Things I should be doing: Writing
Things I am doing: Imagining random shit from the story I want to write without actually thinking them through and then forgeting about them.
you put it in words bless you
When that one blogger that you admire a lot reblogs something from you and you r just like
*has one character flaw*
This character is terrible--who's the REAL bad guy here?
*lies, cheats, steals, pillages, murders*
He had a really hard childhood okay
A powerful grip took hold of my hair, jerking me backwards. I screamed and slashed out with my pocketknife, but only cut through air. I was dragged behind the jeep and whipped around, my body shoved into the vehicle’s rusted frame. My nerves and muscles were paralyzed and I dropped to the ground, hot tears flowing towards my eyes. A bony hand brushed up my neck before stopping at my chin, cracked fingernails prodding and rubbing my skin. The inside of my head was throbbing, each pulse threatening to turn my skull into powder. All I could afford was a faint whimper as my head was gently lifted to the sight of a smoking barrel. It pressed into my forehead, beside my right temple, and for a moment I regained my voice to scream in agony to the burning metal digging away at my skin. My ears turned weak to the world, my body growing numb, and scalding tears soon hindered my surroundings. However, the eyes of my captor remained clear, staring past my body and into my soul, freezing it in place. My vision met his; I can say without a doubt that I saw nothing in his eyes.