My mantra for today was, ‘I refuse to write anything that’s not story (except for the mantra).’ While I did manage to write something of a story, I’m still not in full story mode. I finally got back to the Castle after a long and miserable flight. I hoped to write more and do some editing of the story, but my headache during the flight killed those thoughts. When I arrived home, the Castle was freezing. I thought I’d save money by turning off the heat for the weekend. It’s now less than 50 degrees in here, and I’m freezing my money-grubbing butt off. I lit a fire in the bedroom, and I’m hoping it stays lit long enough to heat the bedroom so I can fall asleep.
Sandra exploded and then feinted. Thirteen hours later, she awoke with a terrible headache behind her right eye and nausea, which started in her groin and ended in bile in the back of her throat. It was always like this after an episode, and knowing the warning signs, she had prepared her room with the essentials. She upended the ibuprofen bottle on the bed sheets and separated four pills. She sucked the sugar coating from each pill and swallowed. As she sucked, her headache receded briefly. The sugar and drug floated in her stomach, churning the gastric juices.
Sandra placed a cooled towel over her eyes and rested on her back. “Lights,” she said and the lights dimmed and switched off. Her voice echoed in her brain, bouncing off her eyes and settling in her stomach. She managed to position her head over the pail before puking. She used the towel to wipe her lips and closed her eyes, silently begging for sleep to find her again. She swore silently to her gods that if they relieved her pain, she would never farsee again. She had repeated this prayer at the end of every episode, but for all her promises, she knew that she lied to herself and her gods.
She awoke ten hours later with a shadow of her headache. She ate a calorie bar from the nightstand and she reveled in the chewing motion. Her thoughts, which she had suppressed for what felt like days, formed in her head. She resolved to get started. “Kyle, are you there,” she thought.
“I follow the Prophet, our savior and guide,” Kyle responded.
“And through his everlasting truth, he brings us closer to what will be,” Sandra finished.
“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for your call forever.”
“I warned you how long it would take before I went in.”
“Why didn’t you let me stay with you? I could have helped.”
“I told you before, Kyle. You could have done nothing. If you had been there when I awoke, your breathing would have driven me crazy.” Sandra reached for another calorie bar and unsealed a water bottle. “I’m starving. Buy me lunch and I’ll fill you in on what happened.”
The spaceport was busy that morning and Sandra waited an hour for transportation to the office.
Random notes I scribbled down: Tell the story of the prophet’s rise to power and minions. Insane and voices and powers. Told by a disciple. Teaches others his power. Gov’t is a monarchy – more of an empire. Desert? Arabs? Dune? Get away from that, but I like the desert angle. Prophet doesn’t hear voices, but thinks he knows what’s best for his people—a small sect. Downfall of the empire because of this rebellion. Empire held up by a religious force that is splintered when the prophet shows herself. Female prophet—Sandra. Downfall of gov’t, monarchy—king’s point of view and Sandra’s. King-Emperor is looking for the truth (he’s a religious empire) – Spaceports and different worlds; character story—unexpected twists. Why future? Present—altered present—altered past.
Story idea: (I’ve had this one before) the power of parents—when they’re with their kids, their kings and queens. But when they’re with the rest of society, they’re normal people who must give up their kingdom.
Random scribbles on the airplane: