#scribbled scenes

Scribbled Scenes November #12: Lethal

It drizzled almost unnoticeably, except for the fact that it was grey. The water was a mixture of ashes and dirt, which formed a layer looking like snow on the field and my clothes. My body was covered in scratches and cuts but nothing deadly. I considered myself lucky, others had more lethal wounds. I strapped my swords back to my sides and looked out on the field. The battle was over, but not…

Scribbled Scenes November #11: The Rain

It started off as a regular day, but I should know by now that no day is ever regular. However, this day was particularly not-regular. The last class of the day just ended and the students were laughing, talking about their weekends, while walking down the steps of Bells High. My dad, probably too drunk to remember a thing, was supposed to pick me up. But since he never actually did, I just…

Scribbled Scenes November #10: No Turning Back

Gliding down the slippery streets, the dog had trouble keeping up. The owner, however, didn’t even seem to care. He was wearing snow boots and kept talking on his phone about some meeting he was late for, complaining about the snow. Clare was also late, but she didn’t hurry. Why would you complain about one of the most wonderful things in the world? Snow was rare, and while it was there, you…

Scribbled Scenes November #9:Happily Ever After

Her eyes were the colour of autumn leaves falling from the trees. Not the bright orange, red and yellow, but the brown sad colour of something that’s long gone. I locked mine on hers, but she didn’t notice. She was searching for something, or someone. Dancing across the room, I marked every step she took, every movement she made. The music was loud, and I knew that when it would fade, my ears…

Scribbled Scenes November #8: Darkness

It was early in the afternoon as the darkness fell. Not the kind of slow darkness caused by the sun being on the other side of the planet, but the kind that is sudden, suffocating and electrifying. The clouds rolled in from the West, dark and threatening. It all started with the wind, it shifted. Just a little, you could barely notice it. But the animals knew, the birds stopped singing and the…

Scribbled Scenes November #7: Human

This is actually more a poem (ish?) I don’t know. Something I wrote. I am not made of clay, You can’t mold me into the perfect doll. I am not made of hay, That blows away with a little wind. But I am also not made of stone With an unbreakable heart. I am of flesh and blood I will bend, maybe even break But that’s okay, Because I’m only human.

Scribbled Scenes November #6: Nightmare

I’m there, I’m always there. I’m the shadow at the dark corner of the room. I’m in the periphery of your eye. I’m the monstrous angel on your shoulder, always seeing what you’re seeing. You just don’t see me. You humans never do. Because, why would you? Sometimes I show myself. When you’re asleep, I creep in. It is very easy to do so; all your guards are down. You’re in a state of total comfort,…

Scribbled Scenes November #5: The Prettiest Girls

With her surprisingly soft hands she wipes the tears from my cheeks, but it’s futile. Water is flowing like a river and there’s no stopping it. “Why did it have to be her? Why did they take her, my poor baby sister?” The men came earlier that day. With their mouths covered by black fabric and their loaded guns. We just stood there useless and terrified. Our hair was filthy and tangled and all we…