Pain (Loki)

Pain {Alt. title: Loki}
My mind is strained from overthinking,
My heart aches for the ones I have lost,
My throat burns from screaming at myself,
My legs hurt, for I have been running from the past,
My eyes itch, for I have seen too much suffering,
My tongue is dry, for I have tasted too many lies,
My hands twitch, for I have used them for evil,
My nose flames, for I have smelled the thick scent of sulfur,
My ears ring, for I have heard countless innocent screams,
My entire being writhes in agony, for the guilt I bear is like holding the weight of all nine worlds on my shoulders.

My ideas when writing “The Island in the Sky”

Ok, so this girl is basically on a journey to find herself. This basically means a new identity entirely, and a newfound purpose and meaning to her life. I didn’t use any dialogue till the end, because she hadn’t found herself until then; she hadn’t found her voice. But, when she found the sea, she found herself, she found her identity, she found her voice, all with her ever-so-loyal companion, who she then named as well. The name that I chose for her, Muireann, is derived from two old Gaelic words, muir, meaning “sea,” and fionn, meaning “fair” or “white.” The name chosen for the fox, Áed, is an old Irish name meaning “fire.”

The Island in the Sky

I walked. I didn’t know where I was going, I just walked. Away from my moping father; away from my mother’s grave; away from all the kids at the village who called me a freak; away from the pitying eyes behind curtained windows. I strung my bow and quiver across my back and walked. I didn’t know where I was walking. All I knew was I was walking away from that dreadful village and that dreary house.
That house is not my home anymore. It hasn’t been since my mother died. As long as I have my bow, I am home. I walked for gods know how long, until dusk fell and I was sure I was far away from that vile place. I walked until my legs grew weary with every step, then laid down on the soft grass to sleep.
I dreamed of the coast, and standing on one of the great cliffs with the wind blowing through my chestnut hair, and feeling completely and totally free. The next morning, I opened my emerald eyes to the beauty of the amazing Emerald Isle that I have always loved so much – with or without my shitty background – and took in everything. The lush grass all around me, the trees here and there, and maybe, just maybe, the sea, just out of sight and off in the distance. Then, to my displeasure, I realized I was hungry. I took my bow off of my shoulder and stalked the prairie like a wildcat, until I spotted a decent-sized rabbit, and crouched in the lush, emerald grass that flowed like the sea, so that I was as hidden as I could be out in the open. I grabbed an arrow out of my quiver, notched it, aimed for the eye, and loosed it – all in one fluid motion – just as easily as breathing. I took the rabbit back to my campsite, skinned it, and cooked it.
I soon found that I was not alone. A fox had scented my roasting lunch, and tentatively approached – as animals’ natural instincts would tell them to be scared of humans – and it – he, I soon realized – sat down. He just sat there and looked at me expectantly. He seemed hungrier than I was. I finished cooking and divided the rabbit equally. I had no means to preserve any meat anyway, and this fox was clearly hungry. I thought I had heard him whine a couple times, but I couldn’t be completely sure. We both scarfed down the rabbit, and I cleaned the hide and bones in a nearby stream and put them in my belt pouch, which was strapped alongside my dagger. While I was at it, I filled my waterskin as well.
Again, I walked – no – strode further away from the stupidity of that village, and even closer to the tranquility of the sea, which I was dead set on after my dream. As I walked, I noticed a rustling sound behind me, and as I turned to discover what it was, I crouched into a defensive position, hand resting on my bow. It was the fox. I do not know why, but he followed me. I tried to get him to leave, but he seemed pretty adamant about staying with me, so I gratefully accepted my unexpected companion, and continued walking.
Anyone else would have named him, I’m sure, but I decided he didn’t need a name yet. I didn’t know him well enough. I didn’t even know myself anymore, so I decided I didn’t need a name either. I’ll find a new one in time.

Writer’s Block

This is probably one of the most ironic posts I will ever write. I was sitting here, thinking of what to write, and came up with absolutely nothing. I had crippling depression writer’s block. Then, a stupid idea came to mind. I would just write about writer’s block, the biggest annoyance in the world of writers. Writer’s block sometimes makes you just stare at the screen or paper like a friggin’ idiot, or it leads to you sitting there, saying, “What even am I doing with my life?”