10/18/15
The cold wind whips my hair around, but my feet are firmly planted to the ground. The howling wind covers up my screams, and turns my tears to ice. My blood, I'm sure, is no longer warm, no longer a part of me. I feel dead, I feel like I'm stuck underwater, I can't breathe, and that air is what's keeping me alive, and then again killing me, and I want it to stop, but I can't think straight, and what was I from the beginning, was I Nothing, or Something, or like Death? But what I don't know is just what's keeping me alive, because I'm determined to keep myself alive.
Juvia frowns at the page in front of her; her writing makes no sense, it's so stupid, but she wants to become a better writer, like Lyon told her she could be, and so she's stuck trying.
She glances at the clock- 3:05 AM.
She wraps a blanket around her shoulders, around herself. This is INSANE, go to sleep! she insist. But a part of herself wants to stay awake, to see how far she can come.
Which, she tells herself, is not far.
Two hours later, and she still can't find out who the character is, or what she's fighting against.
Like herself?