Where Did Alina Go?

Hey there, everyone!

So, I've been on quite a hiatus recently, and I'd like to apologize for that. Recently, I started taking on a few freelance writing jobs. However, they haven't been working out as well as I had hoped, and I've sort of ended up back at square one.

I feel bad for basically abandoning this little project, and I apologize for my absence. This is something I really want to do, believe me. It'll just take a little time to get into the swing of things, that's all.

Thank you for bearing with me! I will try to post something very soon!

- Alina MacLeod

A Little Bit of Fun!

Hey, everyone!

So, I got into an interesting conversation on Skype the other night with a few friends, and it kind of deteriorated into a bout of free-writing, in which I came up with the following scene. The inspiration came from a discussion about Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and the fact that I started reading Naked Lunch a few days ago. So, yeah... it's really weird and really silly. So, just sit back, relax, and enjoy this short bit of craziness for now, while I try to write up something very good and very special for you guys!

Thanks!

- Alina MacLeod

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I grabbed Kitty by the lapels and screamed, "Dammit Kitty! I got this catnip just for you!"

Kitty pushed me away, salty tears staining her cheeks.

"No! I'm not going down that path again! I've changed!"

I wrung my hands, the chills beginning to creep in. I needed a hit. Bad.

"Come on, Kit," I moaned, clutching the bag in my right hand. "I can't do it alone. Just do one hit with me, please?"

Kitty shook her head vehemently. "I don't do that junk anymore, Alina," she said quietly, backing away towards the bathroom door.

I reached out one quivering hand, my mouth opening and closing, but no words passed my lips.

"Just one... please?" I could feel that pull, that ache in my veins. It was tugging, man, singing in me. 'One toke, man, one toke,' it sang.

"No, Alina," she said. "I can't, you know I can't. I gotta live... I have Hep C. I can't waste my life in a bathroom stall, doing catnip off the back of a toilet tank."

Her words were tinny, as if she were speaking through a thin-necked bottle. They echoed in my head, a garbled mess. The catnip shook in my right hand, my nails poking holes in the plastic bag.

"Kitty... my sexy kitten, come on," I moaned, moving forward. But my knees were weak, they gave out under me. I collapsed, but still, I tried to move toward her, crawling along the floor like some weird serpent, tweaked out on all sorts of chemical compounds.

Kitty looked down at me for a moment, and I saw a brief flash of disgust. Me, there on the floor. I must have looked like something horrid, loathsome. A reptile, skittering forward on all fours, tongue lolling in and out, searching for something to touch, some chemical zap.

And then, she was gone, the bathroom door closing slowly. I grabbed the handle, hauling myself up. The bag ripped, and the sweet dried green, the nip, spilled down on the linoleum.

Tongue lolling, I dropped to the floor, my face resting next to some sort of substance that had crusted there, I lapped at the nip like a lizard. In-out, in-out.

Sweet ecstasy, sweet release. Colors, sounds, electricity, man. It hummed, in my blood, in my mind, in my soul. My blood sang, a song of color and light. Explosions. Everything reeling, like a crazy-ass merry go round, spinning and spinning, faster and faster.

Someone was shouting, "Roaches!" down the hall. And then I was rolling on a carpeted floor. In the bar? In the lounge? Somewhere. Anywhere. Everywhere. There were other people, other strange night-things like me.

Some lapped at chemicals, the way I did. Some breathed them in like a fog. Others had the green stuck in between their teeth. Didn't matter. We were all animals by then.

Then there were drums. A train? The night, the moon, outside somewhere. Me and three others. No, four. We all heard the music, man. And the drums. The beat moved us forward...

(And, this is sort of where everything deteriorated into madness, and the story was lost to time and space. So... the end?)

Poem - The Unbeast

I live in nightmares, clutching at raw fright.

With silver beak I snatch at flitting shades.

With ruby eyes a-glowing in the night,

the world around these pinpricks, helpless, fades.



On spindly legs I come, my eyes aflame,

and whiffling through this night-wood, jaws agape,

I seek out bodies, minds I’ve yet to maim,

who, from my claws, can find no safe escape.



My manxome figure paralyzes all.

No mortal man can flee my catching claw.

Before me, cities, kingdoms, countries fall,

and all the world bends to me, struck with awe.



Beware the burbling beast in waiting dreams.

Before me, all things real split at the seams.

Poem - My Sweet Girl

A woman, fair, with silken hair,

as white as snow upon the ground,

with whom I shared a short affair,

last week, found herself to be drowned.



I was there with her when she died,

and saw the stream of bubbles end.

For days on end, I cried and cried,

and mourned my love, my dearest friend.



We had been walking by the shore,

my hand caressing her soft mane,

when that sweet girl, whom I adore,

did trip, and fall into the drain.



The poor, sweet girl, she couldn’t swim,

and I, alas, could not pursue,

for while her fate looked awf’lly grim,

that marine skill escaped me, too.



And now she’s dead, and buried, too,

her spirit far away from me.

I weep for her, this girl I knew

at her sepulcher by the sea.

Short Story - The Well

I don’t really know where the idea came from, or why it seemed so inexorably inviting. All that I knew for certain was that it had suddenly come into my mind that, despite my father’s warnings, I should go out beyond the path behind the house, and explore the small wood that stood there. Father had always told me that there was nothing out there worth seeing, and besides, what if I got lost or hurt? As far as Father was concerned, the place was off-limits, and I had always respected this. But quite suddenly, I felt this urge, this unnatural desire, to go out there and explore the place. I would look out the window, and see the branches of the willows bending down over the juniper bushes, and I would feel a sudden longing.


And so, I resolved to sneak out of the house, while the old man slept in the dead of the night, and make my way towards the outstretched branches of the wood.


I didn’t do the deed right away, however. I knew my father to be watchful like a hawk, and I didn’t want to let on what my intentions were. For six days, I guarded myself well, the old man never even suspecting that something might be amiss in my demeanor. Never did my eyes wander to stare out the window at the cluster of branches and leaves, which seemed close enough to touch. In every conversation, I expertly sidestepped all mention of the place. The old man, for all his cunning, never even had an inkling of where my thoughts really were.


Each night, while my father slept, I would wait until the clock had struck midnight, and upon hearing its toll, I would rise from my bed and creep down the hallway to stand outside his door. I stood there, the side of my face pressed against its cool, rough surface, and I listened intently for the sound of my father’s slow breathing and soft snores, verifying that he was, indeed, asleep. On the sixth night, however, upon reaching the door and hearing Father’s deep, relaxed breaths, I pushed it open a fraction, and peered into the small room. In the dim moonlight that trickled through the lone window, he appeared to be a massive shadow with wide shoulders, lying there like a bear curled up on its side, and I was relieved to see that his back was toward me. How horrible it would have been to open the door and see his sharp, beady eyes peering at me through the darkness!


Carefully, and without a sound, I swung the door open and tip-toed into the room. I ensured, for my own peace of mind, that Father was out, and, having taken care of that business, I crept back out of the room, and made my way downstairs toward the back door.


I picked up a candlestick and a pack of matches from the kitchen as I made my way out of the house, lighting the candle as I pushed the door open. It was August, but it was chillier than I had anticipated, and a light, cool breeze blew through the branches of the trees. As I walked down the path, I considered returning to the house to change into more appropriate clothing than the nightgown I was wearing, but decided that the air was not too terribly cold, and I would get by fine in my current ensemble.


Reaching the edge of the wood, I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at it with a twinge of trepidation. This close, the junipers and raspberries seemed wild and tangled, and the trees seemed to loom imposingly over me, their branches gnarled and twisting strangely in the pale moonlight. I am loathe to admit that a part of me – though, a decidedly small part of my being, to be sure – was apprehensive about entering the place, and that for the briefest instant, I entertained the notion of turning my back on this whole adventure and returning to the house.


My determination won out in the end, however, and I held the dripping candle aloft as I crossed the tree line, stepping out of the known and into the unknown.


Time seemed to slow down as I crossed into this dark, foreign place. The willows and birches, tall and majestic in the shadowy night, loomed high overhead, their branches stretching out endlessly, blocking out the light of the moon. As soon as I had entered the wood, everything had changed. Suddenly, the world consisted only of the dim, flickering candle in my hand, and the forest’s shadows, which pressed themselves eagerly against the edges of its glow, as if alive. I moved forward slowly, the gloom seeming to grow denser the further in I walked, and I shuddered slightly, chilled by the cool of the nighttime air. It felt as if my mind had come a bit unhinged from my body, and I had the oddest sensation of my spirit trailing along slightly behind me, as if on some invisible string. My body felt light, moving almost of its own will, and yet I knew nothing of fear as my bare feet carried me ever forward, crushing the occasional twig underfoot.


I cannot tell you how long I walked through that shadowy wood, nor can I tell you what thoughts passed through my mind as I strode silently forward, my eyes focused on the candle flame. My mind, for the length of that hike, seemed to leave me entirely, only to return the moment I had reached the well.


It was a thing that seemed so out of place, it may as well have come from an entirely different world. The well stood at the very center of a small clearing, a place where the shadows dissipated a bit, allowing a small amount of moon- and star-light to shine through the canopy of branches overhead. The closer I moved to the well, the older and more dilapidated it appeared to be. Small vines crept up its weathered stones, and moss hung off of it in small clumps here and there. From what I could tell, it had, at one time or another, been boarded up, abandoned here by some unknown and forgotten being. However, the wooden boards had been disturbed in some way, and the mess of rusted nails and water-worn planks had the appearance of peeling paint, curving outwards from the well’s opening. As I drew close, I tilted my head to peer into the endless maw, ringed by wooden slivers and thin, tarnished spikes. It seemed likely to me that an intense pressure had disturbed the boards in this way. I marveled, briefly, at the sheer destructiveness of nature, and ran a finger along one curving plank, admiring its near-perfect C-shape.


And then, all at once, I felt the wind change. It was as if Notus himself had swept one mighty hand over the Earth, and the power of this sudden windstorm sent me careening forward. The candle flame flickered one last time, and then snuffed out with a low hiss. My left foot hit the base of the well, the candle slipped from my grasp, and my body lurched forward, flung into the well’s waiting throat. I felt myself falling into the dense blackness, and suddenly had the odd sensation of time slowing to a crawl. I knew, at some point, I would hit the bottom, and I would be trapped, or worse. And yet, the thought did not disturb me, or terrify me. It merely crossed my mind as I watched the point of light above grow smaller and smaller.


Finally, I hit the bottom. It was not water that I landed in, nor did I find myself greeted by cold, hard stone. Instead, I landed on something somewhat soft and damp, which, for the most part, cushioned my fall. The walls here felt slick with some sort of cool, jelly-like substance, and I felt something brittle, like a twig, snap beneath one of my feet. Miraculously, I had managed to hold on to the pack of matches I had taken from the kitchen, and I fumbled with the packet blindly in the pitch-darkness. Finally, I oriented my hands just right, and struck one small match, which flared into life, illuminating the entirety of the well’s belly for a brief instant. And in that instant, I saw a papery-white face, half-eaten by some blackened rot, grinning at me, its eyes reduced to oozing pools within wide, abyssal sockets. I saw its long, blonde hair, caked with mold and filth, framing that face, flowing ever downward.


And then, an anguished sound ripped through the silence, only to be deadened by the gore-covered walls.

Welcome! I Am Alina MacLeod.

My name is Alina MacLeod. I am using this blog as an output for my writing.

I am not a professional writer, though it is my dream to someday become a successful author. I truly believe I have the talent to entertain people with my writing, and I want everyone to be able to enjoy the products of my imagination.

If you have no interest in the supernatural and the occult, or fantasy and science fiction, or horror and the macabre, then this blog is probably not for you. If, however, you enjoy all of these things as much as I do, then I say, welcome! I hope you'll find something here you like!

As in the fashion of authors like Stephen King, my stories and poems will all take place in a consistent story universe. This doesn't mean all of my writings will coincide with one another, but it does mean that the same rules and machinations of the overall story universe will have a bearing on all of my writings.

I can't wait to get started! I hope you'll join me as I delve into the realm of fiction writing. Let's see where this rabbit hole takes us!