RACHEL'S BEEN SITED

Archive for the tag “unfinished”

Echoes in Solitude

If you’ve followed me long enough to wonder about the title (“Hey, didn’t she already post a piece called ‘Echoes’? Man, how uncreative.”) — this piece, had the story been completed, would have taken place in the same universe as my original “Echoes” post HERE.  As things stand, nothing directly connects the two scenes, and each can be enjoyed independently of the other.

Echoes

            The house had been silent for nearly three weeks, now.  To Rea Hayes, its only occupant, it had felt like much longer.

            Only occupant… She allowed the words to settle over her, and shuddered.

            Unwashed laundry had begun to pile up in the corner behind the kitchen – work things, mostly.  Somehow, when she came home she always ended up in the same old oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, staring at the blank TV screen, her tray table a line of phones. Read more…

Echoes

Something a little bit longer for your weekend read.  The beginning to a story I never finished writing, but I enjoy the concepts behind it so much that I have to share it anyway.  Maybe I’ll continue some day.

Echoes

            The world was howling around her as she stumbled into the shadowed room, the echo of the blast still washing over her in wild, dizzying surges like the sound of a behemoth’s heartbeat.  The screams, the panic, from the foyer downstairs were the cries of ants in comparison — wailing ants waiting helplessly under the shadow of an oncoming foot.

            Her hand hit the bookshelf before her eyes realized she was in range, and she jammed her elbow with the force of her unsteady momentum.  This wasn’t the time for dizziness, wasn’t the time for weakness or aching limbs, but her subsequent headshake to try and snap herself out of it only left her gagging back a new fit of nausea.  The thrumming amped up to eleven in her ear, and she felt herself flinch in anticipation of a surging ocean wave or possibly a thirty-foot butterfly wing sweeping into her from the left.

            The conservatory had been on her left.  In the conservatory had been her—

            No time, no time to think about it.  No time to dwell.  She only had… who knew how long.  Seconds, if that.

            The screaming ants were slowly going quiet. Read more…

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