Write On

ThePsychobabble — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 04:19:19 +0000

Trashy novel face down on the couch next to her, glass of the vino on the coffee table. Cigarette in hand, an extra 20 pounds around her waist, she wonders how she got here. When did this happen?

ThePsychobabble — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 01:25:30 +0000

Soo…have you had your fill of teenage angst yet?

ThePsychobabble — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 06:39:01 +0000

barely surviving

not sure why I try

two reasons

the only reasons

not fair to them

would they be better off

is what torments me

is a mediocre mother

better than none

or worse

Half-ass-ery

ThePsychobabble — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 03:51:30 +0000

Frustrated and fed up

lacking motivation and

will. power.

half-assed approach

because half is all I have

to give

Writer’s Block-Buster

ThePsychobabble — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 01:37:38 +0000

Excercise: Set a timer for 10 minutes. Type whatever comes to mind, without regard for things like grammar, plausibility, plot lines, or the like. Ready? Set, GO!

In the midst of yet another argument. She wished she had the power to shut him up. The yelling, the screaming, the sheer hatred and anger pouring from his mouth, she had had enough to last her a lifetime.

She raked her fingers through her hair, and paced the room as he hollered about her lack of respect, lack of intelligence, and lack of redeemable qualities whatsoever.

She closed her eyes, and mentally fantasized about the earth opening up and swallowing him. Or the roof caving in, at precicesly the spot where he stood. As she rubbed her temples, she smiled at the mental picture of him being struck silent. Dumb.

After all, she did love him, just not his mouth. As the pain in her head intensified behind her eyes, and as his verbal assualt intensified, she focused on the thought of him being quiet. God, this headache was awful, the pain intense. Focus, focus, ignore the pain. Anything to distract her from the pain.

As she struggled not to give into the overwhelming pain, her mental picture shifted from his being struck dumb, to one of him suffering from a little spontaneous combustion.

The pain reached her threshold, no amount of mental distraction could prevent her from feeling this white hot pain. It was almost as though she was on fire. She could literally feel the heat on her face.

Vaugely she realized that his screaming had changed. He was no longer verbally berating her, now it was just…screaming….

She couldn’t open her eyes. It was like they were weighted down by the pain. The blackness spread, and she passed out.

When she awoke, hours later, it was silent. Groggily she sat up, and looked around the room. She put her hand to her head, and pushed the hair out of her face.

Looking around she noticed the mess, and grabbed a broom. She needed to get this swept up, before he got home from where ever he had disappeared to this time.

Disclaimer and such:

ThePsychobabble — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 01:19:10 +0000

All the work on this site is my original work, and is owned/copyrighted by me. It may not be used without permission of the author *coughMEcough*

Thank you for your cooperation….

Murdered(snippet)

ThePsychobabble — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 18:03:12 +0000

Cammie gripped the screen door tightly when she saw who was knocking on it. A blast from the past, indeed. She thought she had left everything, and everyone behind when she had moved out to the sticks. She thought she had succeeded in disappearing. Her brother’s appearance on her doorstep belied that thought. “What do you want?” Lenny pretended to grasp his chest, “Ouch, sis, that hurts. Not exactly a warm and loving welcome there.” “I’m not in a very welcoming mood, Len.” Lenny smiled a wide grin, “C’mon Cams…let me in, and we can talk all this out, ‘kay?” Against her better judgement, Cammie stepped aside, and held the door open for her younger sibling.

End of a Long Day

ThePsychobabble — Thu, 28 May 2009 20:02:10 +0000

She pondered his passed out form, lying there on the couch. He fell asleep watching television again. She shoved the dirty dishes on the table out of her way, so she could set her purse down. She stepped around the pile of stuffed animals, and reached to turn the television off.

She contemplated waking him up, but decided against it. He slept like the dead most nights. She peeled off her clothes as she walked towards the bedroom, dropping them on top of the pile he had promised to take downstairs tonight.

She should take them down there, she should get started on the dishes. She should do a lot of things, but she was just too tired to deal with it tonight. She fell into bed, and sighed as her body relaxed into the old mattress. Tomorrow was going to be another long day.

ciggarette

ThePsychobabble — Wed, 27 May 2009 00:54:11 +0000

I inhale, and burning spreads

Down my throat, and through my lungs

The acrid taste of smoke.

The rush of nicotine

leaves me light-headed and dizzy

it flows through me,

dragging relaxation through my body

as it kills me slowly

bliss followed by death

Bitten

ThePsychobabble — Fri, 22 May 2009 02:52:55 +0000

Madaline didn’t know why she was here, exactly. She was not into the club scene. The noise, the crowds, the poor lighting….not at all her thing. She hung back, watching her girlfriends out on the floor. She always let them talk her into this, and she rarely enjoyed it.

She wrapped her arms around her, and sighed, giving off a distinct air of discontent.

“Excuse me, ma’am, would you care for a drink?” a polished male voice. Madaline turned to him, intending to politely refuse, but as she looked into his eyes, she felt a strange feeling of trust come over her.

She found herself agreeing to have a drink with the stranger. And another, and another. This was quite unlike her. She never did things like this, but everytime she thought to herself that she should stop, that warm, trusting feeling would wash over her, and she would find herself accepting another drink.

“My beautiful lady, would you care to go for a stroll with me?” he asked, putting his hand gently on her arm.

Careful not to slur her words, Madaline began to protest. She found herself agreeing to in spite of herself.

Drawing her close to his side, he led her outside. Behind the club, he gently pulled her towards him, as though to kiss her. Taking her chin in his hand, he tipped her head, exposing the her neck to the night. Leaning down, he gently kissed her lips, then her neck. He pulled back, looked into her eyes, sending that warm feeling oozing through her again. Slowly, he leaned forward, and then bit down. As he pierced through to the vein, she felt the prick and the sting, and began to cry out. But as he drew deeply of her blood, she felt a pleasurable sensation, seeming to flow into her as the blood flowed out.

She felt relaxed, yet aroused at the same time. Spasms of pleasure overwhelmed her. She felt paradoxially drowsy at the same time. Even as she shuddered, she felt her eyelids drooping, and she began to pass out.

He pulled away from her, wiping his mouth with one sleeve, while the other arm supported her. As she passed out, he gently laid her down. He made sure she was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. With one last look at her sleeping form, he turned and walked off into the darkness.