Graffitimoon's Writing Journal

[*Masterlist] Concepts

2009-03-14T20:23:56Z

I need to fill this out. :(

[*Drabble] Broadripple

2009-03-11T14:07:38Z

Title: Broadripple
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Experiment with writing. I hate summaries and thinking of titles.
Influences: Margot & The Nuclear So and So's | Broadripple is Burning
Word Count: 254
X-Posted: steeltodust

One, two, one, two, left, right, left, right.

The bar was nothing but a dive. A band stood on the stage, playing something slow and mournful, but the man sitting in his little corner, insignificant to the world, wasn’t paying attention. It didn’t matter -- they'd be off to another hole-in-the-wall place by the time the sun came up and would be replaced so easily by another group that sounded the same. Their name was unimportant.

Another beer. It was always another beer. Day in, day out. This goddamn fucking city took it out on him, on every little ant of a person that lived there. There was no escape. He couldn’t get out of it, stuck in his job, a relationship that was crumbling, bills, bills, bills. Car payments, rent. That was where it all went and his bank account spewed moths.

Twist, tie, knot, hang, tug.

And what did it matter? What did it all amount to in the end? Would it all truly matter to anyone but him?

Step, climb, step, climb, stand in position, tighten, burn.

Down that fiery liquid went, not warming the ice of him an inch. Oh God, why him? It was a question he asked every night, something that left him up for countless hours, depriving him of sleep while the form of a loathed woman slept soundly beside him. Her, it should be her. He hated her, why not her? He didn’t deserve it.

But it was him, always him.

Step, air, fall, snap, swing.

[*Drabble] Steel to Dust

2009-03-11T14:07:02Z

Title: Steel to Dust
Rating: G
Notes: Short piece about a clockwork doll in a junkyard.
Influences: Stars | Sad Robot; Undertow; The Aspidistra Files
Word Count: 276
X-Posted: steeltodust; graffitimoon

~I~

For as long as the cogs of her heart spun, she would be his.

He had built her, her creator. That man who had blood in his veins, devoid of the same metal that made her.

He loved her until he grew bored of her, his plaything, the doll that followed him like a sweet puppy.

Sputtering, spiraling, skipping, the gears fell apart one by one, falling into disrepair from neglect, years of it. She was cast aside. Left behind. Forgotten.

It rains.

~II~

Sunshine.

It would never come to that place. Birds would sing, but they would not sing for her. They would never know her, the one whose heart had long since rusted, broken down.

In the darkest place she slept, a lost figure amongst lost things. Waiting, frozen. Nothing within moved, each gear stopped.

She had waited. She had believed he would come back.

He never came for her.

The rain fell upon her face. Things towered around her, covered her, hid the rainbows of the sky when the downpour ceased.

~III~

A hand. There was a hand, white and delicate and scratched, fractured.

Sifting and shifting, things moved.

Hair.

A face.

The muted blue of a tattered dress.

There was no life and he took her home, took her back to where she would be loved.

The gears were cleaned. Birds sang past the pane of the glass. Each break, each crack, each piece together and mended.

Walking. Her feet carried her again.

It was not her first, not the one that gave her life in the beginning, but she would love him. She would love him more.

Dust became steel.