Hang overs were luckily absent today, but man was I beat. Exhausted, even, in a great, mellow way. System drained by fighting off the demons of booze, by dancing all night. So my output thus far has been sluggish, slow, sedate: a mere 2,600 words. Which means I still have another 4,000 to go. But boy, I ain’t done yet.
“Let’s go meet Old Man Oak,” said Kevin brightly. “Sounds like a character.” He linked his arm with hers, and began to drag her forward. “Walk like this,” he said, swinging his left leg infront of her, forcing her to swing hers out wide to avoid kicking him. “And then kick your right infront of me. That’s how you have to walk when about to meet an important tree dude.”
Sita laughed, too tired and drained to fight it, and so they walked, arm in arm, legs crisscrossing before them in a ridiculous manner, out into the glade in which Old Man Oak stood in all his terrible age and glory.
Finished for the night. Wrists are developing that familiar ache. Mind has grown slow, turgid, but the prose was good, while it came. Wrote another… 3,500 words. Makes for 6,100 today. About 500 short, but whatever. It’ll all balance out in the end. Day 2 has ended, and I’m still on track.
This time she came gradually to wakefulness. Drifted into it slowly, gently, the world growing light about her. She was warm, her body still beneath a thick comforter. Her own bed, the mattress firm, shy of being hard. The air was warm, her face felt smooth, clean, washed. Everything was still. Her mind an empty space, a stage devoid of players, though she knew they all lurked in the wings. Memories and facts and hard, terrible truths she didn’t want to face. But for the moment, stillness, silence.
Maribel opened her eyes. Her room. The walls white, blank, stark. The curtains on the window to her left open, allowing sterilized light to enter and fall across her. She felt dazed by the silence, by the peacefullness that filled her, that made her float beneath the comforter, float within her very own body. She could lie like this forever, still, alone, silent. Solitude had never been so pure, so blessed, so needed. She could lie like this forever, watching the angle of light change against the wall, the wooden floor, widening and dying as the hours slowly gave themselves away to oblivion.