I'm not sure I like just wantonly spilling out words, but hey, NaNo is all about quantity, not quality. I know I'll have plenty to edit when I go back over everything in December. Perhaps learning to write this way will help me start to write more, to not be so nervous about writing.
Normally I bleed onto the page; this feels almost like I'm drooling.
Excerpt:
We all drew numbers to see who got which room and it almost seemed like the house chose which one we got, because each room really seemed to fit each guy. Except Mikey. His room was terrifying to be in and I couldn’t exactly tell you why… it just had a bad vibe to it
-The Black Parade limited edition booklet, Section No. 002,
The Paramour Mansion, Los Angeles
“I don’t like this place.”
I paused in my steps, turning to my brother and eyeing him curiously.
He swallowed, a bit harder than was probably necessary. His eyes focused on the floor. His glasses were hanging low on his nose, much like how he used to wear them. I was suddenly struck with a vague sadness, almost nostalgia. Memories from our childhood surfacing in quick clips in my mind.
Mikey and me staying up well past midnight on Halloween, me telling him stories and trying to scare him, scaring myself almost as much as I did him. We’d huddle together under the blanket tent I’d make on my bed, jumping at every sound the house made, clinging to one another for life.
He almost looked like needed to cling to me then, standing there in that black hallway, like he hope that I would banish the demons away.
But just like when we were kids, I was just as nervous as he was.
I cleared my throat, the sound almost echoing through the house, or maybe that was just my imagination. I reached out and took his hand in my own, digging in my pocket for my lighter with the other. I drew it out and turned to him, flicking it to life between us.
He looked at me and I looked at him. I tried to smile, but nothing came. The flame from my lighter made Mikey’s skin look almost golden, his sharp features brought to stunning life, cheekbones more pronounced, eyes almost shining. He looked like something sculpted.
As Mikey breathed I realized I had been holding my breath, and let it out slowly, finally trusting my voice to speak, squeezing his hand to punctuate my words. “It’s just a house, Mikey, just a silly house with a bunch of stories tied to it. Don’t worry, I’m here, we’re all here. We’re all in this together, whatever happens.”
I tried to sound encouraging, but I don’t think I succeeded very well. Mikey just nodded at me, a quick inclining of his head, his hand dropping my own, face turning away, gazing down the hall.
“We should find our rooms, get some sleep.”
I worried my lip, but nodded, moving wordless down the hall once more. I kept my lighter out though, letting the small flame banish as many of the shadows away that it could.
We came to Mikey’s room first. His jaw set, fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of his pack, he moved to the door. Without another glance or a parting word he disappeared inside, closing the door with a soft click behind him.
I spent a good long time staring at his door that night. I tried to tell myself that everything was going to be fine, that this really was just like any other house, that making this record would be no different from making the last one, but I couldn’t shake this odd sick to my stomach feeling I got.
Before I headed down to my room I took a step closer to Mikey’s door, reaching out and resting my fingers on the cool brass doorknob. I tried to pretend that a shiver didn’t move down my arm, that my insides didn’t squirm from the feeling of the metal, and I more or less succeeded.
With a sigh I let my lighter die, the shadows moving in to cover me again. I closed my eyes, picturing Mikey in his bed, his hair spread out over his pillow, glasses resting on the nightstand. Maybe he was reading to help himself sleep, maybe he was just staring blackly up at the ceiling.
Somehow though I knew that he wasn’t even in bed yet. I could almost feel his hand on the other side of the door, fingers mirroring my own on the doorknob. I swallowed hard, my voice almost a sad whisper.
“Good night, Mikey. Love you, sleep well.”
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