Interrupted

It was a balming—No, scratch that… who opens with weather anymore?

In a land far, far away… wait! Isn’t that the start of a story already?

Bahhhhhhh, think already.

Black rivers cascaded down channels of dark abrasive skin. Rushing through those straighter, pooling at those abruptly turning sideways. The warm, soft flesh of her hand dammed the flow.

Now that is a good opening. Pat yourself on the back.

Breeze fills her swallowing lungs, and the earth keeps her rooted.

What the hell Is swallowing lungs? Oh, dahh, shallowing, right? Thesaurus, check. Nope.

Breeze fills her compressed, no… ill-laden, there it is.

Breeze fills her ill-laden lungs, and the earth keeps her rooted.

Keep going.

The shine of metal grew heavier on her shoulders. Vicki bent, heaving a cough.

Vicki? Come up with a better name than that. This is fantasy for heaven’s sake.

Xena (taken)

Joan of Arc (yeah, like her)

Xejoan—looks good.

Crimson spewed between her lips, nurturing the blue-red spikes springing from the dark, dry dirt. Gray shadows echoed the cry, a scream that hollowed Xejoan's fading senses.

I think that is pretty good. What else you got rolling around your brain?

What is screaming?

A fiery dragon (not!).

Let’s make it internal (sounds about right).

The heart begins to thump, thump harder, and slows.

I think I can shorten that.

The heart beats harder, slower. Her legs bend under her own weight,

Wait! That is passive voice. Try again.

Her legs give under the weight, giving in to the existence of failure.

Failure? I will keep that on the back burner.

As her head dips, she hears Xejoan whispered by the wind.

A little gothic there. Fix.

, she hears Xejoan caught by the air, as if it’s whispered into her ear.

Wow! It’s been a half hour already. Break.

Arpwud thei29;’ps

Felix, get off my keyboard.

Okay, coffee in hand. Where was I?

Spirals of fire rained down as the tree shuddered under an unannounced rushing wave of heat. A pungent stench, sweet with a touch of copper and spice. Light flashed, then total darkness.

Blink, grit under her eyelids, burning if she left them open. Pain only briefly.

Ack.

Conjunction with an adjective.

Pain for a moment breaching the empty void. Xejoan's eyelids twitched as drops of ash-laden water danced across her face. A groan vibrated up from her chest. An arm moved. A leg shifted.

“What—just happened?” she drones.

A high-pitched resonance subtly grows until unbearable. Her head tilts forward. Stiff shoulders creak as her limp body is freed from the murky mud. Lifted, toes carve a trench.

The theme song of Star Trek.

Damn phone.

I rise from my chair.

Turn phone off.

Great, now I have starships and aliens on my brain.

Sure, why not.

Xejoan rose above the fiery, scorched trees, through thick black smoke, above it all. Inhale fresh and clean. Eyelids forced open, bright light blurry, then coolness streams. Click—click, weight was lightened.

“Xejoan can you hear me?” as if again whispered in her ear.

“The doc will get you fixed up.”

A beat, steady rhythm. Voices came and faded.

Should I add what the voices are saying? Nahhh, leave it.

Wait! Yeah, I will; make her come slowly into consciousness.

“This one needs feltinoma immediately.” She heard it more clearly.

Yeah, I made up a word, go me!

“What about Drykla? He’s still unconscious.”

“Give it time. Check Xejoan.”

A warmth on her wrist radiates up and then through her entire essence.

Crap, cannot use that now.

Her eyes opened of their own accord. Before her name is spoken again, she jerks upright. White. Stars. Tilted. Spinning.

“That was one hell of a battle!”

“A battle,” she mutters.

White became walls and stars through a window.

Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle surround a glowing sphere. Skin against skin, she rubs her fingers. Metal against metal, her arm rose. No skin, only iron.

“Sorry, we could not save your hand.”

“My hand.”

Close it.

Fingers…

Okay, now I've got to take a piss. Errrr.

I shift my head, struggling to stay, stay in the dream, yet my bladder pounds its uncontrollable desire.My eyes open, dim light from the nightlight. Hazy, I push off the warmth, my brow moist. I bend and place my bare feet on the cold wooden floor.

I’ve got to write this down.

The subtle paddle of my feet keeps the sounds of battle. Icy porcelain like the cold metal.

I must continue the story.

The bright white screen blinds me momentarily. Vision adjusts.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The world unknown, an injured soldier, make it female, then the blast.

Hospital is blurred, the stars appear, the hardened truth.

…fingers click as they curl under the command. Her breath short and quick, a haze sat in.

No, wake the hell up.

Her breath short and quick, a haze consumes.

“That is so frickin cool, a robotic hand.” The voice familiar.

Raptial.

“Cool?” she echoes under her breath.

Xejoan’s stomach churns, the sweet copper taste of her own blood still beneath her tongue.

“Water.”

Beeps rapid.

“He’s not going to make it.”

“Do something, anything!” Rapital shrieks.

“Water.” She says louder, choking against the dryness.

A table slides just above her legs. Robotic reaches out, stopping just before it grabs.

“Another c.c. of feltinoma—scratch that, his lung has collapsed.”

Xejoan licks her cracked lips as she drops the metal to her lap.

Use your left.

What left?

Nothing moves, only space.

The cursor pauses.

Oh, that is so brutal.

**…

Would a reader believe that?

Keep going. Now I want to know what is going to happen.

“So, thirsty.” A hum, then a click.

Robot fingers stretch open.

Easy, slow.

The cup creaks and caves under the pressure.

“Stop.”

“He’s dead. With all this technology, you should have saved him.”

Xejoan brings the cup slowly toward her face. Bends at the elbow. Her shoulder aches as she raises the cup to her open mouth.

A trickle touches her tongue; she tilts more; liquid rushes down the front of her.

“Who the hell forgot Xejoan’s straw? My God!”

Gesh wiz. Think I went totally south with this one.

...

Undo.

Go back to bed.