It’s been a hot minute since I did any fiction writing (were my lack of writing updates noticeable? *side-eye*), but I got back at it tonight with my trusty accountability partner Madeline. My brain took some dusting off but I managed to squeeze out a very modest 500 words to write a semblance of a scene that I’m not sure I’ll use or polish in the long run, but hey, at least words were on the page.
Here’s an unedited snippet, not at all influenced from real experiences (*double side-eye*) to make up for my lack of last sentences for the past month:
CJ first kissed me on the middle of the dance floor at homecoming. A Taylor Swift song was playing. I wore a golden dress with a black sash. He bought his tie to match. My corsage was white and when he leaning in the petals brushed for a moment across his cheek — crumpled against his skin for half a second and I remember thinking: he’s so beautiful.
And he kissed me. I tried to linger and find the magic.
The song ended. I went to the school bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror, and willed the magic to come at all. But I knew that love was not about magic. Kissing wasn’t fireworks and other pretty metaphors. It was just lips. I liked him. He kissed me. I was stupid for thinking there was something more. I wiped away the tears and rejoined the dance.
Dancing the night away. Running the year away. Then, running after her, next to her, from her. In the shelter, the music was the rain, the dance was her hand on my wrist.
Clarke tasted like skin and sweat. And sweat . . . tasted like magic.
There’s something more.
With Love,
Natalie