PennedPaper

Dear New Year's Self, You are a writer – always have been, always will be. Stop your constant procrastination and show you're serious about your dream. Finish a novel. Heck, go for more than one. Finish one and edit while writing a sequel, or another novel. Find some way to make it happen. College is not extreme enough to cause your procrastination, nor is your part-time job. You've got a novel to write and a year to do it. Make it happen. You know those sweets you keep grabbing for when you're bored (read: when you could be writing)? Yeah, those. Replace them with some fruit and use the time to write. Not only will it help you lose t

Footsteps in the hallway echo through the walls; getting near her bedroom, the killer yells his calls. Come out, my dear one; it's time for you to go. Right now, it is time for us to start the show. Though she knows he's coming; escape, she wouldn't dare. Sitting steady by a wall, wishing that he'd care. Just tonight, darling, a gift I made for you. Trust me, just this once; please, don't be so blue. Arms wrap around her knees, pulled up to her chest. Eyes closed and wishing that he'd let her rest.

I A gentle breeze carried fading summer heat through open windows. A young woman breathed in the crisp air and turned towards the window. Tucking a golden strand behind her ear, she rested the palms of her hands on the stone windowsill and stared out at the descending sun. Rays of orange and scarlet covered the land as the sun bid its farewell. Her cream-colored dress shifted in the wind before settling back just below her knees. She enjoyed the last moments of light and smiled as the cloth caressed her skin. Below the horizon, citizens of the kingdom rushed to finish their daily chores before darkness fell. Young children used the last of

Prologue Bitter winds ripped sands across the gritty desert plain, covering the fallen warriors and plaguing the living. It bit into bleeding flesh, stinging the injuries of people conscious enough to care. A wounded man clad in tattered white robes stood in the center, amongst those not yet fallen. The stench of rotten flesh infested his nostrils; fighters who fell early enough for the scorching sun to hasten their decay. Others fought well into the night. They battled for survival and revenge for their fallen comrades. The sand beneath his bare feet caressed his skin, coloring crimson as blood trailed from many wounds and soaked into it.