Writing: Stories Untold, Stories Unfold

I wake up every morning not thinking of what's to come. People ask me how I come up with the stories that I do. I tell them, "It just does. It comes to me like a movie re-playing itself." It's quite hard to explain to those who doesn't understand, yet the complexity of it all seem unreal. I can't fathom having a story being played over and over in my thoughts without writing it down. As I write it down, the story unfolds itself piece by piece.

Original draft of my short story.

Original draft of my short story.

While pondering throughout the day today, at my full-time job as a receptionist, a story came to me, so I urgently wrote down before it got away. The story was much darker and deeper then what I usually would write about. To me, it meant something. I find it as a stepping stone in creating an adventure in my writing. Within seconds and minutes, I find myself drowning in my own words and story.

Here is a snippet of my short story (draft) of Escaping the Wild Hideaway.

"The violent wind howl about the cemented building as withering tree branches brush against the thin window. I can smell the mildew and mold from the wet walls. As I grasp for air, I felt as if my lungs were being punctured by the stench smell of rotting mice. The room is dark and cold. In an eight by twelve room, I feel as though I'm in a solitary cell. I'm surrounded by a children's mural of what seem to be of peace, love and children playing. "This is my Happy Place" is written across the wall in giant bold Old English letters. I laughed in spite. As I ache in pain, I feel the numbness in my toes. My body feels distorted, lips chapped, and I haven't bathed in days that I reek like onions and sweat. My stomach growls as it reminds me that I haven't ate in days or even weeks.

I pick up a broken piece of shard mirror off of the ground beside my lice infested mattress and stared at myself. I silently whimper in sadness and defeat. I had broken my mirror the other day out of rage, but I can't remember the reason why. My mind has become unbearably fuzzy. As I look around myself, I'm half naked with both my breasts exposed, only wearing a navy blue pleated skirt. I could hardly recognize myself. My left eye is completely shut and swollen, there are cuts on my cheek bones and bruises on my neck and face as if beaten by a mad grizzly.

I've awoken four days ago in this hell hole. I've whittled my nails into the wooden floor board, marking the days as it goes by. There is one window in my room that is at eye-level, boarded with plywood. The vaulted ceiling in the room is caked with insulation that seem to have been a warehouse at some point. At the corner of the window, where the breeze escapes into the room has given me a glimpse of hope. Though the crack only measures in several inches in width in a horizontal slant, I can easily peek through of my surroundings, if I were to squint, to keep sane. "Where am I?" I ask myself. Nothing looks familiar. I am surrounded by wooded land and blankets of white snow. I knew I wasn't in the south where the sun shines year round - Texas. As I close my eyes, I imagine the scorching hot sun beaming on my face.

As I cried for help, no one hears me. The silence in the air suddenly felt unpleasant. My body is weakened day by day. The embarrassment of not being able to control self-defecation as my body is slowly surrendering is utterly dehumanizing. Every day I pray and scream to God blaming why I'm here. "Is this how you want to punish me? Kill me now why don't you!" I'm not a bad person, but I've made bad choices and mistakes, at least I thought so.

On day five, I finally got the courage to use all my energy to pick myself up and peek out the window. I crawled slowly towards the window ledge, while I noticed the rings on my fingers slipping off. As I carried myself up to peek through the crack of the plywood, a jolt of memory electrifies my body. A face of a muscular built Latin male smiling at me, with his straight white teeth glaring from across a tiki-like bar. There is Latin music is playing in the background as couples dance to the rhythm. I suddenly felt the intensity of passion eluding inside of me, with his passionate deep kisses and the liquid drugs running through my veins. I was literally in paradise. The hot breath of his soft whisper triggers into my ear, "Mi amour..."

Sweating profusely, I quickly shook off the intensity. "What the heck was that?" I uttered beneath my breath almost panting. Suddenly, I hear a motor roaring from a distance, seemingly getting closer. I gasp in desperation and squealed, "Help! Help me!" In a dark male figure riding a snowmobile stopped urgently about two feet from my window. He jumped off his snowmobile and picked up a black duffel bag from the center storage console. As I steadily watched, he came closer to the window in a rush and quickly unzipped his jumpsuit, grunting, and stood in front of my window with his penis out to relieve himself. 

Shaken and in a calm panic, I covered my mouth with my hands to stop myself from any sudden noise. As I took another quick peek, he was gone. "Where did he go?" I said. There were a heavy sound of  footsteps coming within the walls, like clinking metal pipes. As the sound got closer and closer, I stared blankly at the rusted door to my room, eyes widened, holding my breath. My heart is pulsating in and out of my chest.

The sound of a squeaking door opened, I can hear a female scream in an utterly and desperate cry for help. The man grunts loudly. Quivering in fear, I hide myself behind the mattress thinking, "What the fuck is going on here?"

I'm not alone. There are others here with me."

-To be continued.

I would like to thank my best friend for enduring such earful moments from me as I have her critique my work.

 (Note: Please do not use my work in any form, if you are a interested in my work or a publication, see my FAQs page.)

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