The Betwixt & Between.

[yeishia]

The Betwixt & Between.

The place where I exist in just before I truly awaken is the small surreal moments before dawn truly arrives. It is a place of beautiful exotic possibilities, a fantasy realm of sorts, it is the place where many of my stories took their first tentative steps into the real world once upon a time...

Recently it has been baron of inspiration a place to lie eyes crunched and closed up against the unwelcome day!

Of late I have been unable to write; my stories lie covered in dust in the archives of a forgotten thread somewhere on Lit. I feel as if I exist in a vacuum a heroine forgotten between the pages of a once favorite story book. I had come to this world to escape the realities of my own and over the years spent here I have ironically somehow created a mirror image of the place I had left behind.

In a sense I am happiest alone, it suits my quiet nature I suppose yet...


“Everything hurt.
I closed my eyes, pressing my cheek to the street, and waited.
What for, I didn't know.
To be rescued. Or found.
But no one came.
All I'd ever thought I wanted was to be left alone.
Until I was.”

Sarah Dessen, Just Listen


I ache to reach out and touch but have simply forgotten how.

When one is in a committed relationship people eventually stop even saying hello even those who would call themselves friend; there is no value in making an investment in someone who will yield no return I suppose. That is never truer than here on Lit. I have no wish to play with anyone other than my dark angel, I have no wish to have men lining up to fuck me, for such things are simply is not the essence of who I am or what I crave, in a very true sense I have made my bed and for the most part lie on it alone.

What then do I want?

I want connection to be a small part of something greater than myself.

I want to write and write well.

I want to get caught up in the beauty and mystery of the written word like I used to.

The need to heal and my inherent shyness made me shy away from others in my real world, I said no to parties, I said no to dinner invitations, until finally I was simply no longer asked. More and more this special place called The Lounge became my world. I found love here, I found my darkest angel, yet despite this essentially I still feel alone here. I have become a prisoner of sorts in this alternative reality I willingly created for myself with eyes wide open barely three years ago.

I find myself fading away…

I have always been one to see my cup as half full no matter what my life had brought me and I do believe that it was right for me to take my time to heal but as I was mulling over my recent unshakeable feeling of melancholy and writers block it suddenly hit me. My cup was starting to look as if it were half empty as I continued to look to the past for my answers. This epiphany was like a huge weight had suddenly been lifted, the shutters thrown open and I found the sunlight flooding into my small world once more.

I stood up and twirled around... I needed to take action!

Sometimes I suppose one must learn from the past then firmly close the door and simply be willing to move forwards. My holding on had stopped me from fully appreciating what I had in the here and now…whom I had in the here and now, and more importantly that I was alive against all odds!

When did I forget that I was truly blessed?

[Now you all know why I barely give my opinion in the lounge threads... once I start it seems I cannot stop *blushes*]

Which finally brings me to this new thread; it will be a stage upon which I hope to rekindle my creative spark, a creative writing exercise of sorts, an experiment I guess.

In this space I shall feed my muse or at the very least make an active effort to chase her down...

This will be a place where I will attempt to write some smaller stories either alone or in collaboration with a trusted co-writer untill I feel capable of pursuing a longer SRP.

The pace will of course be slow…

Please enjoy.


[If you have any ideas for a story or a writing exersise that might help or have simply seen my muse... please PM me or drop a line here.]


{If a story is in progress please respect this and do not post until its conclusion. }

 

[Light Ice]

The dark stretched its arms and the world was forced to slip into them. This, and other tales, were as old as time itself and tireless in their telling. One day ended and a night began, rolling on, stretching infinite across the vastness of infinity and succeeding as ever to help humble him to the insignificance of now.

Now.

Now he was waiting for her, watching. The room's decadent elegance loomed as though he'd stepped through the frames of a portrait and had been sucked into a 18th Century Plantation home. The air was sweet with honeysuckle and summer. Bathed in the balmy, passionate heat of a Mississippi evening. Were they to twine fingers and walk they'd eventually pass through the sugar cane fields and end up along the coast, sand between their toes, and the warm waters of the Gulf.

But for now, he waited.

He liked it here.

The feeling suited his old world sensibilities. His white collared shirt drawn up and his brown slacks bound to his broad shoulders with whiskey-colored bracers. He dressed as he thought men should dress. Well. A touch of the time forgotten. In the time since they'd last met he'd become stronger. Larger. And his body, while still quick, had taken getting used to. It'd take more when it came to her. Delicate. Feminine. In his hands lay the ability to break beauty or bend it.

He'd aim for the latter.

But as the night fell and the soft light of the candles struggled against it, he couldn't help but think that it was a razor's edge they walked. He'd hurt plenty in the past. Plenty.

 

[yeishia]

The woman stood alone in the middle of the dusty road as if waiting, back-lit by the moon she looked like a romantic apparition fashioned perhaps from Adam's rib pulled along through time by the sheer force of another’s will. In a sense the beautiful ethereal woman gazing longingly at the opulent plantation house was 'tabula rasa' acting on a certainly born of pure instinct alone that he would be awaiting her return.

This was the time, this was the place.

Every fiber of her being could feel his presence even from this far away, her soul began to bud and bloom reaching out towards the opulent plantation house needing to touch...to taste. Scanning the building she fancied that she could see his outline in a downstairs window…was he watching for her?

The lone woman lifted the heavy weight of her hair from her slender neck delighted to feel the faintest of breezes caress her bare shoulders. It brought with it the cloying scent of magnolia blossoms, closing her eyes she inhaled, no the smell was honeysuckle. Perfect on this sultry moonlit evening!

Elisa smiled knowing somehow that this was home.

Small rivulets of sweat were clinging to her collar bone before meandering between her small full breasts to disappear intent on some devilment of their own devising, bemused she turned her attention to the small rivulets watching them take liberties with her flesh before becoming mindfully aware of the beautiful dress she wore. It was the color of moonbeams, falling off her shoulders into delicate lacy sleeves ending above her elbows in a confection of frothy lace and ribbons. The scooped neckline skimmed the top of her breasts molding her curves like a second skin, cinching at her tiny waist with more lace and rose buds before swirling out into a full skirt held full she supposed by many lacy petticoats. Elisa knew instinctively that the tiny ribbons and rosebuds would be mirrored and artfully entwined in the tawny waves that fell unfettered to her waist. Many tiny pearl buttons held the dress in place from her bosom to her waist; she had no memory of the painstaking task of fastening them closed over the silken camisole they so lovingly hid.

He'd hurt plenty in the past. Plenty.

Huge green eyes widened in wonder.

The memory faded as swiftly as it has entered her mind.

Don’t question, just accept what is this night, she cautioned herself moving slowly forwards along the pathway to her destiny. She was of course blissfully unaware that this night might be perhaps their final encounter across time...

Her slender hand reached out and to her surprise the heavy door swung open as if guided by some unseen presence. Elisa moved as if in slow motion towards the flickering source of light and paused just within the threshold of the most gorgeous room she had ever seen.

Yet she had eyes only for him...

They avidly took in the silhouette of the man standing in the window. In the time since they'd last met he'd become stronger somehow. She didn’t question how she knew this her eyes simply drank in the essence of the one she had yearned for across the fabric of time itself.

Words were superfluous in this timeless moment, he could feel her presence, as clearly she could see his.

Her suddenly unfettered soul flew to his side with the speed of quicksilver wrapping itself around him like a gentle breeze.

Elisa waited for him to turn her heart beating so hard she feared that her chest would explode before she saw his beloved face once more.

Could she trust this force, who was more entity than man... was she strong enough to endure again? Elisa pushed he unwelcome thought aside, she wanted, needed this...

 

[Light Ice]

The trouble had always lay within his willingness to harm. It'd served him in times of difficulty or tribulation. He, born to working class parents who'd been forced to abandon him to the merits of his own character early, had always known what it was to brawl and bully his way to the things that he wanted in life. In time he'd simply forgotten how to turn it off. There was always a victim. Delicate. Compliant. Maligned.

It wasn't the door that alerted him to her little feet stealing across the hardwood. He felt something. A gentle stirring coiled its way through him while the world outside lay blanketed in the black arms of a summer night. Here, though not far from the Gulf Shores and its coastal breeze, the air had always hung with a balmy hint that weighted it in the sweet slick of southern humidity.

But it was her that caused sweat to rise along the back of his neck, against the fine pores and sun-bronzed flesh that stretched across his rugged frame.

There was naught but to reach for her. His arm stretched, sinuous and strong, until the cup of his palm ran over the gentle round of her hip and slid onward to gather it into the rough crook of his arm. She, a slight and lissome thing, was a wisp of a weight upon his arm as he pulled her into his side. There was no mistaking the possessive stake in his claim.

No denying the great want that surged through him as he took what he had missed.

Her body struck his own as he'd intended it to. She'd come rushing and he'd caught her, rounded, and let her little curves spread themselves across his rugged front. Small, perfect breasts trapped against his broad chest through the material that separated them. Her hip tightly clasped in the vice of his arm and held until she could feel the tell-tale pressure of his length, weighted and neglected, against her flat belly.

"Hi." He managed. His voice like gravel. Low. Primal.

Burdened with want, softened in the effort to afford to her affections so seldom bestowed, he was a coiled beast under her little hands. This tenderness a strained but sincere action, bought from effort to be more than the wild tempest to which she had known. When his kiss found her it came with the touch of his knuckle to her chin, lifting her face, allowing its soft and elegant lines to please his eyes before they closed and his mouth sought the curve of her own.

She tasted of sweetness.

He drank of it.