**Due to a bit of misunderstanding in regards to this post, I have added this note to clear things up. “Flesh and Blood” posts on this blog are this writer’s desperate attempt to hang out with her characters. I got sick of just writing about them, and wanted to be with them. So a few months ago, I wrote a “Transcriptor” into my book, Breaking Shadows: Bold that would allow my characters to be transported to my world. What I did not know, was that this same devise could transport me there when placed in the wrong hands. Sorry for any confusion, I hope this helps. Any further confusion will be cleared up in Part Two.**
It’s cold. Terribly cold. Frigid even. Why is it so cold? Did it rain last night? I think it rained last night… or was that just a dream? My mind, clouded with sleep and the lack of it, refuses to bring me back to the real world. Or maybe it’s trying to rouse me, and I wont let it. Either way, I’m not getting up yet. My alarm hasn’t even gone off! I shiver and jerk my blanket up to my nose, curling into a tight ball and squeezing my eyes shut to ward off wakefulness. I feel heat radiating at my back and sigh.
“Libby, come here.” I mumble, reaching back to grab the pup, hoping she’s as cold as I am and willing to huddle up with me. Instead, my hand flops over the side of the bed, then clumsily lifts up again, meeting something firm. What the… My eyes flash open, instantly jerking me awake. I sit up quickly, and when my eyes adjust, a scream attempts to leave my throat. A hot, dirty hand is shoved over my mouth and nose, and a second hand grabs my arm, pulling me from the bed. I fight back, digging my heals into the carpet in a desperate attempt to wrench myself free. The hand closes tighter, sending pain shooting up my arm, shoulder, and neck.
I’m dragged forward, and the chill quickly becomes a freezing blast of cold air. I squint and look towards the source, and my eyes grow even wider. My notebook lays open on the ground, and from it’s pages, a tornado of words swirls round and round, like the chaos inside my head. This can’t be happening. It’s a dream. It’s all a dream. It just isn’t possible! The vortex of script begins to pull me in, my hair whipping around my face. The hands give one last shove, and then release me to the fury of this strange storm. I’m sucked into the very eye of the dervish, and still it tugs at me, steadily pulling me down as stinging sensations envelop me like a thousand paper cuts. My fingers themselves become words, adjectives, verbs, nouns, and fly out into the cloud, and slowly the rest of me follows. I scream, but nothing could be heard above the thunderous roar of these words. I watch myself disintegrate into these hovering paper letters until I can see myself no more, and I feel the stinging spread up my neck, around to my jaw, my ears, the back of my head, my brow. The last thing I see before everything vanishes, are two deep, shimmering blue eyes, glaring through the words, slinking closer, staring into mine until nothing else exists, and then… black.