Wow, another long period without writing. I feel like I’m fading away. But so content, waiting to leave for Arizona where I will be moving in with my aunt, her new husband and baby cousin. I’m terribly excited. I’ll be happy when the wait is over.
Since the last time that I wrote, (three months has it been?) I’ve lost more and more of the blindness that has kept me here in CA since graduation when my original plan had been to move to WI. I was staying for a relationship of which didn’t work and I’ve come to understand, had been doomed after three months and was only a miracle that it lasted the ten that it did. I’d like to think that I’ve grown and look forward to finding the REAL one. That’s not to say that it wasn’t fun while it lasted. It was very fun as a matter of fact and I still have fond memories.
So to CA and to all of my friends, I say “Bid thee farewell and give ‘em hell!”

This is an exerpt from my novel of which I will no longer be posting on dA and effective immediately will be removing the current submissions of it. Enjoy:
Kristen’s head had never hurt this badly before. She couldn’t recall a hangover ever being this painful. She had never woken to find her body this stiff before either. She wondered how much she had drunk at the party. She could certainly smell the alcohol on her own breath and even her lips were dried out and painful. She hoped that she hadn’t done anything terribly inappropriate with that idiot, Damien Pion. After letting him suck on her neck like some drunken vampire, though, she wouldn’t have been surprised of anything she might have let happen. How long ago had she passed out? Would anyone bother to give her a ride home?
But no; hadn’t the party ended? Hadn’t she gone shopping with Makayla? Or had that been before? A dream? A dream, surely! Makayla had gotten engaged! What a ridiculous thought. Curious, how real it had seemed.
Her hand reached up to her head and there was something hard stuck in her hair. “Oh gross,” Kristen groaned, praying that she hadn’t gotten any manly substance in her hair from a drunken act she couldn’t remember. She rolled over and was disoriented. She hit the floor as if out of a nightmare. “Ow,” she grunted groggily. She opened her eyes. “Oh fuck… where am I?”
Kristen’s surrounding quickly swam into focus. The room was dark and she was now lying on her belly beside a black leather sofa of which she had fallen off of. This was not the house of Matt Bard. “Damien!” she called, assuming that she must have gone home with that maniac friend of Vincent Ongaro’s and causing herself white hot pain as her skull threatened to burst. She would kill Makayla for letting her go to that party!
Pion didn’t answer her. How late was it? Why the hell was she here? “Damien!” she called again, willing herself not to faint as white daggers shot into her head again. She pushed herself to her knees and used a coffee table as support to stand. The furniture that she could see in the dark seemed much more expensive than anything Pion, a part time student, could afford.
A light flicked on in the next room, eliminating the one Kristen had woken in just enough to see. Across from the leather sofa was a matching recliner. Sitting in it and asleep was Makayla. Something dark trickled down her forehead. It was blood. “Kay?” Kristen whispered, moving around the table and to her friend. Her throat tightened. “Holy fuck,”
There was a clinking sound coming from the next room. It found no purchase in Kristen’s distressed mind as she desperately tapped Makayla’s face, however. “Hey, Kay,” she half laughed. A hint of panic enveloped Kristen’s voice as she kneeled before the unconscious woman, realizing that it was, in fact, Makayla’s blood that had crawled across her face and along the bridge of her nose, drying there and cracking like the paint of an old oil painting. “Wake up, will you? I wanna get out of here before anyone sees us, okay?”
Other than the shallow rise and fall of Makayla’s breasts, there seemed to be no life lurking within the woman’s body.
Kristen’s clumsy fingers groped for Makayla’s wrist, blindly as her eyes followed the crimson trail on her friend’s face all the way to her scalp under onyx locks. Her hand touched a cold, triangular shaped item that was sharp at the corners. She looked down and found the engagement ring from her dream on Makayla’s finger. Like a heavy summer rain after a long drought, realization and memory washed over Kristen, whispering a single thought in its droplets. It wasn’t a dream.
But then how had they gotten here in Damien Pion’s house? Or was it Pion’s apartment? Did Pion even own the expensively adorned place? Of course he doesn’t, Kristen thought bitterly.
She suddenly recollected a powerful headache that had overwhelmed her and brought on top of her a cloak of darkness. But there had been something else, hadn’t there been; something that explained why the skin around her mouth was annoyingly irritated, surely?
Her hand reached up to the dry stuff she had feared to be semen. She brought her hair out of its natural placement on her head and into a tangle in front of her eyes. A part of her wished it had been the remnant of some drunken, sexual oversight now. Another part found that wish comical. Most of her, though, was terrified. It was blood in her hair.
The summer rains lashed harder, flooding her mind. Kristen’s eyes shot back to Makayla. She didn’t see her sitting in the chair; she saw her laying in the backseat of a beaten up old Mazda. She felt two surprisingly strong arms wrapped around her. She smelled the horrible, alcohol-like smell. She felt her lungs begging for her, her throat burning and her head popping. And the darkness…
A dark thing flashed in Kristen’s peripheral vision, causing her to snap her head around near the point of whiplash. What she saw launched her to her feet to stare at it.