This is a scrap I’ve cut from my novel because it’s a waaaaay too “dramatic and angsty” (as suggested by the title of this post). I must’ve been hormonal or something when I wrote it. However, I feel sorry for it, so I’m going to use it as a blog post, seeing as I’m neglecting this thing again… I don’t feel like providing any context. I’m lazy.
Delirious, desperate, damp sheets strangling my thighs. I kick my feet but they’re trapped, they’re bound. The bed, my clammy captor, holds me close. I can feel the sweaty pillow move under my face; a heaving chest with a cruel heart beating against my cheek. The twisted arms of the blankets grip me. I’m nauseous with fear, trying to inch my spider hand across the mattress towards the edge. I want to grip it and pull myself out. There’s something flapping inside my clothes, oily wings beating against my skin, crawling up towards the wet neck of my night shirt, trying to get out. I want to scream but my throat is choked with sand and my tongue is thick and dry. The carpet is glowing with embers. They’re blowing in through the open window and scattering all over everything. The curtains are going to catch alight. The goddamn curtains.
Anton and Melody are in the bed next to me, doing something unspeakable. They weren’t there a moment ago, and neither was the second bed, but somehow it’s as if they’ve been there forever. They want me to join in. They’re both speaking Italian, and I can understand it. Melody has a fine, bright silver chain around her neck with a little glass bauble suspended on it. It’s swinging back and forth and I follow it with my eyes. There’s an ember inside the bauble and it’s pulsing like a tiny fire heart. I want to pull it off her neck and break it; smash it against the ground under my foot until it’s just powdered glass and ash.
And then I’m standing on the pavement outside Jason’s house, leaning over the gate. The embers are everywhere, whirling through the sky and tumbling across the ground. Everything is black and orange like the whole world is on fire and there’s a roaring sound in my ears. Jason is walking away from me, towards the house. The embers are flying into him and eating small holes into his clothes. They’re landing in his hair, his beautiful black hair, that’s blowing around in the storm. I call out to him, but my voice is lost in the noise. I want him to stop and turn around and look at my face. Maybe if he sees that I’m burning, he will love me.