Just a girl with too many voices in her head trying to tell her what to write. Hopefully you like some of it as much as I like writing it!
A New World
Legs were hard. I closed my eyes, willing myself to calm. Things seemed like they'd been a whirlwind since we'd left the aquarium and it was starting to take its toll. My savior - I'd learned his name was Bray - was reaching his limit too. I could tell my slow and awkward gait was frustrating but he never said anything. Not out loud, at least. His eyes could communicate quite a lot with just a look, though.
Priscilla stared at her hand, emerald stones glistening in the sunlight that filtered in through the large window she sat beside. It was truly a gorgeous ring, to be sure, and she appreciated the attempt he had made at choosing something outside the normal boring diamond that was so steeped in tradition. At least that much would belong to her, that small bit of deviation from what was expected.
The sound of fingertips drumming against the unforgiving surface of the table was the only sound in the otherwise empty room. Jolie looked around, as if she expected someone to step out of the shadows and tell her what to do. What shadows, though? The room was stark white, blank in every corner, only shadowed where she sat upon a tall chair at an equally tall table.
What better way is there to explain what writing means to me than to enter a writing contest? The voices in my head would have me believe there's a million better ways, a million different ways, to describe it but I struggle to shut them out. Before you ask, no these aren't actual voices. Well, I suppose they are to me but not in the sense of 'I'm crazy and the voices tell me to do things' that such a statement tends to bring to mind. Okay, they do tell me to do things but isn't that what part of being a writer is? Having all these voices in your head and knowing that you aren't crazy?