Installment #38 of the on-going online ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE horror novel
CHAPTER 19 (part 1)
The sun warmed my feet as they poked out the end of the blanket. I pulled them back in and curled my legs back against Dexter still snuggled up under the covers. He left out a deep breath and grumble…
Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts
Monday, April 23, 2012
Harnessing the Spark - #38 (Chapter 19)
Link: Harnessing the Spark - #38 (Chapter 19)
Harnessing the Spark - #37 (Chapter 18)
Link: Harnessing the Spark - #37 (Chapter 18)
Installment #37 of the on-going online ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE horror novel
CHAPTER 18
“Elphie, wake up… c’mon Elphie.”
I opened my eyes but couldn’t focus on the face in the dark. I attempted speech but my vocal chords seemed miles away as did the rest of my faculties.
“For fuck’s sake, sis. I…
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Harnessing the Spark - #36 (Chapter 18)
Link: Harnessing the Spark - #36 (Chapter 18)
Harnessing the Spark - #36 (Chapter 18)Installment #36 of the on-going online ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE horror novel
CHAPTER 18 (part 1)
Alex was waiting impatiently just inside the cabin’s screen door when our ATV’s pulled back up out front. She opened the door but was knocked out of the way by an escaping Dexter, hellbent on being the first to welcome us back. Nick turned off the four-wheeler and whispered over his shoulder, “You ok, sis?”
I sat up, my cheek numb where it had been resting on the seam of his shirt. “I’m fine. I just need to lie down I think.” I took a moment to gather myself and started to swing my leg up and around the fender before the dizziness snatched me up.
“Hold still, Elphie! Let me help you.” Dave jogged the last few steps and grabbed my forearm, likely keeping me from face-planting into the gravel.
“What happened?” Alex asked frantically. “Who’s hurt?”
“Elphie hit her head. She’s fine though.” Nick took my other arm and helped Dave get me up to the cabin. “Can you get the door?” he asked Alex as she just stood and stared at me through pain filled eyes.
“She did that ‘I’m fast as fuck’ thing again too. It was even worse this time though.” Jo walked up the stairs behind me, dusting her hands off on the front of her jeans. “She even threw up just like before.”
“Elphie?” Alex asked. “What’s going on with you girl?” She brushed the flyaway bangs out of my eyes as the boys let me slump into the padded chair by the front desk. Alex leaned onto the armrest and continued to pet my red hair. “Someone tell me exactly what happened.”
Dave began. “Everything went fine until one of the things saw Elphie out an emergency exit and crashed through to get to her. We couldn’t see it from the front or back entrance because it was obscured by a book case. By the time we got to her, she was wrestling with a few. When she fell…”
“I hit my head,” I interrupted. “That’s all. I bumped my head on a big fucking rock OUCH!” I touched the back of my head and winced. “Dave and Nick finished the zombies off before I was bit.”
“Where the fuck were you while all of this was going on?” Alex turned on Jo.
“Hold your horses sister. I was on the roof, firing through the skylight.” Jo reached across the counter for a green apple sitting atop a wooden fruit bowl. She looked it over, rubbed it on her shirt and took a loud bite. “Where’s my brother by the way?” she asked through a mouthful of apple.
“He’s curled up on a cot in the other room.” Alex smiled at me, then turned back to face Jo. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.”
“It’s fine. I understand. You don’t know me and you sure as hell don’t trust me.” Jo crunched the apple yet again. Her stoney face gave away no emotion which was borderline creepy.
I closed my eyes and tried not to focus on the spinning sensation overwhelming me from the core. I turned sideways in the chair and planted my foot on the wall which helped. I felt Alex hug me tight as she slipped into the chair beside me before I drifted off to sleep.
next installment coming soon…
If you’ve missed any earlier parts, they’re available here
did you know?
an excerpt from "Lost in Infinity"
I haven’t posted an except in a while so here goes…
“Hurry up and finish your Cheerios, Mr. Wick is going to be ready soon.” My mother flitted about the kitchen like a moth fighting for purchase on a porch light. “You still need to brush your teeth!”
Today was my first day of Bible Camp. My mother’s church was offering the service for two weeks, in the heat of July, without air conditioning. Most governments would have considered this cruel and unusual punishment. I hopped down from the table and proceeded to get ready. My mother had laid out my clothes last night flat on my bedroom floor. She apparently wanted me to appear as though someone responsible had dressed me. Button up shirt and khaki pants. Did she not realize that I’d be melting by mid morning? I looked at the silk-screened Yoda t-shirt and striped shorts sitting on my chair with longing and dismay. Reluctantly, I chose my battle wisely and buttoned up the plaid dress shirt with a sigh.
I’d never attended church before that day. My mother went regularly, but I had always been permitted to stay home with my father instead. The last few weeks I’d been asking questions that my mother could not answer. Questions like, “How can there be a God and your religion be right if there are lots of religions? Is everyone else wrong?” and “How do you know there is a heaven? Just because someone tells you to jump off of a bridge, you don’t have to do it.” She wasn’t very happy with me. My father had found it funny. She did not. After a few weeks of badgering her without remorse, she took up the quandary with her pastor. He was the one who had suggested she spring for enrollment in the Bible Camp. He assured her that all of my questions could be answered by studying the good word of the Holy Bible.
Before this day I had been fascinated with Chaos Theory. I was convinced that each and every action undertaken by each and every person had repercussions felt across the span of human kind. A boy in Guatemala eats a corn taco and a bird in Phoenix flies directly into a window. There must be a greater connection between all living things than just the random collision of molecules resulting in an acceptable collage of life. Like ripples in a lake, each initial change in condition affects every wave that the initial wave touches, changing each wave each changed wave touches, and so on and so on. Chaotic systems cannot be determined or predicted but they can be manipulated. Making changes in your life that you would normally not make can change everything for everyone.
I began to make changes to my behavior on purpose just to change the course of human kind. I began second guessing every action for fear of how it would affect the rest of the world. From this obsession I began to concern myself with faith and religion. My mother’s beliefs contradicted the mathematical validity of quantum chaos. Faith in a greater good allowed her to believe that everything happened for a reason. By this measure, when I decided to throw away my peanut butter sandwich, even though I was still hungry, the decision was not my own. That decision was either already made as a part of my destiny or the outcome of such decision did not affect the greater good so it was rendered moot. My decision did not affect the rest of mankind, only my own hunger two hours later.
There were too many factors in life. Too many beliefs and structures of thought for any one person to be more correct than the next. More and more I realized that all religious beliefs were nothing more than an answer to whatever question plagued people. They became for most a crutch. I was expected to accept one and move on. The questions I had been asking would all be answered as soon as I accepted a larger notion and allowed it to trickle down as truth. I ask a lot of questions. It’s in my nature. Accepting something without proof is not.
A few hours later, I found myself in the basement of the church, huddled around a long table with a dozen other five to eight year olds. The ceiling was incredibly low in the basement room. I noticed that the teacher’s hair was charged with static and magnetically clinging to the low tiles as she walked up and down the length of our table, passing out stickers as we colored our pages with pictures of our family and the church.
“And who is in that picture with you?” she asked as she passed behind me. She was already moving on to the next student when I answered.
“That’s me with Jesus and Buddha.” She paused, hearing what I said, but not hearing at the same time. The day came to an end and I headed through the parking lot toward my mother’s LTD Station Wagon with a piece of paper clutched in my hand.
“What is that? Did you have fun?” my mother asked as I approached the car with my six-year-old neighbor in tow.
“This is my homework. I need help looking up all of these passages in the Bible when we get home.” I wasn’t happy about the homework.
“Did you get lots of homework too, Joshua?” my mother asked my neighbor as we got into the car.
“Nope, just Travis. He made Miss Embry mad. She said he asks too many questions.” Joshua was a little tattle telling pain in my ass.
“I did not. She just wasn’t smart enough to answer the few questions I did ask.”
“What kinds of questions did you ask?” My mother already sounded defensive.
“Normal stuff, like why are Christian’s right and Muslim’s wrong? Why do Adam and Eve have belly buttons in our coloring book if God created them? THEN, she was very upset that I colored Jesus brown. I don’t even want to talk about that.” My mother just looked at me in the rear view mirror, visibly distraught at my first day experience.
That night we spent what felt like a lifetime looking up each verse in the Bible suggested by Miss Embry. My mother attempted to explain what each one meant to me but it was painfully obvious that she was half confused herself. Eventually we both opted for a break and a “do you understand?” followed by, “Sure” and a sigh. Homework complete.
The next day, I presented my paper, signed by my mother, to Miss Embry. “Were you and your mom able to shed some light on those blasphemous questions?” she asked.
“Nope. There are no answers in this book.” I took my seat after I handed her the paper I’d filled out explaining what I’d read in each suggested verse.
She took the paper, looked it over briefly and chose to carry on class rather than address my continued quizzical comments. Instead of engaging me in a heated debate over every question I brought to the table, Miss Embry chose to ignore my raised hand. I held it higher. She continued to ignore. I added “Miss Embry! Miss Embry! Miss Embry!” to each raised hand. She continued to ignore.
The day concluded so far out of her control that she left twenty minutes before the end of class. The study was resumed by my mother’s pastor, who spent the final moments discussing with us the importance of good manners and knowing our place with Miss Embry. As parents arrived to pick up their little ones, I was held back. “I need to speak with your mother.” I was then sent out to the car to retrieve my mom. This couldn’t be good. Joshua and I, as per yesterday, jumped into the back of the car, except this time, to wait for my mother’s return.
Twenty minutes passed before my mom silently slid back into the front seat. We drove straight home, bypassing the Dairy Barn where lunch had been promised. Joshua and I protested, but my mother continued her homeward course unabashed by our whining.
When my mother and I walked into the house, I was asked to take a seat at the kitchen table. After a few minutes, my mother came in and the interrogation began.
“Are you trying to embarrass me?” she asked in a voice laden with accusation.
“No. What did I do?” I was dumbfounded.
“I was asked not to bring you back tomorrow.” She sat down across from me at the booth my family used as a kitchen table. I must have smiled because her voice climbed an octave in disgust, “That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”
I stopped. I knew when it was best to just keep my mouth shut. No matter how I answered at this point, my mother was determined to make this my fault. There was no point in arguing. I may as well let her punch herself out.
“Answer me,” she continued. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I just hope you realize how this makes me look. I went to the pastor seeking help and you made me out to be the fool.”
Still I sat silent. “Just look innocent,” I thought to myself.
“Nothing? You have nothing to say?” She tapped her foot for a heartbeat. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Do you know what the pastor told me? He said that you were going out of your way to upset Miss Embry by asking her blasphemous questions and ridiculing her as being naïve and unintelligent because she was unable… nay, UNWILLING to give you an answer that you couldn’t argue about. I know you’re skeptical, Travis, and smart… but this was about good manners and being polite. One day you’ll learn when being right is not as important as being kind.” She huffed and walked out of the kitchen leaving me sitting alone at the tiny laminated table contemplating what I’d done.
I never returned to Bible Camp. I never returned to the church in any capacity in fact. Not until my uncle was married years later, did I even break the threshold of a building of worship. My mother has always blamed it on my need to ask questions rather than have faith. I’d like to blame it on Miss Embry for being a self-righteous jackass unwilling to mix it up with a kindergartener.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
I GAB THEREFORE I AM: LOST IN INFINITY Review
Link: I GAB THEREFORE I AM: LOST IN INFINITY Review
A book review by Gabby
When I purchased this book, I confess I did it more to support a fellow tumblr than for any other reason. Skimming the premise I deduced that this was not in my normal “comfort zone” of genres. But, I am passionate about supporting the people I follow, so I pulled up Amazon and ordered a physical copy of the book. I wanted the author to be rewarded monetarily for his efforts.
The book came UPS yesterday, and while I was excited, it was more that initial phase for me. New book. Uncreased seam. The smell of the paper. I started it at lunch and found it interesting. Very well written. But I was distracted by life and after reading a chapter or four I set it aside.
Last night my internet connection flaked out and I was bored. Picked up the book. And I was lost. This is the kind of book that, if i was 12 years old again, I would hide under the covers and read with a flashlight so my parents wouldn’t see the light under my door and realize I was up past my bedtime. As it is I read until I was reading with one eye open, fighting against the urge to sleep. and even when I put the book down, my mind wouldn’t stop wondering what would happen next to the character. I woke up early and should have gone back to sleep, but found my desire to find out what happens was stronger than my desire for rest. I could not put it down until I finished it. Racing along to the OMG conclusion…
This to me signifies an excellent book. When I disappear into it’s pages completely. I cease to be, and with each page turned I move closer to the conclusion. I found myself laughing out loud at his comments to his bible school teacher, and conversely torn with sympathy for his endless search for the oblivion of sleep. Upon reaching the conclusion I was stunned, speechless, and quite frankly in awe. It all made sense. Literally a holy shit moment. I can honestly say it was one of the best reads I have ever had.
I hope the author continues to write. I know if he does I will be one of those preordering his next work. I will wait for it to arrive like a child waiting for a long awaited sequel to a beloved video game. And I will hide under the covers with my flashlight so that no one will disturb me until I reach it’s conclusion.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Is anyone reading "Lost in Infinity"?
Link: Is anyone reading "Lost in Infinity"?
ALSO, if you don’t have a copy and want one, it’s going to be FREE for Kindle starting tomorrow, through Friday. If you don’t have a kindle you can download the free app for your iPad, iPhone, iPod or most smart phones.
If you do read it, review it on amazon. PLEASE. Then let people borrow it. Give it away. Donate it to the library. Anything. Spread the word.
on Amazon: http://amzn.to/lost-in-infinity
at Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/LostBarnesNoble
in the UK: http://amzn.to/LostUK
— REBLOG AT WILL —
Monday, March 5, 2012
Savage Imaginations Interview 9/2011
Link: Savage Imaginations Interview 9/2011
—Travis
Have you ever sat around at a bar with your friends laughing about things like The Dirty Sanchez, The Cleveland Steamer or The Donkey Punch and thought, “Man, I’d love to have a drink with the dirty bastard who thought up all this shit!” Well, Travis is actually that guy.
The beautiful chaos of Travis’ mind transfers to page almost effortlessly, as in Harnessing The Spark, he takes us into a world on the brink of the zombie apocalypse. After being only eight chapters into the story, I’m still having nightmares about being trapped in my garage while zombie’s ransack my house. Travis is able to take subject matter from the far-reaches of the imagination and make it feel real in a way that most writers only think they can.
Even his short works are gripping. You can’t read Taking a Shot and not only identify with the characters, but also feel as though you are one of them. While Travis can make even the furthest fantasy of zombies seem real, when he writes about reality it seems to become hyper-reality; it’s like you’ve been in that situation before, you know these people, you know what they’re feeling before they even feel it and you feel it just as strongly as they do.
Travis is more than just a writer; he’s more than someone who crafts words into a self-contained story. He crafts entire realities and seamlessly superimposes them onto our pre-existing one. Whether they be love stories or apocalyptic war stories, if you read them closely enough, with an open imagination, you too, will be questioning which reality is real.
QI: Inquiring minds want to know who you are—what makes you tick, what grinds you gears, and what inspires you.
Whoa, that’s a question and a half… I’ll do my best. I’m a 35 year old Industrial Designer who grew up too fast and was forced to make adult decisions at an early age. I had no childhood.
I started attending High School when I was 9, able to graduate when I was 14 and started college at 15. I got married at 20. Graduated from college at 21 and have been working for the same company ever since. It’s all very boring really.
I’ve always been heavily involved in art, whether it be music, painting, performance or writing. It’s what fuels me. I also believe that being an Apeirophobic has influenced my creativity more than any single factor. It’s my own internal muse.
QII: Continuing along that train of thought, are many of your writings based on reality? Do you imbue your pieces with memories and parts of yourself; are they entirely fiction, or a hybrid?
Depending upon the piece, most of my fiction is based on my own experiences. Using truth and my own history puts honesty into the work. Sometimes, the inspiration is real, but the plot is too far out there to have any solid footing in reality. Other times, what feels like fiction is closer to the truth than I’d care to admit.
QIII: You’ve submitted several pieces to Tumblr Fiction, how long have you been writing for and do you see yourself having a career in the writing field, or do you simply do it for pleasure or therapeutic reasons?
I’ve been writing since I was a child. Playing a story out in my head has always kept me busy. My brain works constantly. It never stops. I must keep it occupied. When I’m alone or trying to shut down from the world around me, I tend to build a perfect world in my mind.
As a child, battling insomnia, I’d spend hours in a dark room, living out a fantasy of being trapped in a quarantined town. I could go anywhere and do anything I wanted. I could go to the mall and play with any toy I wanted. As I got older, I’d borrow cars. Eventually girls miraculously appeared in my quarantined town… we won’t elaborate on that though.
Point being, spending hours every day in a dream world, I decided it would be nice to start recording the stories. Reading them back to myself turned them into films in my head… At that early age, I preferred to read a story the way I wanted it to unfold instead of someone else’s fantasy. This led me to creative writing.
I’ve never intended to make a living from writing. I still enjoy it, but my motivation is to purge my brain. Getting it out of my head and onto paper is a release. I’d compare it to ripping off a band-aid and letting the wound breathe.
QIV: Are you surrounded by other creative beings? Do any of them in particular fuel your writing?
I am always surrounded by creative beings, it’s part of my job. I’m the Director of Design for a consortium. My hands are in all sorts of products and services. Everything from architecture to advertising to medical equipment. Part of the responsibilities includes dealing with artists and designers fluent in all avenues of commercial creativity.
Artists, by nature, are the most interesting souls a person can interact with. They’ll drag you to rock bottom or sit you on a pedestal. They never disappoint when you’re looking for inspiration (good or bad). I think it’d be best to direct you to a post
I wrote about working with artists…
QV: What other avenues of creativity do you embark upon?
Other avenues? Being an Industrial Designer, my hands are in everything. Architecture, product design, copy-writing, graphic design, photography, digital design, web design, etc etc. Figure in GetOffended.com and everything that goes with it, and you can say I lead a fairly busy work life.
Spending 12 - 15 hours a day wrapped in art, I tend to find solace in writing, twitter, tumblr, playing piano, and watching movies. Being a chronic insomniac, I’m awake 20 - 22 hours every day. You have to find many different things to keep yourself occupied and busy. Relaxing leads to thinking. Thinking leads to worrying. Worrying leads to less sleep. Keeping busy actually keeps me sane.
QVI: What are your greatest challenges in writing? Do you struggle with certain aspects of transferring an idea from your mind to the page?
Greatest challenges… If I’m being honest it’s finding the time to write. My life is pretty full at this point. Working 15 hour work days, coaching soccer 9 months out of the year, I barely have the time to devote to personal ventures. I’ve actually taken the route of audio dictation on my 3 hour total daily commute, then emailing it to myself to clean up and post in the evening. I’ve considered quite seriously, taking a week or two, heading to our condo and just shutting myself off from the world to finish a few things. That would be perfect, but alas, the best laid plans and all.
My biggest struggle transferring certain ideas from my mind to the page comes from being most interested and creative when I’m most vulnerable to my fears and insomnia. This in turn, leads to long rambling diatribes that repeat over and over. There’s usually a good idea in there somewhere, but I have to allow my coherent brain to decipher and clean up at a later date. Often there’s too much pointless blather to sift through and I delete it all, like flushing a dying fish. Sometimes, I say fuck it, and post it no matter what. Then end up pulling the trigger on it down the road, after I find my way to a recharge sleep and spend the next 24 hours cleaning up my own messes.
QVII: When your kids grow up, would you let them buy and wear a “Welcome to America, Now Speak the Damn Language” t-shirt, which you’ve said you’d burn the entire stock of, if given the chance?
This is an awesome question. I have two boys, 6 and 10. I’m not going to go into how they’re smart and all that, every parent thinks they have the smartest kids in the world. I can confirm that my kids live a life oblivious to my exploits. When the time comes when they’re making their own decisions more so than they are now, I, as a parent can only hope that I guided them well enough to make the correct and appropriate decisions.
I’d never wear one of those shirts. I’d never wear half our shirts. I’ll admit there’s a few that I do wear that I probably shouldn’t but that’s another story. Would I let them buy the shirt and wear it? Yes, I would. Would I be happy about it? No, I would not. I see parenting as caring and dictating at an early age. Then moving to protecting and guiding at a middle age. Finally supporting and appreciating as they reach adulthood. So far this strategy has worked out. If it does, I shouldn’t have to worry about what they buy and wear. I’ll just be glad they’re doing what they want and not what I told them to do.
QVIII: Anything else you’d like to add?
The only thing I’d like to add is that I’m by no means a writer. I’m only someone who uses it as a way to change my brain’s oil. It’s like spring cleaning for my psyche. Being an Apeirophobic means that my brain never slows. If it slows I dwell on the fear and can’t function properly at all. Keeping myself occupied with writing is a great personal escape from the things that plague me. It’s my own private Idaho. It may all be shit, that’s kind of beside the point. For me, it’s therapy. It’s a means to tomorrow by working through today.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Maiden Embrace
He shuffles his feet side to side and watches the hoards pass him by with their own agendas driving them forth like cattle crossing a stream. Each face that passes bears its own emotional story. He looks at all of them and none of them as his mind wonders, floating up and mingling through the hanging florescent fixtures. He fumbles in his pocket again for the cell phone that runs his life, shifting weight to extract it from his khakis. He drops his backpack to the ground beside his leg and brings the screen to life.
He lets out a breath. The time has changed. The moment grows nearer but not near enough.
Back into his pocket he shoves the phone with a huff. He’s not angry, he realizes that. He knows it’s just nerves. The moment approaches and he waits. The hustle and bustle of the flowing travelers picks up and dies off as if there were invisible traffic lights at the top of the escalators. He pulls the phone free for the hundredth time and checks it for messages.
Nothing.
He readjusts his luggage and gathers his belongings as he looks around for a place to sit. Movement and relocation takes his mind off of the coming events but only for a brief second. Down against the wall, he feels the breaks in the tile against his spine. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. His hand, holding the green plastic bottle he’d picked up on his layover starts to twitch. The taste of cotton balls and cobwebs gets washed away before he screws the lid back on and straightens his legs. A new herd of travelers hurries down the escalator each pushing through the next with someplace they’d rather be.
He recalls the break in monotony when he moved to the wall and decides to change the lull once again, this time venturing back to where he began so he can have an unobstructed view of her arrival. A new rush of people halts his migration so he scopes his present locale and takes up shop. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
“What time is it now?” he asks himself aloud as he goes fishing for electronics once again. Before he can awaken the screen he catches a glimpse of her hair as she walks by. His heart starts to pound so loud she must be able to hear it. He takes a step then remembers his luggage in a moment of clarity brought on by the fear of being without clean clothes for the next few days. He turns on his heel and collects the Samsonite montage as the sweat beads on his forehead. His hands start to shake under the weight of the carry-on or so he rationalizes against the butterflies building in his gut. The only thing audible is the rush of blood through his ears as the sea of blank faces rages and crashes all around him. The whole of the world slows, but he, unobstructed, presses forward toward her flowered dress.
Three steps separate them as she turns to read the sign behind him. Their eyes meet. He quickly looks past her at the sign overhead showing departure and arrival updates. The three steps become tow, then one then quickly three again as they pass each other. He exhales and steadies himself, taking a glance over his shoulder at the girl he nearly grabbed. She was not his.
The embarrassment avoided calms his nerves. He gathers his worldly possessions again with ease and starts on the familiar path back to his perch at the end of the escalators. One more check on his iPhone followed by another five clicks of the analog clock hanging overhead and his pocket starts to vibrate. He pulls out the cell and fumbles with the touch screen.
“I’m here,” it reads.
As he shoves the phone back into his pocket with his right hand he looks up to scan the approaching crowd with renewed purpose.
Through the mass of weary travelers she shines, desaturating the rest as if she were stuck in film noir. Her smile radiates below her massive sunglasses. The flash of teeth in her bright smile seems to scream out against the soft pattern on her summer dress. Time slows as he takes in her brilliance flowing down the stairs inch by inch. He wants to remember this moment so he can relive it when he closes his eyes and beckons the dreams to bring them together again. He sits the luggage down and plants his feet, willing them to hold so that she can come to him, out away from the crowd.
She reaches the floor and pauses, looking left then right. His smile draws her attention to his gaze only to be dwarfed by hers in comparison. She changes directions and walks quickly toward his trembling figure. He watches her fight each and every step, trying to maintain her form and refrain from breaking into a run. Breathe in, breathe out.
Their worlds collide as he takes her hand and she reaches for his arm. The sound of the crowd surging by falls away as they wrap each other in their maiden embrace. He can feel her heart pounding through her chest as he presses her close. Not a word is spoken as they relish the moment and control their excitement to socially accepted levels. His hand leaves the small of her back and gently moves her hair from her ear. Their eyes lock, her lips part and in that one caress he gives her a piece of his heart.
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