Day 11

She is nothing
A wasted space, a waste of time,
A stain on your conscience
She is a mistake
She means nothing
Her wants and needs are of no consequence
Her feelings meaningless
Her desires: silly little dreams
She drowns herself in apathy
Hides behind a well crafted mask
To keep you from some seeing the self loathing
Because she knows she is nothing
She is nothing to you
She is nothing to herself
She is nothing to the world
And she can't bring herself to care
She is ugly
No matter how she strives to be beautiful
Too many flaws
She'll never be good enough
She lives and breathes for the little boy
The only one who matters
And who makes her feel anything at all
He is enough, he'll always be enough
She'd never forgive herself if he grew up to be like her.

Day 10. Nothing

She was leaving. She had business to attend to, and she had to be away. It was at the same time terrifying and liberating. She loved him, really she did. But after each cruel word, each too hard grasp, each perfectly aimed strike she imagined running away.  There was only so much a girl could take.

She was leaving. He bullied her into making a trip with him she really didn't want to make. He wanted to spend time with her. All he did was fight. She felt like nothing. He couldn't even be nice to her before she left. He put on a good show, but his words cut her like a knife.

She was leaving. And she cried. Because she didn't want to come back.

Day 9: Sneak peek

     The tension was thick in the air.  I didn't care.  The shadows were alive, hands reaching out to slow my progress.  But I couldn't stop; I had to keep going.  I had to get to him.  My lungs burned as if I were breathing pure fire.  The sound of my boots pounding over the wooden slats of the bridge merged with the rapid pounding of my heart as the only sounds I heard.  I noticed a moment too late that there should have been a second pair of footfalls resounding through the air.
I spun around and saw him on the other side of the bridge.  Shadowed hands were clutched around his shoulders and chest, dragging him backwards.  He was struggling with all his might against them, but seemingly losing the battle.
"Toby!" I screamed.  My voice was colored with pain and indecision.
"No, I'm okay.  I've got this.  Go get him," Toby called back to me.
I didn't look back.  I turned and resumed running following the feel of his energy.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see flashes of light that signified Toby stepping up his game fighting the shadows.  I tucked my concern for him in the back of my mind.  He was weaker than I by a good little bit, but he could hold his own.  He had to.  I couldn't save him this time.  So, I ran.
The chill in the air cut my skin like little needles.  It was a sharp contrast to the burn in my muscles from over exertion.  I didn't know how much longer I could go on.  How far could they have taken him?  The path here was uneven.  Obviously it wasn't used for hiking, we had wandered deeper into the woods than most people ever dared to go.  I had to slow down.  Even with my impeccable balance, I was finding it difficult not to trip over tree roots and stray rocks on the forest floor.
My caution proved to be pointless, however, as a pair of spidery fingers wrapped around my ankle, effectively tripping me and leaving me sprawling on the forest floor.  I knew I was done for.  Looking up through the curtain of red hair that hung in my face, I saw the shadows descending on me.

Day 8: Time tables

Prompt:  Write a time table for your antagonists day at work.  Do the same for your protagonist.

Antagonist:  Lucius is very difficult to figure out a time table.  He is King of the Oniynox, a race of shadow people who aren't dead, but were never really alive to begin with.  He spends his days bouncing between Nod and the waking world, tormenting Milea and Resiks alike.  He is not a present part of the waking world, therefore holds no job.  He has no need for money or physical belongings.  His clothing never changes, and the best we can figure is that it's almost like a part of his skin that alters to give the appearance of clothing.  Or maybe his whole appearance is just an illusion, and no one has ever seen his true form.  What he does every day is a bit of a mystery to me right now.

Protagonist:  Rosalyn Walker, Milea.

6:00AM:  Wakes up.
6:10-6:30AM: Shower
6:30-7:00AM:  Breakfast/getting dressed for work
7:00-8:00AM: Drive to work
8:00-9:00AM:  Morning staff meetings.
9-12PM:  Consumer appointments/reports
12-1PM:  Lunch
1-4PM:  Consumer appointments/reports
4:00-5:00PM: Drive home

Day # 7: Writing Prompt

Taking a break from the Milea and doing a general prompt today.  It's all right, because you can expect a chapter out next week.  Today's writing prompt is: What does New Year's day mean to you?

Everyone says it's a new year, a new life.  I subscribe to this theory for the first few weeks in January.  I make resolutions to be more positive, to lose weight, to be healthier, to appreciate things more, and to write every day.  Almost every year, it's the same resolutions.  I lose a few pounds and sometimes I'm lucky enough to keep it off without even trying.  I set up work out plans, new diets, a schedule to keep me structured, and whatever else I think I need to achieve my goals for the year.  This lasts for a week.  I get bored, I forget, I get off track.  Whatever happens, it's done.  I'm off track, and there's no going back.  So all the well-intentioned goals of New Year's Day turn into gut-wrenching failure.  In the end, New Year's Day is the beginning of a short period of self-pride and a longer period of shame and regret.