The Drink In Laila’s Hand Sloshes Crimson And Ribbon Thick When She Picks It Up, The Metal Of Her Prosthetic
The drink in Laila’s hand sloshes crimson and ribbon thick when she picks it up, the metal of her prosthetic hand clinking against the shot glass. The taste of copper and nickel coats the roof of her mouth as she downs it in one go, and then sneers at the way her tongue tries to chase the taste again. She quickly sneaks a glance to find no one watching.
The TV blares—the brightest object in the room, the fluorescent bulbs and lights content to mingle in the dark. Clad in glamour and glitz, the throng of people on the dance floor shake and grind, rake their hands up their bodies and others in a psychedelic haze of sweat and spit.
Through the crowd, a fairy’s wings shimmer as he clashes his mouth against a translucent man. Their pulse hammers to the beat of an indie rock song by the Vampire Weekend. She snorts at the irony.
Then, a scream pierces through her head. She exhales sharply, clutching her head in her hands. Spots of color block her vision, and she slams her eyes shut, only to see an inverted image of a man. Please, not again.
She scrambles to throw a wall in her mind and forces her eyes wide open. One moment, the man is sitting in front of her tangible and in full technicolor, a cut splitting his cheekbone and water dripping down his blue lips. The next, he flickers out until she is staring at the rows of wine bottles.
Another person, dead. Nine in the past fortnight.
More Posts from Ajkiranwrites and Others
Tangles
All homes of sweet things
must house their dwellers.
a worry
tangles, my honeycomb
tongue tangles—leaves bees instead
of honey.
They were in my head?
sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four
The writeblr side of my dash is pretty inactive, so please interact with this post if you're an active writing blog! My main is over at @brw, so that's where follows will be coming from :)
The last days of the petition against conversion therapy are FASCINATING to watch. I have been following it pretty closely for almost a year now, and the progress was, above all, steady. There was this jump when some algorithm in Finland picked it up, but even that was local.
And now, everyone is panicking.
Which really shows.
These past three or four days, multiple countries have reached the threshold. Even more notably, the number of signatures in total, the ones that we need to get one million of, are growing rapidly. There are only 400'000 signatures missing. Two days ago, it was closer to 600'000.
You can see the progress here:
Consider joining the fun by making everyone around you sign it!
Writing Resources: WORDS ARE HARD
60 Synonyms for “Walk”
A list of sounds/onomatopoeias for writers
American vs British terms
Descriptionary
Insult names to use instead of "idiot”
Looking for a word you can’t remember
OneLook Reverse Dictionary
One look thesaurus
Power Thesaurus
Researching for WIPs : A Collection
Reverse Dictionary
Synonyms for Very
Using the appropriate vocabulary in your novel
Wild vs feral
Words to use instead of: cry/cried/crying
Writing websites
VETTED AND VERIFIED FUNDRAISER
DONATE,REBLOG AND SPREAD THE MESSAGE TO OTHERS TO SAVE LIFE IN PALESTINE TODAY
1. I am Taheera Mohamed, I had been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at a tender age, a condition that demanded a delicate balance of insulin, a commodity scarce in Gaza war-ravaged homeland.
2. As conflict raged around me, have struggled to find the insulin I desperately needed to survive. With medical supplies scarce and hospitals overwhelmed, obtaining medication became a daily battle fraught with danger.
3.One day, as the bombs fell closer to my house,my insulin supply ran out completely. With no pharmacies open and no aid reaching my area, I faced a life-threatening dilemma. Without insulin, my blood sugar levels soared, threatening to send me into a coma.I I'm here begging for your support to help me get insulin
My goal is $ 200/$367
Balance $67
FUNDRAISER LINK
Writing Update:
Words Written: 1537
Excerpt:
Esther mused as the insomniac nyctophiles ambled underneath the moon, swooning by the promises of halcyon days framed by the stars and meteors and heartbreak. Days that stretched too long in its burning intensity and nights where rain draped lovers in midst of sweet kisses.
The warmth of Ivory's breath lingered down from ear to her collarbone, pressing a ghost of a kiss as she commented offhandedly about her day. Esther wondered if she hadn't spent days underneath the earth in its caves and stations, if she'd still have the sun-kissed skin of her mother when she looked in the mirror, missing her in the curve of her lip, the shape of her jaw, and the dip in her brows.
She missed her terribly, the lilt in her lullabies, the firm frown laced with mirth when Milas burnt his mouth for the fourth time in the same meal.
She remembered the familiar weight of her hand that had now been replaced in her chest, uncomfortably tight around her throat and ribs.
Her father would keep them safe, with his calloused hands that could lift her up and twirl her in a dance, with the rage and ferocity that rivaled her mother.
She would gather their numbers, keep them safe- find them again.'
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