I’ve really been questioning myself and my ability to write recently. Like, yeah fair enough I can string together a coherent blog. But my love is storytelling. And I really want to finish a story that people love. But I get half way through a piece of writing and then I fall out of love with it. And my thoughts are… if I’ve fallen out of love with the story, how is it possible for my audience to love it unconditionally?
I recently got a burst of inspiration to revamp a piece that I had started in college, in good old 2012. And I like it but I actually can’t tell if it’s shit or not as I doubt my work so often. Thoughts and criticisms VERY WELCOME.
Torovich
A City Under Fire
I woke up sweating. The bottom of my pillow was stained with the damp silhouette of my neck and upper back. I sat up and released myself from the duvet, the sky was an orange colour as the sun started to rise. I felt like I’d been sleeping in a furnace. I decided a glass of water would cool me down and so I forced myself out of bed and to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I passed, my face was flustered and glowing red, droplets forming on my brow. I pushed my hair back and swept the sweat from my face.
The mirror steamed up as I leant closer to inspect myself, my body temperature must be at an all-time high, I felt like i had magma running through my veins. I stood in my bathroom and switched on the tap, the burst of cold water on my skin made me jump, the juxtaposition from the warmth had caught me off guard.
I decided to grab a quick cold shower to try and regulate my temperature. There was no way I could sit through the morning meeting like this. I stepped under the Shower head. The cascade of freezing water caressed my skin, the sensation sent shivers down my spine. I began to wash as normal but as my temperature declined the glacial water became unbearable. It wasn’t long before I gave in and stepped out. I wrapped a towel around my waist and swept my hair back.
I dried off and grabbed some clothes from my drawers. The alarm on my phone sounded as I fastened my jeans. I grabbed the black hoodie from the back of my door and slipped that on. I put some socks on and shuffled over to my bedside table, to disable the alarm and grab my phone. I could smell breakfast being cooked, which was a rare occurrence for me. Normally, mum would have finished cooking and be pottering around in the greenhouse by the time I’d finally dragged myself out of bed. I’m a snooze button kind of guy, it’s a lifestyle i’ve embraced over the past few years. Not this week though, my sleeping pattern was a mess. Mainly due to the night terrors. I walked back into the bathroom to brush my teeth and to get the drink of water I hadn’t ended up making.
I filled the glass that was next to my sink and took a sip. My eyes looked heavy and tired. I closed them whilst I brushed my teeth, to let them rest. All I could think about was last night and every night prior to that. My dreams had been so vivid, like it was all real. I lifted the glass back up to my lips and took another sip. I lost grip and watched the glass smash beneath me as my lips began to sear with pain. The water was boiling hot, as if fresh off a stove. I ignored the shattered fragments covering my wash basin as I leant over to examine my blistered lips in the mirror.
I’d poured the water myself, it was fine when I took my first sip. What the Hell?. I had to get myself down to breakfast, Mum made it clear that she wanted me to attend morning meeting with her. I glazed the burn with Vaseline and made my way out of my bedroom.
Maybe I switched on the hot tap and I was too tired to notice? I couldn’t dwell on it. I shoved my books and my wallet into my bag and made my way to the kitchen.
I walked in to find my mum and aunt Cordelia with their heads stuck in one of my gran’s old books. I hadn’t been in the room 5 minutes before they pointed out that I look like crap, I just shrugged and threw myself down onto a seat at the table.
“Lex what’s wrong with your lip?” My mum asked as she passed me a plate.
“I think I must have bitten it in my sleep”.
What was I supposed to say? There was no rational explanation.
“You were awake early, was it the dreams again?”
My mum always knows exactly what’s wrong with me, I swear she’s clairvoyant. I nodded as I chewed a piece of toast.
“What was it this time? Forrest fire, Phoenix rising from the ashes?” Cordelia asked, she seemed curious, like she was genuinely interested.
“A new one,” I answered quickly “this time it was the fires of Pompeii. I was a villager running from the lava”.
“Disturbing.” my Mum said as she passed me a cup of tea.
She seemed annoyed after I’d spoken, but not with me surely. I mean, she can’t be mad at me for having a bad dream. I cant control them.
“Don’t you find it strange?” Cordelia asked.
“Find what strange?”
“That all of your nightmares include some sort of fire or high temperatures.”
I’d never thought about my dreams as a collective before but Cordelia was right, they were all so similar. And each dream had made my body heat soar.
I kept trying to come up with a rational explanation for the night terrors whilst we drove to the morning meeting. But to no avail.
There was a road closure on the way to the Castra, so we had to drive down by the town lines. It was the closest I’d been to the threshold of Morvium in years. The veil covered the other side in what looked like fog. Only those with chosen by the Coryphaeus were allowed to pass freely through the veil. We all tried as kids, but the veil just pushed us back. It wasn’t gentle either, I almost broke my arm.
According to my mum, it wasn’t always like this. When she was my age, our covens roamed freely across the earth. Living amongst the mundane. It wasn’t until a change of leadership in that world caused a shift in attitudes towards witches and we were forced back into hiding. In their world, under the new Illicitus law, the use of witchcraft is now punishable by death. There was an uprising, in which one of the five covens of the sun fought back against the Illicitus movement. But the mundane outnumbered them. Their technology and resources overpowered the covens magic. They all perished. Now the remaining four covens live here. Under the veil, away from the mundanes reach, in Morvium. ‘Like hamsters in a cage’ my Gran used to say.
Please give me your thoughts, I have 3 books worth of notes saved on my phone because I don’t sleep at night and instead allow myself to delve into this world and visualise my ideas coming to life. I just never do very well with writing them down in an interesting way.
Thanks,
Jacknowledged.
Jacknowledged 