abstract self-portrait

{THE RELENTLESS MARCH OF MEMORIES RETRIEVED}

a wip by @bundledscarves

genre realistic fiction

pov first person, rotating narrator

status in progress

synopsis 

a tightknit group of freshly-graduated highschoolers embarks on a fast-paced journey around Europe in search of a life the members feel was robbed of them by their suburban childhood. the realization that they may never find what they’re looking for, however, begins to tear their friendship apart. 

excerpt

and I had made some offhand comment about how we were awful, all three of us, chasing after some destination we’d never reach, looking for a city we never find. And how if we did find it, we’d be drunk, wandering around its streets aimlessly, unaware, how it could be Paris, or even London, how we’d never know, because all we ever did was waste time. And she looked at me like I had solved it, but in solving it, stabbed her, liked I had ruined it all. But then she was off again, wiping her face and smirking at me as if to ask if I was insane, if she was, if we all were

CHARACTERS

laurel esposito highly guarded and sentimental. thinks poetry might save the world but is too scared to write any of her own. 

myrtle byrne sees herself as an underdog, and is therefore consumed by the idea that she must document the plight of the “smaller” members of society. 

1745/~20k words as of right now! i’m hoping for 3k by the end of today, we’ll see how that goes

anyway, this is my first writeblr, so i’m still figuring everything out, but i was thinking of doing a wip intro? idk, seems like something people do on here.

i guess i should introduce myself:

my name’s camilla, im 16, and i live in a small boring town in the mountains. there isn’t much to do here, especially with the whole quarantine situation, so i’ve been working more seriously on my projects (actually, it’ s just 1. pls let me feel accomplished)

i don’t really know what else to say... my favorite books are the great gatsby, the secret history, and all the light we cannot see

i have so many favorite authors/writers/poets but the ones that come to mind right now are hemingway, sylvia plath, and dan brown

also, hey! if youre looking for a friend, or someone who will reblog your wips, or just be encouraging in general, i’m here! i’d love to meet all of you wonderful people!

well, bye for now!

<3,

A MEETING BETWEEN TWO OLD GODS (READ: NO ONE YOU’D LIKE TO MESS WITH, ANYWAY)

it’s a nice day; or at least what most people would call a nice day, even though the woman walking toward us seems she might disagree. she looks well put together, wearing a gray sweater and blue dress, and clearly accustomed to whatever life might cause one to dress perhaps too well, even when there isn’ t really a reason to. today, however,  doesn’t seem like one of those occasions. she’s fiddling with her watch, looking up for a few seconds at a time and quickly back down, as though that will make the hand spin faster. she’s standing on a pier stretching out over the expanse of a placid sea, as families and tourists bounce around her, sunny and bright. she’s an anchor to another, stormier world. 

she is THE CONFLICT

she spins on her heel, her newly shined shoes squeaking against years of grime and dust, making her way to the row of stores and stands behind the pier. 

we leave her looking determined and turbulent in favor of a man standing against a wooden bench, which strikes us as an odd choice, seeing as it’s empty, and he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to leave. he’s watching, we can tell that, at least. he’s in his mid-20s but looks much older, like a photograph of newlyweds, happy, smiling, and rosy-cheeked, but faded now, slightly crumpled and gray. perhaps he is that photograph, standing in the background of a landscape he painted. 

he is THE MEMORIES

the conflict is pacing up and down the pier now, bumping into people, making herself noticeable. this is dangerous. she finally spots the memories, and in a nearly violent gesture, nearly sprints at him, grabbing his arm to slow herself

THE CONFLICT

where have you been?

THE MEMORIES

i think the correct thing to say is ‘sorry i'm late’

there is a strange electricity in the air. clouds are rolling in. they don’t know what they’ve got coming. if everything goes to plan, of course. which it won’t. it never does.