My writing

Hello! I will share a bit of one of my past creations to give you an idea of how/what I can write. I do not limit myself to a certain number of lines; I write more if the story is captivating.

The stars in the sky were nonexistent, hidden by the heavy fog that had rolled in just a scant few minutes earlier. It swirls and swoops to an unseen tune, swallowing the old, deprecit stone buildings and the street they border until the everyday familiar sights of Arkham lay mysterious, hiding, looming in the darkness. It brings a chill, and Noel shudders, huddling inside his heavy black cloak.

It does not help. Surrounded by broken glass of his own making, some rope swaying uselessly in the wind from the rafters, Noel observes, and he remembers. He is Noel Lansport, the child of a fisherman.

He is Noel because that is the only one he knows how to be, with a mad father and a mother long since estranged. She left, and she never looked back. He used to wonder who he would be if she had taken him with her. Would he still be Noel?

No.

He is Noel because he slipped long ago; nothing would change that. He can't quite remember when- but at one point in time, his eyes had been just like those seen by other people from the mainland, their minds not yet touched by the things better not mentioned.

He is Noel, all sharp edges and jagged, dishonest smile. He sees the shadows within the mist and can hear them moving, shuffling, their unnatural forms not remotely human. A sudden scream cuts through the silence like a knife through flesh, and Noel watches. Dark eyes surrounded by darker lashes observe the way the shape of a woman breaks through the heavy mist, her face pale and struck with terror.

From his perch high above he has a perfect view of the moment something shoots out from an alley and grabs a hold of her, lifting her up and dragging her out from view with unnatural strength. Her screams rise in pitch, her arms flailing and scrabbling for purchase. It is useless. She arrived a week ago and had frequented the pub with a tall man. Her boyfriend, Noel believes. He disappeared last night, and the ridiculous woman had caused quite a racket trying to find him.

What is taken very rarely gets returned.

A sudden hush descends as her screams abruptly stop, and the night is still once again. Dispassionate eyes turn away, and Noel, cold-hearted and callous, grabs for another beer.

Just another night in Arkham. What is real and what is not? You never really know.

He exhales, and a cloud of mist forms. It is cold.

Noel is, too.