So for the longest time today I didn’t really write much of anything. I read through half of the critique comments, am leaving the other half for tomorrow, and waited until my child napped to write.

I haven’t really been able to focus to really write anything long and involved. Instead, I’ve been doing bits and pieces, letting my mind jump wherever it wanted to while listening to music. One song per piece, usually I let Pandora do the randomization for me. Brings up some interesting songs to write to. I’ll post a couple here. One for my one-shot novel project Stellar, and another for Gray Morning:


Jordan could feel the weight of the gun in his hands — could <i>see</i> the blood splatter behind his mother’s head. As if he couldn’t stop himself, he lifted the barrel to his own temple. One deep breath in. One deep breath out.


Jordan woke with a start, his brain knocking furiously against the inside of his skull. He gave himself a quick shake, looking out over the rest of the cabin. The other passengers were still asleep, reclined in their seats.

All but one.

Saito stared back at him, his arms crossed over his chest and his hair obscuring his eyes. “Bad dream?” he asked, his voice a quiet hum against the noise of the train. Noise they shouldn’t even be able to hear, considering it traveled through the solar system, only to bring them to Venus.

“Why do you care?” Jordan snapped, rubbing his temple as he turned his attention out to the cosmos spread before them. His head still ached where the bullet had pierced his flesh. How long ago had it really been since he died? Why could he still feel his death? Dream it?

He didn’t want to know the answers. The questions, at the very least, kept him distracted. Kept him focused on anything but the task at hand.

Eight good deeds. He had already completed one. But really, how easy were they going to be?

Not as easy as pulling the trigger, that’s for sure.


Savin gave himself a once over in the mirror, his hand reaching for a tie he knew to be perfect. He hadn’t untied any of them, not once he got them right, not anymore. He pulled his hair back, careful to brush every single strand into place.

He needed to look perfect. Needed to look put together. Needed to look like himself, and not a mere shadow of who he used to be. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes, fingers deftly moving along his suit jacket, taking his time with each button.

“Nothing is forever,” he whispered to himself, snapping his eyes open. His reflection stared back at him, eyes bloodshot with dark rims lying underneath them. If he were giving a speech, he’d be heading straight for the make-up artist’s chair, trying to hide them.

Where he was going, he wouldn’t need the make-up. Would prefer to go without it, this once. Would prefer to look as broken as he felt, as empty as his eyes looked.

He couldn’t even cry anymore. All of his tears had left him, days ago. His heart drummed weakly in his chest as he thought back to That Day. Capital letters and all. That Day. That Day where he lost everything.

That Day he lost Jazz.