Exercise #3 (HOC)

[Monday]

OK, so here's the deal. Lately, with Heart of Chaos, I've been trying a different method of writing. Actually, I got the idea from Stephenie Meyer. When she wrote Twilight, she started from chapter 13, wrote out the rest of the book, and then went back and filled in the beginning. Well one night, I decided that I wanted to write a particular scene of HOC, so I did. That kind of exploded into three scenes, each completely separate parts of the story, that I have saved on Microsoft Word. But lately, I'm afraid my computer is knocking on death's door... I had originally just intended to e-mail all of the parts to myself, but as I keep adding more to them on Microsoft Word, it seems pointless to re-send them to myself. So I decided it would best to just keep up with them on the Message Board! lol
So, if you want to read them, you're welcome too, but that's not really what they're intended for. It's more like a safe place to keep my stories. lol. Besides, I'm fairly sure you wouldn't understand the context, even if you did read it.

[Monday]

“Do you know what I miss the most?” We had been walking in silence for a while now, and my mind had been wandering. Even though the question was kind of random, I knew that he knew what I was talking about. I didn’t ask who I missed the most because that one was obvious for both of us. The pain of loosing my family still twisted my heart in strange, unfamiliar ways at times.
Annabel was fast asleep in my arms and, as usual, I found her warm body soothing, never a burden. All this traveling, especially at night, had just worn her out. Even though he’d never admit it, I knew John loved the kid just as much as I did. That, more then anything, made his presence tolerable.
These two people were my family now, no matter how dysfunctional we all might be.
I looked over at him, just able to make out his half amused, half irritated smile in the pale moonlight. It was the expression that he normally reserved for me (not that we ran into very many people) and, somehow I found it oddly comforting instead of the irritated way I used to regard it. Weird.
“What?” he asked. And for once, I could detect some real curiosity behind the word. Even weirder.
“Music,” I sighed.
Now, his expression was even more amused. “Hmmm…” he said.
“What?” I asked scowling at him, “Did you expect me to say America’s Next Top Model or something like that.”
He laughed, and I knew I had guessed right, “Yah, something like that.”
We continued to walk quietly beside each other (though I might have shouted a few expletives at him in my head) before he said anything else. Before he even opened his mouth to speak, I had decided to ignore his question. I truly was offended that he had thought so little of me, though I knew I shouldn’t be surprised he thought of me that way.
But what he ended up saying caught me off-guard, making my reaction slightly more understandable.
“What was the last song you listened to?” He spoke in a subdued tone as if he was acknowledging the great sacrifice it was to no longer have music in our lives. That sacrifice applied to a lot of things. “Before.”
I let the impact sink in before I could answer. I had to reign in my emotions, as the idea of that last song brought with it some of my final memories with my brother and mother. Tears pricked the edges of my eyes, tears that I refused to let spill over and give me away; as soon as I felt I was in control enough to answer, I told him.
“Moonlight Sonata”, I whispered. Despite myself, my voice still sounded strained. I knew he would act shocked at the idea of someone like me listening to classical music, especially Beethoven. But he surprised me once again.
“That’s a little sad,” he replied, casually, “don’t you think?” There was no tone of mocking in his voice as he asked me this.
Though my emotions were still frayed from bringing about this difficult subject, I was too stunned to think to end it. “Maybe,” I consented, “but there’s something completely endearing about it at the same time, like pushing for survival, even against the worst of odds.” As I thought of the song, I was reminded of the last resounding note of the piece. As if the fates were yet undecided. Life or death, it was what you made of it.
“Does it remind you of them?” He had been watching me closer then I had thought.
I was suddenly thankful that he hadn’t spoken their names out loud, as I tried to fight off the pain that threatened to swallow me whole. “Yes,” was all I could manage.
“I miss them too,” he said mournfully.
He wasn’t lying. The pain was etched in his face as clear as daylight. My brother and he had been so close that my mom and dad had been almost like a second family to him. Still, it was hard to think of anyone’s grief right now but my own.
“Please,” I begged, “I can’t.”
He nodded once, releasing me from my loosely held restraint. Almost. I wanted to curl up in a ball right were we stood and cry myself out for a good long hour. But my life was too important for that. Succumbing to grief, giving up, was not an option. Where so many had failed, I would not. John’s strength of character and body was one of many things that kept me tied to this idea. Time and time again (though I hated to admit it), he had proved how much we depended on him for survival, or in the very least, he made it a bit easier on us.
But more than anything else, the angel sleeping in my arms kept me from going to peaces. If I wouldn’t live for myself, and I couldn’t live for my only ally, this little girl would force me to endure.
I held Annabel tighter as tears trickled silently down my cheeks. My feet, however, continued to trudge down the seemingly endless dirt road…