The writing situations just keep getting weirder, I wrote this in little one minute segment son my iphone while working at the Twins baseball game today. My protagonists name doesn’t even stay the same. But writing is writing and practice is practice so I’m feeling proud. Not really proud of this individual rough draft but of the whole daily writing thing.
Don’t read this. I assure you there are plot holes and info dumps haha.
Days and weeks passed, after all the food had ran out he had no choice but to leave. All the mirrors were removed and the blinds were shut tight. He pulled on the long black trench coat, poured himself a drink and sat near the door, waiting. When the neighbors had gone to bed and the streets had cleared, Aravil hunched down through the front door and left the suburban home he called home for months. He walked quickly south towards downtown. He stopped at the corner and turned back towards the empty house, they will know. Tomorrow they will know that he’s here and warnings will go out, janitorial squads would be dispatched. He didn’t like to think abotu what would happen next. They would no doubt find him and he would have to respond, he couldn’t be taken custody. His ritual was almost complete. In a few days he won’t have to hide anywhere.
The nearest 7-11 lit up the corner of 5th and Colorado, the door was propped open with an old cinder block. He walked in and squinted at the artificial light. Life wasn’t any fun without the darkness, everything looks 2d without shadows. He shuffled to the back and grabbed a handful of beef jerky and some of his old favorite candies. He didn’t have a favorite anymore his work was all consuming. He set food on the counter, the acne covered teen didn’t look up from his phone. Avaril looked around uncomfortably and shifted from foot to foot. The boy finished his message and glanced up at the old man before him. Avaril’s cheeks and eyes were sunken deep into his skull, his remaining hair was stark white and sparse to say the least. Only two months ago he had been 27, technically he is still 27 but his body is no longer his. He bought his food with crumpled dollars and shaky low blood sugar hands. He turned to the boy and wondered if he should kill him so nobody knows. If he wasn’t so damn hungry he would have. He shuffled out and headed towards the woods outside of town. A narrow bike path cut down from the highway into the brush and bramble underneath I-70. He found a relatively sheltered spot and devoured his food. After eating he sat cross legged in the grass and drew the arcane symbols of his god. ‘Meticika, former ruler of the darkness, I call to out on this night. As your servant on this plane of mortality I assure you the time for manifestation is now.’ He closed his eyes and began to focus on his breathing, in and out, in and out. It took no time to slip into the meditative state he had been living in. Except this time was different, he felt a tingling sensation under his skin like internal goosebumps. The air around him grew cold, he knew this was it. After years of research he was bringing salvation to humanity. He laughed out loud as the tingling in his body grew unbearable. He writhed in pain on the forest floor leaving an epileptic snow angel in the leaves and detritus. Before Avaril died that night, a monster from another realm bent low and kissed him on the forehead drawing the ret of his life force out. Meticika the newly reinstated lord of darkness cracked his knuckles and strode toward the city with a sly grin.