Free Write – 3/11/2010

I’ve always hated that part of my imagination – the one that finds a way to completely rob my characters of hope.

I’m never afraid of a story unless hope is lost. Other writers, Hollywood, screenwriters the world over, they create stupid, irrational characters, spineless and incapable of realistic thought.

Not me. I would fight. Michael Myers would have found himself ina ditch with an ice cream scoop in his eye if he’d happened upon my house in the night.

Yet that is why I know how to scare people. That is why this piece of my imagination always gets to me. Because when you’re young, you don’t know how precious life is until someone tries to take it from you. You don’t know how to spot a predator until you’ve met, seen, smelled one. Once you’ve met the devil, you know his mark. You can feel it through your skin, the way microscopic water droplets hang on the air, touch the skin on a warm summer night, making the air feel heavy, somehow. Once you’ve been threatened, know what hopelessness feels like, the path there gets longer, and you don’t go down it willingly.

Not for anything.

Not without a fight.


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