Day 15 — A Fanfic

Clearly the person who created The Tumblr Challenge is a twelve year old girl that likes anime and Harry Potter. It’s either that or they figured most people who would participate in the challenge would fall into that demographic. I was never into fanfics myself, but when I was in middle school a lot of my friends were and since I wrote stories often I tried my hand at the genre. However, I soon grew tired of replicating other authors works and decided to stick with my own original work. So, instead of posting a fanfic, which is lame and borderline plagiarism, I will post an excerpt of my own original work. Get ready internet - this is my debut publicly publishing something I have written. This is the prologue of a story that I began a few years ago that sadly may never be finished.

Any coping of this without crediting me, the author, is considered plagiarism. 

She awoke to the acrid stench of sweat and sick. As it filled her raw, red nostrils the stench forced her into consciousness. She did not move. She was afraid to because of the ache in her body; it consumed her every part. She stared lethargically at the ceiling as she lay sprawled on her bed. Through the small windowpane came a sliver of light; a hint of morning. The dull illumination reflected the state of the room. The walls were white and bare. The carpet and the bedspread were a faded brown. Few personal affects were scattered about the dilapidated space—a framed, faded photo of a middle-aged woman, an old watch, a pair of earrings on the nightstand. There were only three pieces of furniture in the small room along with a droning ceiling fan. She listlessly watched the latter spin slowly and hypnotically as its blades cast dark shadows down upon her pale face.

She sat up very slowly, her hand going to rub her aching lower back, and glanced at the spot where she had lain. It was soaked with sweat. She could also see tiny flecks of blood caked on the yellowing pillowcase. Staring indifferently at this, she wiped at the side of her mouth with the back of her hand. She then looked at the watch on her bedside table. 07:06 A.M. it read. She gazed at this apathetically for a few seconds before getting out of bed.

Slowly and carefully with a slight limp, she walked over to her dresser which sported a mirror on its surface. Reaching the dresser she grasped the edges tightly and leaned onto it for support, nearly collapsing. The force of her weight hitting the decrepit dresser pushed it backwards and caused it to hit the wall. Bottles of prescription pills, some empty, some full, coated the surface by the score. Many toppled over, a few of them were knocked onto the floor, but she paid them no heed. For the first time her glance showed emotion—a touch of curiosity and concern—as she stared intently into the mirror’s dirty but still effectively reflexive surface at herself.

Her face was stark white. A few pimples dotted her face and a sore was located on the left side of her mouth. Beneath her wide eyes of green were dark circles and trails of eyeliner running down her cheeks. Her dirty blonde hair was mostly up in disheveled ponytail; strands of greasy hair had fallen out and were hanging haphazardly over her face. Yet, despite all of her blemishes, she was really quite beautiful, and had been even more so before the sickness.

She was tall and lithe with a curvy figure and a thin waist. Her skin was as white as clouds on a sunny day and smooth. Her large green eyes were decorated with tiny specks of gold. She had wavy hair that cascaded to a point slightly past her shoulders. Her lips were a full and healthy pink. Her body had once been very fit and her face very full, but she had gotten much weaker and thinner since the illness struck.

She sighed and looked down at herself. She was clad in a sleeveless, low-cut, brown dress adorned with little white flowers. The only other articles she wore were five gold bracelets on her right wrist. She had not bothered to change into her sleepwear the night before. The already tight dress was plastered to her body with sweat. A reddish-brown smudge in a shape reminiscent to that of a hand was located on the left side of the dress. She looked upon it with sluggish disgust. 

Looking back up she stared at the many bottles that coated her dresser. She suddenly seized one and, once it was open, popped two of its contents into her mouth. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as she swallowed the pills dry. A shaky sigh escaped her lips and she leaned back onto the dresser. After blinking a few times and shaking her head as if that would rid her of the soreness in her brain, she stared back at the mirror. She reached up to pick at the scabbing sore on her mouth then decided not to bother.

She turned away from the mirror and headed back over towards her bed. When she reached its foot, she stopped and crouched down on the floor. Something had caught her eye. She picked it up and studied it carefully. Resting in her open palm was a small glass vial attached to a thick black string. The string had what looked like fasteners at each end—as though it had once served as a necklace—but the fasteners had been broken. The vials only content was a single, tiny droplet of jade green liquid.

Imogene Carter stared at this vial for a long time before deciding that she better start packing. Today was going to be a very long day. 

• Tags
• the tumblr challenge
• prose