By Belle Green
This write is based on a prompt:
I was experimenting...:)
Knowledge is a slow-flowing river, and I’m moving with it right now. Everything is in my power, and I’ve been blessed with a kind of consciousness that can allow me to tap into the electrodes of other people’s minds. I know how they work, what makes them tick, almost instinctively; and I must say I’m not very responsible with their open vulnerability. Most of them have become characters in my own stories, all based on writing prompts. I suppose that is where my present predicament is coming from; I am not guilty of exaggeration.
A slow-flowing river…
There’s pressure on my forehead, pain in the back of my head. My throat is closing in and I cannot swallow and my neck is sore, lumpy; lines of involuntary violent red, flash before me, flowing freely, sparingly. I think about writing this, about naming my killer and how everything transpired from a simple writing prompt in which I revealed intimacies told to me in confidence, but my brain is like a slow-flowing river connected to my body and the oncoming paralysis. I write this with conviction in my head. I know it would have been a best selling novel, but the essence of my nature is cold and has begun to melt, and I’ve yielded to my second mind, my second consciousness and the truth revealed itself.
Author's Notes: The Open Diary of a Witch ~
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A magical, autobiographical journey through poem and prose. By Theresa C Newbill
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