Saturday, November 12, 2016

NaNoWriMo 2016: Write What You Know, Part 5

This is my first draft for NaNoWriMo 2016 novel Write What You Know. It's only a rough draft with very minimal editing and will, more than likely, contain, typos, grammatical errors, plot holes, or conflicting descriptions. It also includes notes to myself and excerpts from the novel the MC is writing that I try to indicate through various formatting that doesn't always translate well with my limited html skills. Furthermore, this particular novel is... there's no delicate way to put this... this novel is fucked up. So, especially in this rough draft crazed sort of NaNoWriMo way of writing, it may be difficult to read or follow.  I'm still posting it here because I want to shed more light on the process of writing to encourage and inspire other writers or readers who are interested. To learn more about this project, or my daily NaNoWriMo postings, please read Day 1-7.

Write What You Know, Part 4
By Stephanie Thompson, 1,024 words

Read: Part 1Part 2, Part 3, Part 4


Nikki’s voice cut through thick pitch fog around her and the pillow was pulled off of her face. Above her like a demon apparition, clear as day, was Nikki Vampyro, the woman who shouldn’t be there, who doesn’t exist, smirking at her with in her trademark dark lipstick. Her amber eyes flickering a violet light back at her like an animal in the night. The pink strip of hair that had been growing out slowly since the second and was usually sculpted into a taller and taller mohawk, laid in a soft wave down to her chin on the right side of her shaved head.

Christie blinked stupidly, thinking if she blinked enough Nikki would disappear like she had this morning.

I don’t think so. Never again. I’m here to stay, bitch.

Her mouth didn’t move as she spoke. Her voice was in her head like it always had been. Nikki stopped towering above her, the leather braces and chains clinked against each as she moved away from the bed. The pillow made a fwomph sound as it hit the floor. She walked out of Christie’s eye sight but she didn’t sit up to keep watching her. She wanted this to be a dream. A dream brought on by too many sleeping pills, nicotine, and the odd combination of vodka martinis and dry red wine. But somehow sitting up would make it real and she definitely didn’t want it to be real.

You’re really crackers you know that? Gone round the bend! Headed for a funny farm with the best of them. Good thing I stopped you from killing yourself before that happened, amirirte?

I wasn’t trying to kill myself.

You don’t even know what is happening.

You’re not even real.

I’m about as real as you are.

Christie finally propped herself up, leaning on her elbows like she got tired in the middle of a sit up. Nikki was by the vanity looking at herself, running a pinky finger under her right eye, smudging eyeliner there. When she was done with that she picked up a bottle of face wash, grimaced at it, set it down, then picked up another bottle and repeated it.

I’m real goddamn it. I’m a living, breathing, eating fucking person. YOU’RE not real. You’re the fictional character.

She snorted. Whatever.

Her face made the right facial gestures for the disgusted snort and sarcastic dismissal but her lips still didn’t move when she spoke, when Christie heard the voice in her head.

Well, you’re lips aren’t moving either, dummy.

Christie didn’t want to say or think anything. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to argue but what were her choices? Start arguing out loud with herself and pretty much confirming the insane theory or fruitlessly arguing silently which was only conceding the point to Nikki anyway.

She turned over to her left side (or whatever) facing the window, away from the vanity. She shut her eyes tight and started mentally singing to herself “The song that never ends” like she did when she was little and didn’t want to hear whatever hell was going on around her back then.

Nikki laughed. You’re pathetic, you know that? Go ahead and hide. Run away. Whatever old tricks you have kicking around in that dusty bag of tricks of yours. This isn’t like the old days, it’s not like when we were kids. You won’t get away from me. Not this time. Welcome home, Christie. We’re going to have great time.

Then she laughed and laughed and laughed.

5:57 am

Christie jumped out of bed at the sound of the alarm. Literally. Like who whole body forcefully pushed itself from the hotel mattress and landed itself on her feet on the ground. She was alert and stanced like she was ready to fight. She was awake looking around, her fist ready to strike before she realized what was even happening.

Daylight streaming around the curtains lit up the room in a fuzzy medium grey. A pillow was in the middle of the floor between the bed and the vanity. Her toiletries laid strewn half hazardly across the laminate counter, some even in the sink.

She finally lowered her fists and took several deep breaths when she realized she was alone. Her mind was quiet and clear and alert. A few more deep breaths and she felt better than she had the whole trip. The whole tour. She felt awake. She felt cleansed. She felt exorcised.

The alarm still beeped, making it clear it was time for her to wake up. She turned it off because she was. She’d finally woken.

I can’t say I’m surprised. That you would take him away from me.

Nikki came back the instant Christie had closed her eyes, ready to slip into the comforting, quiet release of sleep.

I take that to mean that she’s not mad at me.

Only I truly know the depths of your darkness, you know.

At least not as mad as Nikki can get. In fact, for her, this was down right pleasant.

We use to have a great fucking time together  but you had to go change on me. 

One of us had to change - to survive. For both of us.

You didn’t want me to survive. All you’ve tried to do is et rid of me before that and since.

That’s not how it was. Not what it was at all. You’re all in the novels. You are still alive.

I’ve decided that we aren’t doing mad. We’re doing honest. Because, being honest you see, I’ve been just shitty to you as you have been to me. You might say we’re two of a kind. Peas in pod. Hell in a hand-basket.

I guess so.

So let’s say, both of us being girlboss bitches, bad ass punks, fuckers in our own rights. . . Let’s say, just this once, maybe we team up for a change.We’re better together.

Christie heard the unmistakable flick of a lighter. Her eyes flung open and in the dark, across the room, a red hot cherry burned in the dark like eye of a one eyed demon. The increasingly familiar smell of burning tobacco and whatever else they were shoving in cigarettes these days singed her nostrils.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked the darkness.

Keep Reading with Part 6.

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