Inspired By Toby

Shirt & Belt: thrifted from SIL; Skirt: H&M; Tights:???; Shoes: Payless; Necklace: Target...or Walmart..I don't remember.

{What I'm Wearing and Thinking}

After playing around with music and iMovie last night to publicly humiliate myself with my dumb toy on YouTube, I began to think a lot about one of my favorite movies. Betcha can't guess which one!! If you seriously can't, then you need to go watch "Labyrinth" pronto! Then you'll understand the title for today's post. I'm ready to be wished away to the goblin city! One of the little girl Fourthies kept asking me if my feet hurt today because my heels were so high. Seriously, it was at least once every thirty minutes followed by "My mommy says those kind of shoes hurt her feet, but then she wears them to go out, and then she takes them off because they hurt and she walks around with no shoes." The story and innocent concern over my feet was cute the first time...at seven o'clock in the morning. It got irritating somewhere around lunch, especially when the whole class gasped at the sight of me walking boldly across the field in my red stilettos. Is it really that amazing? They thought so. Why not? I am the Hero of Heels! And, no; my feet still do not hurt. :P

{What I'm Writing}

        Most girls have a favorite outfit. The infamous Little Black Dress. Those jeans that make her butt look perfect. Sweats and a tee shirt. I'm not all that different. I do have a favorite outfit, but it's more of an idea than a physical reality. It keeps shifting. I know that it's perfect as soon as I put it on, because the perfect outfit is the one that inspires me. No, I'm not an artist. I'm a murderer...er, murderess. A lot of pop culture would have you believe that this is a mental disease or disorder. I don't. Killing is just something I like to do. It releases a lot of negative energy and gets rid of at least one annoying and useless person. My favorite outfit is the one that ends up stained with their blood. I love the-- I'm stopping here. This is terrible writing. It's melodramatic and fluffy. I'll come back to this idea when I have more brain power. Until then, enjoy this quasi-summary of a dream I had a while back.

          It's the end of the world. As usual, the rich and powerful of the world have created a safe place for them to stay until the world calms down. A man and woman rush frantically through falling debris and panicked people. They've been given two seats by the man's father, a powerful, but corrupt, senator who can only see the error of his ways in the face of death.

          There is a horde of civilians at the gates to the miracle ship. The ship has many seats, like a massive Grey Hound bus, and after the rich and powerful are on board a lottery for the boarding tickets will begin. People are frantically fighting and the scene is getting ugly. 

          The lottery is finished, but there are still two empty seats left. People can see them and are screaming to get on board. Finally, the man and the woman crawl through the crowd, literally clawing and grabbing to make their way on, over, and through people. They make it to the front of the crowd, but the ticket taker is in a heated, and rather ridiculous, argument with a civilian. He's completely distracted and ignores the man and the woman waving tickets in front of his face. 

          The ship is about to leave. Frustrated, the man grabs the ticket taker's hand and thrusts the tickets into his palm as he and the woman jump the guard rails and sprint for their seats. The ticket taker and his surrounding civilians are in shock and can only gape in disbelief as the man and the woman run through the ship. 

          Before they reach their seats, the ship begins to move. The man and the woman must brace themselves on the seats of others to keep themselves from flying through the aisles. Finally, they reach their seats and strap in. They've made it just in time. The ship must travel through the center of the earth to escape the impending doom [I don't know why this is, it's just the feeling I got in the dream]. The ship nose dives and the man and woman can see the red hot flames outside of the ship as the exterior temperature rises. Passengers near the hull are in danger. The heat and pressure cause some bolts and glass to pop. Many are wounded and some are even killed. The ship was designed to withstand the intensity of the earth's core, but the reality is more than disappointing. The man and woman hold hands and prepare for the worst.

Sometimes I like to write fiction

A Possible Excerpt from a Story Possibly Called "Keeping Up Appearances: A Memoir of Style and Function"

{Reader discretion advised. "Why?" you ask?} 

He was perfect. He was everything I had ever wanted: blond hair, blue eyes, muscular build, much taller than me, an Ivy League graduate with a massive inheritance from a recently passed mommy and daddy. No family to speak of. Perfect for assimilating into my family, adding to my collection of darlings. I didn't even know his name. I didn't need to. It didn't matter what his name was. He was the perfect holiday gift, brought to me by my favorite lovely.
He looked so peaceful bundled up in the chair, his head rolled to one side. A lock of flaxen hair dangled lightly on his temple. We were going to have so much fun together.
I walked quietly up to him and breathed in his scent. He gently stirred and I smiled. He smelled good. He wore a musky cologne and there was a hint of cigar on him. He'd been at a local bookstore earlier, like he always was on Thursday nights. I'd been following him for weeks, tracking his FaceBook page, reading his blog on capitalism and free trade and other pretentious topics. Every Thursday he gathered at a local bookstore with some other college boys and they sat outside smoking cigars and talking literature and politics and, on occasion, video games and women.
I reached up to gently caress his cheek; his skin was so soft, his jaw, so strong. He jerked his head up and widened his eyes, the pupils constricting in panic. I smiled at him and he calmed for a moment. He looked around quickly and then realized that he was tied to the chair. I giggled as he tried to pull his wrists from their bindings. Yes, we would have a very good time indeed.
"Hey," he croaked, his voice hoarse from not being used in the past eight hours, "get me outta here!"
"In good time," I replied sweetly as I backed away to get a better look at him in his wakened state. I leaned against my work table and watched his eyes dart furiously around the room. I didn't know what he expected to see. My work room is very drab: concrete walls, a stainless steel wash basin, my work table; nothing too interesting. The lighting isn't very good either, just a large work light over my table, not even windows for good natural lighting. Not that I have much use for natural lighting, I prefer to work at night.
I turned my back to him and put my nails in my mouth as I mused over my tools.
"Hey!" the boy yelled at me, "Hey! I said let me outta here!" then he started to shake the chair. The sound was annoying. I bit down on my nails and started to chew. Which tool, which tool? I thought to myself, chewing away at my nails as the boy clattered away with the chair and continued his hollering. Oh, no, I thought, this noise will simply not do. I ripped the edge of a nail off one finger and picked up my trusty Blue Monarch.
"Hey," the boy said, but this time not yelling (thank god! He was getting annoying!), "What's that?"
I turned around and presented my blue handled butterfly knife like I was Vanna White. For a minute, it seemed like he had calmed down. But then he went back to hollering and clattering that damn chair.
"No, no!" he screamed. His screams were annoying, not smooth and intelligent like his regular speaking voice. In three quick steps I was in front of him and slashed at those obnoxious vocal chords. I'm good at what I do; his voice was done after that and replaced with the velvety sound of gurgling blood. I sighed and smiled as I looked down at him and listened to that comforting sound.
A soft light was cast on us both and I heard footsteps on the stairs. The boy was convulsing and his eyes were wide. I smiled at him and toyed with my Blue Monarch in my right hand, running the tip of my index finger along its handle.
"Kyrie," a familiar voice spoke, "what have you done?" It was my boss, Jonathon. He was looking from my knife holding hand and then to my face.
"Hm?" I said dreamily as I looked up at him.
"Have you been biting your nails again?" he asked as he walked over to take a closer look at my hand. I blanched in shame.
"Nice work though," he smiled, "I knew you'd find something sophisticated to do with him."
I smiled. That's why Jonathan's my favorite lovely.

-Unfortunately, I'm too lazy to proof read, so let me know if there are any glaring errors or anything that generally annoys you about this piece. I may or may not expand on this idea. I haven't decided if I like it yet.