Viking Girl Scribbles

They more or less kicked us out from the night club. I really can't remember how we met tonight., why you and I ended up together when there were all those other girls fighting over you. Or did I choose you? The whole night is a fuzzy strobe lit blur of too many people downing too many drinks. As they turned on the lights and the music off I was holding my best friend’s hand, when I had put my cardigan on I was holding yours. Your grin was a wonky drunken version of the flawless smile I’ve come to know. I prefer your grin to your smile. Where had you come from? I had no memory of us even looking at each other in the club. I had seen you during the night, but why were you the one here right now? My phone told me its battery was getting low, it was 2.30am a lukewarm night in July and I wasn’t ready to go home. My words had abandoned me, they drunkenly scrambled around my brain trying to find a way out, so I let you you my hand and offered you a wobbly smile. The ...

She is awakened by her own screaming. Black dreams slither down into her subconsciousness. Her mouth feels dry and her voice is cracked. "Light." Fluorescent light flickers to life. It takes a while for her eyes to get used to the brightness.  The walls, floor and ceiling are sterile and white, as are the sheets and the screen hiding the toilet and basin, both made of stainless steel. The sheets are damp from sweat and the nightgown is sticking to her legs. She lifts the covers and looks down at her body, realizing that the nightgown is sticking to her thighs because she’s bled a little. Weakly she gets up and makes her way towards the toilet. She sits down and pulls her nightgown off, throwing it in the corner.  With trembling hands she begins to wash away the blood, trying to avoid touching the stomach. One arm touches the soft mass, she shudders. She’s not yet become accustomed to not carrying someone. A hissing voice cuts through her thoughts. "Something......

I knew straight away what would happen, live long enough with a man that’s incapable of being faithful and you get to know his ‘type’. Blue eyed blondes were on the top of his list, and her being so young would make him want her even more. The eyes were the bluest of blue, the kind you don’t believe are real and when you do find out it’s their actual eye colour you just want to tear them out and wear them yourself. Looking into the mirror I often wonder why he chose me at all, mousy brown hair and forest green eyes, I’m nothing like the women he covets. Frail limbs and womb that’s killed every child he put in there, there is nothing about me that would explain why I’m his wife. But I am! The ring on my finger and the picture on the wall remind me of this and I have no intention of sharing him with anyone. No more. It ends right now. He lingers by the car, fiddling with his phone. Casts a few glances at her house before typing something. That smile. It was the smile that ...

The Ravens are the first thing you notice when approaching Birka. Enormous and black they circle the Spire, arriving and departing in something like an unfathomable and ancient ritual. The Hammer of Horfridalr glides towards home; she's an old ship, battered and scarred and has seen many battles. But now she’s on her way home for the last time, even the best of ships have an expiration date and hers has now come. The crew has been hard at work at bringing her to port sooner than planned, their last shore leave was cancelled because of new skirmishes at the border. Blasted heathens and their blasphemous attempts at spreading their religion of The One God! Hrimi Nundreson pulls his fur cloak from its hook on the wall of the cabin; a last look out the porthole shows Vorta blazing in the black behind the colossal space station and with a grumbled curse he slams the cabin door behind him. The sound of his steel tipped boots empties the hallway of anyone who should be elsewhere. ...

Yesterday was one of those days you wish you stayed in bed… I was 50 min late for work; car covered in snow, slow driving and a husband that had a conference call that lasted a bit longer than he thought. Barrelling into the classroom with my bags in tow and my knitted cap half way off I think I convinced the students that I am certifiably mad. I started giving instructions to what they were supposed to do, but had to stop talking because the zipper on my coat got stuck and I had to wriggle around like a worm dancing the mambo before I could get it open. Now, when my first lesson is over, I realize I have to go and fill the car up with gas and find an ATM because I owe some students money. I bought some fair trade things from them on Friday and promised to bring the money today; of course I forgot. But hey, who wouldn’t on a day like this? If I could I would hide in the teacher’s lounge, drinking tea, eating the chocolate I bought from the cafeteria and dive into the very good nov...

“You've gotta' dance like there's nobody watching, Love like you'll never be hurt. Sing like there's nobody listening, And live like it's heaven on earth.” This really sums up how I wish I could look upon life, every day. Sadly it’s really hard to be positive all day, every day. Well, maybe it would be really obnoxious, being super happy and positive ALL THE TIME. I find I do my best writing being somewhat depressed, okay okay, not depressed, misunderstood and moody might be better terms to use... but I’ll never really admit that. There’s something more romantic with the “tormented artist”. Who wants to be a grumpy writer?!

I’ve started writing my novel again; maybe it’s being back at school that’s given me all these ideas. What I have so far is almost half a book, it needs more detail and some fleshing out and maybe some more drama before I can say it’s finished. A friend has been reading what I have so far and has been asking me questions about why and who and where, making me see that some things weren’t as clear as I thought they were. She also pointed out that one of my characters does nothing for the story. He just tags along, saying hardly anything and I realized that I put him in only because I wanted the boys and girls to be an equal number. So now, when I’m rewriting and adding he’s been cut out. I killed him. Well, maybe not anything as drastic as that, but he’s gone from the story. This changed the story some (duh), and it’s now better. There’s more focus on my main character and those closest to her. After dragging myself to the gym today I now really feel the need to get started with...