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about locations control history

16 October 2011
Day 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 @ 10:37 PM

Social media is a danger place for an unstable mind, and hers writhed as she scrolled through page after page of disappointments. Friends she once had, a former love, all had moved on, posting things irrelevant to her and seeming so happy. She wanted to cry, to scream, to call them and yell at them for being so brazen, but instead she sat and stewed, rehashing everything that made her hate every last one of these people until she'd tired herself enough to sleep.

The wind outside howled as the storm grew near. She bustled about, closing shutters and stoking the fire, moving glass away from the windows and the food to the pantry. A rap came upon her door and she was startled, rushing to see who could've possibly ventured out in this gale. She eased open the door and standing before her, soaking wet with a sheepish smile, stood John. The breath was stolen from her chest as he swept her up in his arms and out of the rain, kissing her furiously and stumbling them both over a chair.

Ideas whizzed through his head, humming at the speed of light, just out of reach. His pen grazed the page and he began to race, spilling prose onto the paper barely thinking at all; it was as if he was possessed. He took a deep breath after three packed pages of text, twisting his neck from side to side, each with a satisfying pop. It was this kind of energy burst that was going to finish this book once and for all, but as usually, after such a great burst, he was overcome with a sense of dread, fearing to read what he just wrote, in light that it might not be what he wished.

As she closed the door behind her, she could hear her phone ring; her fiance's ringtone. In her mind, she imagined glimpses of his smile and of his hands, of the way his chest felt when he hugged her and the way his back looked when he carried heavy things. But those short quips were clouded by the heat in the room. Outside, winter continued on, light frost on the window and only a fire and space heater keeping them toasty, but across the room he met her eyes and the heat of her own heartbeat flamed. He stood to greet her and pulled her close and onto her toes as he lightly kissed her, opening the door for the ages of pent-up lust between them.

There wasn't time to spare between the hack and escape, so he worked quickly and breathed as shallow as he could. It was unlike him to rush but the security disengage failed and he was working with narrow minutes to finish the job. Through his head spun codes and characters, but also voices telling him all sorts of things. As best he could, he ignored them, and the computer chirped politely just has he finished. He packed his things and turned to go, but there she stood. He could finally put a face with the name, Detective Harper; a striking redhead in a pantsuit with a smirk not even a .44 could overcome.

Lights were far few and in-between in the house, damp puddles illuminated by candles and shadows bouncing from wall to wall. She hugged her pack closer to her as she crossed what seemed like a never-ending foyer until she was met by a butler. She squinted her eyes and through the darkness, she saw that he was young and handsome, but bore a scar across the left of his face, which he effectively hid with a tilt of his head. He reached out for her things but she cowered back, so he relinquished. "The master of the house has gone to sleep, madam, I will show you to your room." She quivered, and he added in a much less formal tone, "It seems quite scary hear at first, but it's mysteries will be what you find yourself loving most. I promise."

There was nothing standing in her way, no jobs or commitments, no love affairs or family ties, nothing. All that stood in her way was herself; her fear, her doubt, her mind. She looked at all her things back on the sidewalk next to her, it'd taken her weeks to get this far and months to get over the loss. Cars drifted by and she looked for what she hoped to be the last time she'd see the neighborhood where she'd been raised. Ignoring what she heard when she thought a second time, she shot her hand up in the air and hailed a taxi to the airport, knowing deep down that it was time to take the first step.

the real deal
"I do what I can wherever I end up, to keep giving my good love, and spreading it around"

Amelia Bartlett, 18; performer, creator, student, optimist. Open-minded and looking to expand.
keep love alive.