A Very Long, Rambling, Completely Unedited Snippet From My Current WIP (I have nothing better to post so here, have some of my trademark angstiness)


I wander aimlessly along the passageways, not really seeing where I’m going, until I stop, satisfied with my little walk, and look around. I realise that my footsteps have taken me to stand right in front of Alexa’s studio. Cold white light spills out from underneath the closed door, illuminating the corridor around me with a thin glow.

 I hesitate. I’ve been thinking about this marvellous haven of creativity since I wandered in that day when I’d just arrived here. The thought of it keeps appearing in the back of my mind – I long to go inside again, to soak up the sight of those beautiful and unnerving paintings and listen to Alexa playing her haunting music and maybe try my hand at some drawing or try out the piano. It’s been far too long since I did anything like that.

But the studio is clearly Alexa’s and Alexa’s alone, and I’m not sure that she’d be willing to share it with me, or even let me enter – I remember the look on her face when I went in the other day, and the sensation I felt that I was intruding. I’m not sure if she’s in here right now – there’s no music pouring out like the last time I was here – in fact there’s not even the slightest sound – she might have left the light on by accident – but the last thing I want to do is do something that will hurt her, and something tells me that walking into her studio without her permission will hurt her. Though knowing my track record, I’m highly likely to do something bad to her anyway.

The temptation is too strong. I walk up to the door, lift my hand and knock hesitantly. “Hello? Alexa?”

There’s silence, which lasts for a long, stretched-out moment, and I’m about to turn away, thinking that she’s probably not there and that I can’t just walk in, when I hear footsteps make their way towards the door. It opens a crack, and the second-youngest Montague girl blinks out at me, a pencil in one hand and a smudge of charcoal on her cheek. She looks up at me with her wide dark-blue eyes. She looks more confused than annoyed or upset, which I take to be a good sign.

“Hey,” I say. There’s a pause, during which I twist my hands together uncomfortably. There’s something discomfiting about Alexa’s silent, wide-eyed gaze, and I’m suddenly unsure what to say. I’ve barely seen Alexa since that time I interrupted her violin playing; I’ve only caught a glimpse of her in the corridors a few times, a flash of blonde hair and trailing earphones turning the corner ahead of me and scurrying off, and I realise how random it is for me to show up here this late in the evening when I’ve barely spoken to her before. “I, um… I was wondering if I could come in? Only if you’re fine with it, though,” I say hurriedly. “I… I just really like your studio. It’s the best part of the house I’ve seen so far.” For some reason, I feel a little embarrassed admitting that, like it’s expected of me to like the grand, majestic rooms a lot more than this studio, and I’m somehow failing someone by admitting my opinions.

Alexa doesn’t say anything, as usual, just stares up at me without moving a muscle.

I realise I’m probably stepping out of line – again. “Never mind. It’s okay,” I say quickly, starting to walk back the way I’d come, though I can’t stop the disillusionment that washes through me as I do so. I really wanted to go into that studio again. I really wanted to.

I’ve only taken a few steps, however, when I hear movement behind me, and I turn to see that Alexa has opened the door the rest of the way and is standing off a little to the side. When I look at her questioningly, she makes a slight gesture with a hand that indicates the inside of the room.

I walk back towards her. “Are you sure?” I ask, scanning her face for any sign that she’s in any way uncomfortable with me going in.

She nods, and I see her lips twitch in something that might be an attempt at a smile.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely, stepping past her into the studio. I feel like I’ve just been granted a huge honour; I doubt Alexa lets any person into her art room.

The studio is just as messy and disorganised and wonderful as the last time I was in here. I let my eyes trail around the eye-catching, colourful, slightly disconcerting abstract paintings lining the walls, and feel a shiver as a medley of different emotions – peace, sadness, joy, excitement, jealousy, anger – pounce into my consciousness as my eyes flit from painting to painting. It’s dizzying, disorientating, but not altogether unpleasant. It doesn’t feel bad to feel emotions that, for once, I know don’t truly belong to me.

Alexa has closed the door behind me, and she now makes her way towards the small desk and sits down, going back to work on whatever it was she was working on before I interrupted. She seems to be perfectly fine with letting me wander around her studio; she seems set to ignore me while I’m here. I appreciate it. I’ve only been in here for a few minutes, and I already feel better than I have done all evening.

I wander over to the piano and, looking to Alexa for permission first, slide open the cover. The keys gleam up at me, icy white and shiny black as they reflect the room’s sharp lighting. I run my fingers along the keys, then randomly press some of them, creating a jangle of discordant notes that burst from the piano and echo around the studio’s cold walls.

My sister used to play the piano. We both took lessons until I was twelve but the difference between us was that my sister was good. I personally may have been practically tone-deaf my whole life, but my sister had a real talent for music, and she was never afraid of showcasing it at any opportunity: whenever we had guests around, at dinner parties, at any event where there was a group of people willing to listen to her playing and then tell her how amazing she was. And she was amazing. Not Alexa-level amazing – something tells me that Alexa is in a different league altogether, in more ways than one – but still good. She’d practise in the parlour, and sometimes when I was annoyed at her I’d walk in and creep up behind her and press random keys to interrupt whatever melody she was playing, then run away as fast as I could while my sister screamed after me in outrage and threatened to tell our parents what I’d done. I suppose that was pretty mean of me, but considering the sort of thing she’d done to me other times, I felt like I was perfectly justified.

I’d watch my parents listening to her playing with that look on their faces, that look that they never wore when they looked at me, and I’d hear them talking to others proudly about how talented their daughter was, and then they’d glance in my direction and their thoughts could be read clearly on their faces: why can’t you be more like your sister? Why can’t you be just as talented and hard-working? Why do you have to be such a disappointment?

As I slide my hands along the glinting keys of the piano in Alexa’s studio, I imagine my sister’s fingers touching the keys alongside mine, gently playing that sweet, tinkling melody that she loved so much, and I feel a stab in my chest. I listened to her playing that song just a few days before everything happened. Looking back, it feels like the calm before the storm. Because after that everything changed in the most terrible ways imaginable.

My sister will never play that song again.

And it’s all my fault.

                                                                                             


Yeah... I thought I'd treat you all to some of my Angstiness™ and share a snippet from my current WIP. I haven't really talked about it much on here and I don't really want to share much online tbh but a general idea of what it's about: it features an MC suffering from post-traumatic stress (or something like that?? I don't know?? Wow the professional-ness is real here) and four girls who belong to a semi-sentient house. YES, IT'S WEIRD, OKAY. I am weird. My ideas are weird. Deal with it.

So as you may or may not know I've recently started school (after being homeschooled for like... my whole life) and I'm still getting to grips with this whole School business (there is homework?? And having to wake up early?? And having to actually interact with other human beings?? What is this?? I don't know how to Human?? I just want to Fiction again?? #Shook) so I don't have a whole load of time to write blog posts, hence me just throwing a random, completely unedited snippet at you guys and then running before you come after me throwing rotting tomatoes. Because I want to post damn it?? Hopefully when I get more used to The School Thing and get more organised I'll have more spare time and I'll be able to write more original blog posts (I want to write about my experience at school so far, or something like that). Or not, because I also want to keep working on my WIP and I'm going to have limited free time. WE'LL SEE.

Urgh I'm tired. I had six hours of lessons today hElP mE I'M SO FREAKING TIRED

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this!! Please give me feedback, I love knowing what you guys think!! (And I'm always looking for ways to make my writing better so go ahead and give me constructive criticism!! Though bear in mind this hasn't been edited at all.)

Bai guys,

Stay wild,

> > > A n d r e a < < <


*melts into the shadows*   

Comments

  1. That's AMAZING. Wait, you started school?!? Traitor. Lol, just kidding. How is it?

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    Replies
    1. Thank you! And yeah I started sixth form šŸ˜‚ It's been pretty good so far! I'm still getting used to it though, it's a huge change from being homeschooled šŸ˜Š

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    2. Woah, cool. Yeah, I can imagine šŸ˜Š

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  2. WOAH ANDREA. THAT WAS COOL. I LOVED IT. <333

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  3. I loved this! The style of description is really nice. I like the idea of sentient houses.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you! I'm so happy you liked it šŸ˜Š And yeah I've always wanted to write a story about a sentient house, I love the concept!

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