I am currently experiencing what may be the most annoying of all cases of
writers block in the history of my kind. There is no lack of ideas. Oh no.
It might even be easier if there were none. The fact is that I have no idea
how to bridge the millions of situations carefully woven during boring
classes. It doesn't help that so far I have had zero, count them- ZERO!
reviews since chapter six. Can there be anything more depressing? I think
not. I started this story for myself. By the seventh chapter, it became for
you. If there is really anyone reading this. Do you have any idea of how
empty it feels to believe that your story might just be one of those flops
destined to float around cyberspace alone and unread? At this point, I'm
way beyond any semblance of dignity that I may have had. This is as close
as I have ever been to senseless pleading in my life.
//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\
//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\
//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\
//\\//\\//\\//\\
sorry for the little foreboding drama thingy at the end of last time. "I
couldn't resist mate."Jack!*Captain Jack Sparrow. *drools*
Reality no more
Recap: "What the HELL!" Oops. Wrong move. Yelling at the top of your lungs in a cell right outside a room full of injured(*insert evil grin here*) and irritated police officers? Not a good idea. Even I have more sense than that. Unless I see a time traveling god turn into a bird and back before my eyes. I made an exception for that.
The god-dude (I don't even know his name. Damn, I'm usually more careful about these things.) was obviously trying not to laugh. As it so happened, that was a nice excuse to hate his guts at the moment. More, that is. Do I really need much of a reason to hate? No. But I didn't really have the time to be thinking. As it so happened, my shout had been loud to get the fat police officer back here. The one I elbowed in the eye. It was already puffing up. Note to self: stop being proud of hurting people. He doesn't look too happy. Wonder why.
"Shut up you damn criminals! After you get nailed in court, I'm gonna get you back for giving me a black eye. Hang police brutality!" Oh yeah. That's why he wasn't overjoyed to see my luminous self. People are so touchy. I was being nice really, not doing much damage. Kind of. Oh good, he'd gone away. If he was going to get up he might have actually tried to get me to care. Jeez, I need to stop letting everything happen while I just sit here drooling and thinking. Me? Thinking? That would have anyone back home laughing like- no. bad lizzie. I mean Whisper. yeah. bad whisper. that sounded strange. no thoughts of home, all right? no it's not alright but hey. HOW ALRIGHT CAN YOU GET WHEN IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME UNTIL YOU GET YOUR BUTT KICKED BY SOME VERY ANGRY OLD PEOPLE WHO YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO RESPECT BUT DON'T EVEN LISTEN TO! man my life's screwed up. That would be when I realized that I had been muttering to myself for maybe five minutes and the ancient god in the jail cell across from me was kind of just staring. And blinking. A lot. Wait. Rewind. God. Woah. I didn't really have time to think about that conversation with myself before the officer dude came in. I actually believed he was a god. I'm not trying to rationalize his little bird issue, because somehow reading all those fantasy books when I was little two years ago had given me this belief that magic didn't quite follow rules. Hypocritical from someone who swore at age fourteen to never believe in magic again. I mean, magic had been my life. But I wasn't even supposed to be thinking about the time when I was Lizzie. Because I'm not anymore. Lizzie believed in magic and was a kid and was normal. And she's dead now. God I'm confusing myself. And I need to get that god- still don't know his name! to stop blinking. Whoever thought blinking could be annoying?!
Oh shiz.
Major shiz.
*flashback*: Whisper: "What's your story?"
God-dude: "What's yours?"
Whisper: "I'll tell if you will." major major shiz I am in. I shiz you not Sherlock. That was so stupid.
Cuz he'd told me the truth. The truth he'd not told anyone else. Why couldn't he have chosen someone else? I asked him. Stupid. So now I had to tell him the truth I'd not told anyone else. Because I am a thief who keeps her word. Even if I am a hopeless hypocrite sometimes.
While I was having little panicked thoughts in the front of my brain, in the back the wheels were creaking into motion. The wheels that had kept Whisper the kidnapper, the fighter, the thief, the rebel, the runner alive over six thousand miles, two continents, and a month in the city. Living off her wits had left her with the means to turn this situation- taking all the lives that would be affected by it- to her advantage. Even if she shared the truth, Whisper could control the situation and the people in it. Because she had a plan. And she always worked well when the stakes were high. It was not a nice plan. It was not a fair plan. It was not a reasonable plan. But it was a good plan. Because this plan was by Whisper. This was reality no more. It was a game. And she made the rules, even when she was up against magic. No matter how much of this was unknown and uncontrolled, Whisper was going to win this game. On reflection, you could almost feel sorry for the poor god, who still had no clue that his confidant had turned into his opponent. But she did not reflect. There was no time for the reflection, only the authentic. And she did not feel sorry, for when you play the game you can not feel.
Reality no more
Recap: "What the HELL!" Oops. Wrong move. Yelling at the top of your lungs in a cell right outside a room full of injured(*insert evil grin here*) and irritated police officers? Not a good idea. Even I have more sense than that. Unless I see a time traveling god turn into a bird and back before my eyes. I made an exception for that.
The god-dude (I don't even know his name. Damn, I'm usually more careful about these things.) was obviously trying not to laugh. As it so happened, that was a nice excuse to hate his guts at the moment. More, that is. Do I really need much of a reason to hate? No. But I didn't really have the time to be thinking. As it so happened, my shout had been loud to get the fat police officer back here. The one I elbowed in the eye. It was already puffing up. Note to self: stop being proud of hurting people. He doesn't look too happy. Wonder why.
"Shut up you damn criminals! After you get nailed in court, I'm gonna get you back for giving me a black eye. Hang police brutality!" Oh yeah. That's why he wasn't overjoyed to see my luminous self. People are so touchy. I was being nice really, not doing much damage. Kind of. Oh good, he'd gone away. If he was going to get up he might have actually tried to get me to care. Jeez, I need to stop letting everything happen while I just sit here drooling and thinking. Me? Thinking? That would have anyone back home laughing like- no. bad lizzie. I mean Whisper. yeah. bad whisper. that sounded strange. no thoughts of home, all right? no it's not alright but hey. HOW ALRIGHT CAN YOU GET WHEN IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME UNTIL YOU GET YOUR BUTT KICKED BY SOME VERY ANGRY OLD PEOPLE WHO YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO RESPECT BUT DON'T EVEN LISTEN TO! man my life's screwed up. That would be when I realized that I had been muttering to myself for maybe five minutes and the ancient god in the jail cell across from me was kind of just staring. And blinking. A lot. Wait. Rewind. God. Woah. I didn't really have time to think about that conversation with myself before the officer dude came in. I actually believed he was a god. I'm not trying to rationalize his little bird issue, because somehow reading all those fantasy books when I was little two years ago had given me this belief that magic didn't quite follow rules. Hypocritical from someone who swore at age fourteen to never believe in magic again. I mean, magic had been my life. But I wasn't even supposed to be thinking about the time when I was Lizzie. Because I'm not anymore. Lizzie believed in magic and was a kid and was normal. And she's dead now. God I'm confusing myself. And I need to get that god- still don't know his name! to stop blinking. Whoever thought blinking could be annoying?!
Oh shiz.
Major shiz.
*flashback*: Whisper: "What's your story?"
God-dude: "What's yours?"
Whisper: "I'll tell if you will." major major shiz I am in. I shiz you not Sherlock. That was so stupid.
Cuz he'd told me the truth. The truth he'd not told anyone else. Why couldn't he have chosen someone else? I asked him. Stupid. So now I had to tell him the truth I'd not told anyone else. Because I am a thief who keeps her word. Even if I am a hopeless hypocrite sometimes.
While I was having little panicked thoughts in the front of my brain, in the back the wheels were creaking into motion. The wheels that had kept Whisper the kidnapper, the fighter, the thief, the rebel, the runner alive over six thousand miles, two continents, and a month in the city. Living off her wits had left her with the means to turn this situation- taking all the lives that would be affected by it- to her advantage. Even if she shared the truth, Whisper could control the situation and the people in it. Because she had a plan. And she always worked well when the stakes were high. It was not a nice plan. It was not a fair plan. It was not a reasonable plan. But it was a good plan. Because this plan was by Whisper. This was reality no more. It was a game. And she made the rules, even when she was up against magic. No matter how much of this was unknown and uncontrolled, Whisper was going to win this game. On reflection, you could almost feel sorry for the poor god, who still had no clue that his confidant had turned into his opponent. But she did not reflect. There was no time for the reflection, only the authentic. And she did not feel sorry, for when you play the game you can not feel.