[Day 9 of 365]:
Today’s writing is a little more refined, simply because my Daemon editor was in full swing the last few days. This is part of story that I’ve been working on for some time. Okay, not exactly working on…. more like letting it fester in my mind until I finally forced myself to sit down (thank goodness for 365 days of writing).
There’s more coming from this storyline, although I’m not sure how far I can take it. I hit a serious block when I was trying to map out the plot, so we’ll see if I can follow it through the end. Or if I’ve got one more beginning with no where to go. I’ve got 355 days left to find out.
Writing prompt: Where am I? Who am I? Why am I here?
The night sky seemed vast and dark, inviting me to leave the art show and begin a search for the north star instead. I could see the hundred bourgeoisie elitists that buy my glass passing behind me. Their ghosts reflected in the window, as transparent as their souls. They flitting from art form to art form, wishing the painting would speak to them as it spoke to their highly paid art coordinator. At least the lofted studio was warm, filled with the heat from art collectors and women named Jasmine that smelled like too much rose perfume.
I could see the exit across the room, only 12 or 15 strides away for my 6 foot 1” frame. Unfortunately, my agent James stood between me and that door. According to him, the best way to sell art is for me to stand around aimlessly, speaking in monosyllables, pretending to be the late 20s, muscular, but moody glass blower who likes to wear the white peasant shirts he picks out for me. Fortunately, the shirt covered the bespelled amulet hanging from my neck, and the criss-cross scars along my left side. I’d added a small packet of dragon’s blood and vervain to mask the amulet’s heat from others, forcing its fire element to flow into the earth element of the herbal charm. I didn’t need the Brutes (unknowing humans) to know I was an 80 year old alchemist carrying my power source around the city.
“Isn’t that right Marcus?” James was speaking to me, across a lovely woman whose name escaped me, but whose diamond encrusted choker didn’t. “Each piece represents a different emotional state, love, hate, or bliss is his inspiration.”
“Yes” I said, and shook my head to clear the cobwebs, “But each piece isn’t finished until I finally hate loving it. The moment I’m ready to destroy it and start again, I ship it to James, who saves it from certain destruction.”
“I’ll have to save one myself” the woman said. James took that as his cue to close the deal, so I turned back to the beckoning night sky and the party’s ghostly reflections. But one ghost should have been dead.
I blinked, hoping her small, lithe frame would disappear from the window, and return to the nightmare of my past. But there Renee stood. Her long black hair drawn up, showing the soft white skin of her neck and shoulders. I let my eyes follow the curve of her body, a deep purple cocktail dress hugging the same small waist and luscious hips I had last kissed over 50 years ago. She was facing toward her companion, but letting her eyes wander from painting to painting.
I blinked again, turned–too quickly. And looked across the space into Renee’s gold speckled brown eyes. It was her. She looked at me without any recognition, smiled and turned back to her companion.
“Excuse me” said the slim, tall woman I had stepped into, a clear liquid dripping from her half empty chaser.
“Sorry” I said. I didn’t take my eyes off of Renee as she moved away with the rotating crowd. But I couldn’t ignore the cold liquid seeping through my sleeve.
“Dammit.” I looked up to find Marie scowling at me. She always did have to be the center of attention. Its why I stopped dating her 6 months ago.
“Shit Marie, I’m sorry. What are you doing here? I’ll tell the bartender to serve you another one, on me.”
“The drinks are free,” She gingerly gave the drink to one of the roaming servers and wiped her manicured hands with an offered napkin. Unfortunately, the drink hadn’t spilled on her sleeveless top or matching black pants, so I couldn’t just show her to the bathroom and duck my way out.
“Actually, I came to see you.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, lifting her ample chest for my benefit. And since, Marie never flirted unless she wanted something, I began to wonder if I was carrying enough protection. She wasn’t an Elemental, but she was an Alchemist, one of the few woman that had learned to control the Yang energies without letting those energies rip her apart. She wasn’t someone to mess with, but then again, after 50 years of ageless living, neither was I.
“Hmm” I frowned. Marie was a strong caster and I didn’t want a confrontation here. I needed to find out what my dead Renee was doing, alive and walking.
“Look, if you need another interview or something, go talk to James. You know I’m not supposed to talk to Journalists without my agent.”
“Don’t give me that crap.” she said “I’m not here about your art. The Elements are going to collide tomorrow night and I wanted to invite you to the Combine. You don’t have an opposite to balance you out anymore, do you?”
“That’s not any of your business Marie. I’m pretty sure I can deal with the magics on my own. What do you really want? Can’t find a dick big enough to shut you up during the ecstasy?” I knew she wouldn’t react well to my rude behavior but I was hoping she’d leave me the fuck alone.
“How dare you?” she said. Her body going rigid and her eyes turning blue from the power of anger. I quickly checked my own shields and the amulets binding spells. My mind sensed power but it wasn’t coming from Marie and it wasn’t malicious. It felt more like the moment before a match hits dry kindling. Someone dropped their glass of wine. It was definitely time to leave.
“You’re losing Elemental control, here? Find somebody else to keep your leash.” I turned and walked away knowing she’d need at least a few minutes to calm herself or risk opening her shields in front of all these Brutes.
I headed straight for the door. I could lie to James later. I needed to get some air. And then I heard Renee’s laugh. That soft sweet lilting voice of my long dead lover, laughing at someone else’s jokes. I told myself I was following the raw Elemental power I felt emanating from her direction but truthfully, I was drawn to the sound. I felt the evil alchemist’s soul stir with my excitement and whispered a short chant to calm him. “Annuato, annuat, annua, an, a”
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How do you write about being the opposite sex? Do you feel that the inner critic can sometimes help make your writing better? |
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