much.
  2. I can clean and cook, but I am not productive unless I am writing.
  3. I love to write lists, menus, grocery, to-do, idea etc.. It helps me to be organized and calm my anxiety.
  4. I’m picky about my co-writers and editors. I feared people will take my ideas.
  5. I feel accomplished when my pen runs out. Papermate pens run out fast. Bic pen take longer and they are a big accomplishment.
  6. I love writing by hand. Pen and paper do not electricity.
  7. I need to read more.
  8. I have at least five projects in my head.
  9. I fight my depression and my exhaustion vs my productive writing.
  10. I currently have at least four active blogs, and several inactive older blogs. I will post links on another page.
  11. I write poetry, short stories, novellas, novels, and blogs.
  12. I love to write. It is who I am, a writer. I hope someday for a professional publisher to publish and sell my work.
  13. I am obsessed with number 13 and put it my writings often.

Endings

I am about to work on a project. . .in which I only have one more chapter to finish it.

It’s a thriller novella trilogy. I started it in 2009, so I probably should finish soon.

I need the tie everything together, and make the ending so big, it’s epic.

My muses already have add on, but I need to finish it before the editing: adding, subtracting, and rewrites.

Chuck from the show Supernatural said “Endings are hard.”

I hate endings and I saying “good bye.”

I so much better at the beginning. However deadlines and pressure have always been the reason why I push the ending. I’m never happy doing it, it just has to be done.

It’s so much better than just stopping. . . Leaving everyone hanging. That is irrating.

My schedule for next few weeks.

  • Reread the last few chapter.
  • Outline main points and tying issues
  • Work on last chapter

My goal is to have it finished by Feburary 28th. Driving Lies will be finished.

Typing vs handwriting

I miss my computer at a desk or computer in bright room. I have a hand written pile of writing getting bigger.

Right now I’m sitting in the dark room with bright tablet, straining my eyes. Its 3:48 am but I can`t sleep. I know I should be sleeping but I fell asleep at 7pm and woke up at 2am.

However I really want to blog.

Anyway lately, I have been hand writing everything. It’s better than a buzzing computer overheating or a blaring tablet. I’m working on a release book, handwritten.

  • I know I need to get into my fictional projects.
  • I have three screaming at me.
  • My muses have been pushing the projects for me. . .
  • I just keep stalling. I’m really not sure why.
  • I know I have health issues, but I’ve pushed through.
  • I know I’m about end one, but that is a blog of its own.
  • I guess I am just distracted, and I can’t get out of my depressed slump.

However right now until 28th I’m trying to get everything out of my head. So I will be hand writing in color pens: a new color for each day repeated just twice.

My Short Shories

I’m writing Short Stories.

I put my feelings in each one. These are flash fiction but very personal. In the last few year my heart and soul shattered, each of these pieces are my a piece of shattered heart and soul.

I hope to find myself and piece myself together.

I’m posting them on my Short Story blog. . .

Rebekah Quinne Short Stories