Diary of a Struggling Writer – Tweet Tweet and First Chapter

I want to thank everyone who took the time to comment on my last post (er first post) in my new series: Diary of a Struggling Writer.

I finally caved in and got myself a Twitter. Now you can follow me as I tweet all of my disappointments, excitements, and hopefully achievements.  FOLLOW ME @tiftruitt

Below you will find the first chapter of my novel, SUBLIME.

The panic attacks kept happening.

I heard my sister’s screams coming from inside the infirmary. The broken chair, discarded and forgotten, clung to me as much as I clung to it. It seemed funny I should feel more connection to the fragile, useless chair than to the woman screaming in the other room.

Funny?

It’s not that I did not want to feel something for the woman. I just could not convince myself too. She had left me long ago.

Liar.

If I made her a villain, I would never have to miss her.

My sister was dying. I would watch her die not in the comfort of a happy home, but in the compound, a place we were forced to live after the incident. We were like cattle trapped behind a fence.

I heard my name whispered faintly among the mutinous, erratic beats of my heart. A name whispered amongst a battlefield of dying men.

Dying women.

The women kept dying. The government could not explain why. Sure, they could cure cancer and AIDS, but they could not keep women from dying in childbirth. They could not save the female naturals. That is what they called us because we were conceived the old fashion way.

I did not want to go in to see my sister. Who would? I knew in the back of my mind it was my duty. Duty—a word that seemed to sum up my whole existence. I knew the world wasn’t always like this. But it was my world. It was my duty to her.

The chosen ones wanted me to see her death. They wanted to remind me that I was part of a dying species.

Stupid her.

I kicked over the chair before heading inside the infirmary. This movement would be all I would allow myself. I refused to feel anything more. She did not deserve it. She knew the rules, and she broke them.

She was lying on the cot, soaking herself into the fabric. Sweat covered every inch of her body, and I noticed that her blood seeped beyond the white sheets onto the cement floor. I looked to him. Stupid him. What fools they were. They knew this sort of thing was pointless.

I didn’t even understand why anyone got married anymore. It wasn’t commitment. It was murder. We weren’t meant to breed. We were the last. We would all die out soon. Then the world would be free to enjoy for the chosen ones.

She reached her hand out to me. I hesitated. This might be more than the steel walls around my heart could take. It would make her feel better, but was this small bit of comfort worth the risk? No. She didn’t deserve it. She did this to herself. She did it to me.

My heart slowed down. I was winning.

I knelt down beside her; she let her empty hand drop down next to her. Her bright, feverish eyes looked to me.

“Did she live?”

“She?” I asked skeptically.

She repeated her question, her longing for an answer evident in her voice.

“No. It didn’t live.” I knew my voice sounded hard, but what was she expecting to hear?

Then it happened. Tears burst from her eyes. Part of me hated her more in that second than I had ever hated anything or anyone; another part of me envied her. This was my heart’s dearest wish. How it craved to once, just once, to be allowed such an action. I took a deep breath.“Is there anything I can get you?”

Her eyes flickered onto him. She was done with me. She only needed me for the truth that he was too weak to give her. I hated him too. She had always been a silly, hopeful girl. I thought he was smarter than that. But he wasn’t. He rushed to her, nearly knocking me out of the way. He clutched onto her, covering her once empty hand in small, puncturing kisses. I removed myself from the room. I couldn’t bear to witness their final moments. I told myself it was because it disgusted me and made me angry. But, again, a voice shrilly screamed: it is because you are jealous.

Once in the hallway, I collapsed against the wall. My heart was pounding again. It had been years since I felt a panic attack this strong. Not since my father was taken had I felt so weak. Why? I used to be so good at all of this.

My head felt light.

Damn, the heat. The walls of the room seemed to shake and I could swear the floor was rattling.

Panic attack.

Somewhere I could hear him cry out her name over and over and over and over again. His sickening muttering became less audible as the sounds of my demanding and beating heart echoed in my ears. I had to get out. I rushed down the hall blindly, swinging open the door.

Then I ran.

I ran as fast as I could, past the compound, past what they called my home.  We could leave the compound but only as far as the forest. They chosen ones wanted to give us the allusion of freedom. I didn’t care momentarily who saw me or what they thought. This was my last effort to maintain control. I knew no one would follow me into the woods. I needed to be alone. Alone, I could win. My heart still struggled to break free from its cage. I ran faster.

I ignored the claws of the branches that attempted to entrap me as I headed into the woods. Once or twice, I stumbled, but I didn’t care. I kept running. As long as I wasmoving, I had the advantage. Sound the retreat.

And then I stopped.

My heart beat wildly still, but now it was from pure physical exhaustion. It was comforting to know emotions were no match for physicality. Of course I had always known that.

Robert.

Idiot.

No matter how hard he may have wished it were different, he knew she would die. I knew it too.  The difference being I felt she deserved it.  My jaw oddly clenched at the thought. Her image briefly entered my mind, but I quickly focused on the tightness of my leg muscles. I almost welcomed the pain. Pain could be a wondrous distraction.

Once the pain in my legs subsided, I began to let myself truly see my surroundings. I found myself surrounded by nothing except dense forest. The colors were amazing. No longer was I surrounded by the dull grays and metallic silvers of the compound. Damn, sometimes I even saw its icy hues slither their way into my hair. My skin reflected more and more the compound’s monotone colors.

Perhaps one day I would melt into the walls, crawling within them, disappearing forever.

I would not let her demise destroy me.

I would not.

I could not.

I had to be honest.

I was weak. Too weak for her death. And it was all his fault. I blamed the boy. I blamed James.  I blamed the chosen one.