A Writer's World

The old floorboards creak with the added weight of the person creeping ever closer to my tiny hiding spot. I clamp my hand tightly over my mouth, trying to stifle any noise from my breathing. As they inch closer, my body begins to vibrate with anticipation of what is to come and I swallow my fear, steadying myself and removing my hand from my lips.

I glance down at the hands of a fighter, the hands of someone who refuses to live this way any longer, the hands of salvation; my hands. In the dim light of the room, my hands begin to glow with brilliant blue energy, and the footsteps stop just on the other side of my door. Slowly I stood from my spot on the side of the bed and glared at the door, at the person on the other side. It ends here.

As the doorknob turns, everything else slows down with it. The door opens ever so slightly, and I'm over the bed in an instant, summoning my magic to the surface to attack the intruder...

"Get up!" My mother yelled from down the hall, her voice cracking with irritation. "You're going to be late for school!"

My eyes opened, slowly trying to adjust to the bright sunshine flowing through my tattered blinds. "I'm up!"

And, with every bit of energy I could muster, I groggily began my day. It never got any easier, staying up until 3 in the morning just to wake up at 6 for school the next day, but the nights were what kept me alive. At night I would travel to my favorite places, some bright and sunny, some cold and dark with an air of mystery, and others guarded by dragons and magic.

I would pack my mental bags and hop on my own little train to the world of my dreams, forgetting everything and everyone from my current life in favor of the adventures that sprang from the pages in my hand. The place of the heroine, and sometimes the hero, were roles I enjoyed playing on my little nightly runs through these new worlds. I lived for this, school, work, and the rest of my life be damned.

My imagination would run rampant when reading the words written so beautifully by my favorite verbal artists. Ladies in flowing gowns, men with debonair vests and practiced chivalry, and a sexy villain or two made up some of my best friends and long-lost loves. The feeling of mental escape was and is by far the world's most addictive drug. The absolute joy brought about when the character finally completes their journey, the passion felt when they experience that much-anticipated kiss, or the all-encompassing sadness when they die in a blaze of glory will make even the most focused of people drift off into a whole new world of wonder.

In the worst of times, I knew the only thing that could save me would be a good book, or well-written fan fiction online. I would come home from work, cook dinner, clean the house, and as soon as everyone else fell asleep I would run far away. The authors of those stories truly saved my life on too many occasions to count, and they will never know the gratitude I have for their words. Though the stories were not related to me specifically, they gave me the only outlet I could afford to have, the only outlet I wanted to have.

Freedom. Escape. Hope. A new life.

Once I had fully escaped the troubles of my past, I realized I wanted to give that gift to someone. I wanted to be able to construct a life and a world so intricate and consuming that those who need it would be able to step into that adventure with my characters. I strive to create escapes for those who feel confined. I seek to create worlds for those without hope. I yearn to write words that strike chords in those who have gone numb.

My passion is breathing life into something that has become hollow. My passion is creating friends and memories. My passion is holding the hand of loved ones. My passion is a gentle touch to tear-stained cheeks. My passion is sitting by the waters of a mystic lake. My passion is looking up at guiding constellations. My passion is flying through the clouds on the back of a dragon. My passion is finding a cure for loneliness.

My passion is writing.