NaNoWriMo
Hello, folks! So, I’ve been really busy with homework, studying, etc., so I haven’t had much time to write so far this academic year. My NaNoWriMo novel turned out to be mainly crap, but here’s one excerpt I think is okay …
What an unwelcoming ceiling it was! No glow-in-the-dark constellations gazed down at me. No creative light fixtures tossed glowing rays playfully about. No warmth emanated from the single bulb, just a small circle of visibility. It was nothing like it used to be.
Thoughts swam through my head. No, they didn’t swim; rather, they drowned. They stumbled one over the other and eventually sank to the bottom, struggling all the while. I tried to recall what was harrowing me. I wasn’t upset for my own sake; instead, I was upset because I thought I shouldn’t have been. My mood can be a deceptive paradox at times.
Kitchen noises were quick to follow my awakening, but they weren’t the same as before. My mother’s, father’s, brother’s, and sister’s voices echoed in my head. They collided with Anna’s humming and David’s hoarse coughing just outside my door. It was a symphony of satisfaction and disappointment, all clashing in my mind and in my ears to feed the audience with dissonants. What an atonal rattling it was!
Now came the weekly question: should I waste my weekend lying around, or should I roll out of bed and try to do something productive with my life? My agenda for the past three weekends had been: lie in bed, mope, wonder why I’m moping, lie in bed some more.
Aside from school, I hadn’t faced the outside world for the longest time. Maybe that was what I needed.
Anna knocked on the bedroom door. I really didn’t consider it my bedroom door at the time, because, in a sense, it wasn’t. There was nothing mine about it. It wasn’t like my old yellow-tinted door with the magazine clippings of Apollo Anton Ohno pasted on it. I could just hear my mother yelling at me. “Angela Rose! Do you think this wax paper is ever going to come off of your door? Never in my life, and never in yours!”
As I lay there in bed, I snickered at the irony. But then the anger set in: the anger at my mom for having to say that — for jinxing it, if you will; the anger at myself, for being so heartless as to snicker; the anger at fate for having to let that happen.
“Yup?” I called to Anna.
Please let me know what you think down in the Disqus thingy below. You can bash me, anything’s appreciated. But, y’know, positive commenting is cool too ;)
