Emmeline

 

Welcome to the journey of Emmeline. She lives a naturally supernatural lifestyle.

These posts are part of an ongoing project to practice stylizing memories into fiction.

If you are curious about her inspiration, you can read here.

The Hunt

Posted by on 8 Nov 2011 in Emmeline, Imagine | 4 comments

The Hunt

Well folks, here is the next installment of Emmeline, sponsored by NaNoWriMo. I hope to get back to my Holstee Manifesto Series once I’ve caught myself up with the novel. Hope you enjoy a bit of fiction this evening. Much love and warm fuzzies to all my readers. As we approached the dragon, it stood its ground, barring our way. Derek placed his palm out in greeting, dragging me along behind him. I wasn’t precisely sure what the protocol was for meeting dragons, but I didn’t want to insult him by looking him in the eyes. So I kept my...

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It was always you…

Posted by on 13 Aug 2011 in Emmeline, Imagine | 0 comments

I knew there was something wrong as I walked up to the car. But I kept hoping I was mistaken. I pulled up on the handle and… S**t. It was open. When I looked in through the window, I saw the frayed end of the cable that emerged from the tape deck. The thief couldn’t even be bothered to unplug the cable from the CD player. So I opened the door. I figured it could have been worse. It could have been a broken window, a stolen car. Then the strangeness set in. My five favourite discs were sitting on the passenger seat. You’ve got to be freaking...

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The Gates Are Open

Posted by on 10 Aug 2011 in Emmeline, Imagine | 1 comment

The Gates Are Open

Post one of the Emmeline series…
There was a cool breeze blowing bits of my hair into my face. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded, but at this moment, the last thing I wanted was the irritation of spitting fine strands out of my mouth. My fingers curled tightly around the hand clasped in mine. His hand was warm and calloused, every time I held it, I was reminded of the alarm clock that rang at 4:30am. He worked with his hands, building and renovating old houses. I could feel his strength seeping into me through his grasp. We were lying on the grass, staring up at the campanile. The clock seemed to be moving painfully slow, as we waited for it to toll midnight. Each blade of grass seemed to press into my flesh like a thorough acupuncture session. Even through my shorts and tank top, I could feel the strange little pricks to my skin. I had contemplated slightly more sturdy wear, but it was summer in California, and anything more than shorts and a tank top would have left me gasping and sweat streaming down my spine. I turned my head to face him. His long hair spread out around him like a halo.
“I’m scared.”
He turned to look back at me with an impish grin. “There’s no need.”
But how do you explain to your best friend that the thought of other worlds was a bit much, even though you’d been living with it for your entire life?

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