Sun Kissed

Her kisses burned like the sun, leaving searing marks in their wake. The heat was a welcome comfort now, warming my body like that familiar celestial orb, but I knew that tomorrow would be different.

The burn left by her mouth started red but would quickly fade to the blues and browns more often associated with anger and hurt. There was pain here too, in the sting of her teeth and the bite of her words.

"If anyone asks, lie."

"My father would kill us both if he knew."

"I love you too, but-"

I treasured the signs she left on my body, reassuring myself in the mirror hourly that I hadn't imagined the fire between us, that I wasn't burning up for no reason, that what we had was real.

Real.

What is reality when I can't discuss it with my best friends? When I can't tell my family?

The ache of missing her digs at me. The thought of her sends flames racing across my skin.

I can't take it.

I go to her house.

"What are you doing here?"

The words sputter out of me, dripping like lava from my lips, but the only one burning is me.

A commotion behind her; she turns away.

"Sorry, Dad. She was just leaving."

My veins run cold.

My fire is out.

I never speak to her again.

The Reluctant Bezonian 21-40

The Twitter story goes on! Here are posts 21 through 40, combined for your reading pleasure and ease. Enjoy!

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    "Poor little Sammie. The innocent, naive young girl caught up in things she doesn't know how to handle." Shaking his head, Bryce reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, ignoring her look of disgust. “But you're not innocent at all, are you?"
    Sam jerked her head away from his touch. "What are you doing here, Bryce?"
    "Whatever I want, Samantha, as always."
    "Don't bullshit me. Tell me why you're here."
    "Or what?"
    Sam jerked her knee into his groin, leaning out of the way as Bryce doubled over. "Or that." She stepped past him, finally getting out from behind the desk.
    He glared at her from the floor, pain evident in his eyes. "B*tch!"
    "F*ck you."
    "It was just a test."
    She was nearly to the door when his words made her pause. "What?" She didn't turn around.
    Bryce slowly pulled himself off the floor. "You know my dad, always wanting to push his assets to the limit."
    "Tell your dad--" Sam stopped, unsure. There was no escaping the power this man had over her. "Tell him I aced his test." She walked out the door, leaving Bryce to stumble after her. "And try not wasting my time next time."
    Sam made her way to her vehicle as quickly as she could without drawing suspicions. Tossing her pack in the back of the van, she climbed into the front seat and let her head fall back against the seat. "I hate this."

    Sleep was being coy. It needed to stop avoiding her and get back to bed so she could actually get some rest. Sam groaned and pulled a pillow over her face. When was the last time she got a decent night's sleep?
    Had to have been when she was a kid, before she was practically owned by a conglomerate, when she still thought there was light in each heart, and all you had to do to find it was look just a little closer.
    "Ugh." Sam sat up and shoved the pillow to the side. There was no point in trying anymore. She'd already gotten all the sleep she could. It would have to do, as it always did. She groaned again and shuffled to the bathroom.

    Fresh out of the shower, Sam patted her hair down with a towel. Maybe she should cut it short; cut down on upkeep. Not that she did much to it anyway, her dark curls spurned brushes and were only really tamed by braids and very strong hair ties.
    Lots of hair was easier to put into different hairstyles for disguises, but with short hair wigs were easier. That's a toss up, really. She'd probably keep the long hair a while longer; it's served her well so far.
    Her phone dinged as she was preparing breakfast. Sam glanced at it warily, then groaned. Today was supposed to be her off day. The day after a job always was. The last thing she wanted to do was go into the office and talk to the boss.
    Probably had something to do with what Bryce said about a 'test'. She had failed, and they were going to fire her? At this point though, that wouldn't even be bad news. This horrible situation would end, one way or another.
    After switching out her comfy clothes for something slightly more professional, Sam resigned herself to the familiar confines of her tiny sedan and headed for the office. Small but sufficient, that was her car.

    "Good morning, miss." The receptionist was a mix between a proper butler and somebody's grandpa.
    "Morning, Jones. Eleventh floor?"
    "Indeed, miss."
    "Stay shiny, Jones." Sam grinned despite herself.
    "Of course, miss."
    Sam often had to refrain from asking what a nice guy like him was doing working in a place like this. Did he know how devoid of morals his boss was? But that was often the case with corporate moguls, she supposed.
    The man's gotta make a living somehow, as do we all. Ideally, however, you pick your own way to get that coin. But not when you're practically owned.

    Sam huffed. This always seemed to be the slowest elevator. The door inched open and Sam saw blond.
    "Samantha, darling." Bryce leaned against the receptionist's desk like a model for spoiled brat office wear.
    "Not your darling, Bryce." She brushed past him and addressed the receptionist. "I was summoned?"
    "Ah yes, Miss Webster. Please, this way." The woman behind the desk stood up and clipped her way over to a door that Sam knew well. "Enter, please, he's expecting you."
    Sam took a steadying breath and grasped the ornate handle. The weight of the door always seemed ominous, like entering a dungeon. She half-expected to see a burly guard holding a large set of keys, but the only person inside was a different kind of jailer, and his keys were not so easy to spot.

The Reluctant Bezonian 1-20

Hello! Been a while since I posted on here, sorry about that. I've been doing daily story posts on Twitter (@avitalelizabeth), and thought I'd post them on here twenty at a time, since I know not everyone is on Twitter. Enjoy the story!

    Stealing things for a living-no, for your life-was not what Sam pictured when they asked her, ages ago, what she wanted to do when she grew up. Astronaut. Gymnast. Firefighter. WWE superstar. But forced thief-hood? Never.
    Professional thief sounds glamorous. Daring. Sexy. Reality? Sweaty, uncomfortable, exhausting. You're never the one who gets to don elegant attire and infiltrate an upper class shindig. No, you're the fake plumber who plunges the toilet as a cover.
    Sam heaved a sigh and tossed the plunger into the corner.
    "I'm so glad I'm wearing gloves," she muttered, resisting the urge to scrub her hands across her thighs.
    Common sense or not, cover as a plumber was the worst.
    Maybe not the actual worst. At least plumbers don't generally get sexually objectified while performing their duties. Not in reality, anyway, Rule 34 and all that. But enough stalling. Time to go rogue.
    Grabbing the toolbox she had left on the floor, Sam slipped out the restroom door, shifting the box into the backpack that was its original shape. She shrugged her arms through the straps and moved down the corridor, reaching into her pocket.
    She flipped the switch on the gadget inside, triggering the scrambler hidden in the handle of the plunger. Quite handy, the security room being right next to the bathroom. Less walking for the guards.
    Not that these guards walked much anyway. She honestly didn't even know why they'd sent her here. A job this easy was way below her skill level, but when you're not the one calling the shots you don't get much choice.
    Her thoughts skipped and meandered as she crept down the hallway. An easy job wasn't so bad. She could use the break after last week. Surprise dog patrols? Not a good time. More exercise than she wanted on that one.
    The door she was aiming for was only a few feet farther. Upon reaching it, she tested the handle carefully. No sense in picking an open lock, but this one was sealed tight. She slung the pack off her back and opened it.
    The lockpick kit was right on top. Sam pulled out one of the tools and made quick work of the lock, tucking everything away as soon as she finished. The door opened silently and she slipped in, easing it shut behind her.
    The room was opulent and showy. She rolled her eyes and moved further in, ignoring the lavish furnishings and making a beeline for a desk on the opposite side. The portrait was on the wall behind it, as promised. Rich people were so predictable.
    There wasn't even a trick to revealing the safe. You just grabbed the edge of the frame, tugged, and the painting hinged away from the wall without problem. The only question was if the safe would be as simple to deal with.
    A mechanical number dial? Who even uses those anymore? Sam shrugged and cracked her fingers. This had been part of her training, obviously, she'd just never had to utilize it. Well, first time for everything!
    She fished a small flashlight out of her bag and flicked it on, holding it between her teeth so she could have her hands free. Pulling the safe door forward as much as she could, she turned the dial slowly, listening for the telltale click.
    There! Once you get that, the rest is cake. Sam grinned as the dial hit the last tumbler and opened. Pulling the door open with one hand, she took the flashlight in her other hand and shined it in, lighting up the contents.
    The only thing inside was an envelope. Sam grabbed it, shining her light on the front. The words 'gold star' were scrawled there in an elegantly messy script.
    Oh no. She knew that handwriting.
    A low chuckle came from behind her.
    She gritted her teeth and turned around. "Bryce." It was a statement, not a question, and it ground its way out past clenched jaw.
    "Samantha, darling, how I've missed you. I hate how your obligations keep us apart."
    "My obligations?" Her voice, though low in volume, grew in intensity. "My OBLIGATIONS are the only reason I'm doing this at all and you know it! If your boss had nothing to hang over my head I'd be gone in an instant."
    The smirk never left Bryce's too-smooth face as he sauntered toward her. He was tall, blond, and... shiny. Everything about him gleamed, like pyrite in the sun, beautiful, yet good for nothing more than catching the eye.
    "My boss? It's cute how you call my father that. Trying to convince yourself that I have less power over you than he does? Oh, Samantha." He stepped into her space, making an amused sound as she leaned away, blocked in by the wall and desk.

Foxworthy

James was not one of the few weighted with the honorable title of Foxworthy, despite the yellowish tint to his brown eyes. The naming ceremony was not easily forgotten; he would remember it in detail. His red-tipped brown hair had never seen an herbalist's concoction, despite the continual inquiries about where he had obtained such a sought-after potion.

The sharp tip of an exceptionally ill-placed rock dug into his spine but despite his discomfort James didn't want to move. He cracked an eye open but squeezed it shut immediately.

It was still there.

Why was it still there?

Bright, staring yellow-brown eyes. Reddish fur. White neck and chest. Alert ears.

No. This was not happening. There was not a fox sitting on his torso, watching him with intelligence and expectation in its gaze. His dreams had suddenly become much more vivid and realistic.

*I know you're awake.*

And now he was hearing things. Perfect.

*One generally hears things when another is speaking to them.*

Sarcastic things. Even better.

*The quicker you come to terms with the reality of your situation, the sooner I will get off your chest.*

James slowly opened his eyes. The fox tilted its head and blinked at him.

*That took much longer than necessary. Please respond in a more timely manner in the future.*

James groaned. "Why me? What did I do to deserve this?"

*You were born.* The fox jumped off of James, landing lightly on the forest floor. *Have you never looked in a mirror? Never wondered why you so resemble the creatures your people pay such homage to?*

"Everyone else wonders enough for me." James sat up and brushed himself off. "I think I'll leave now."

The fox leaped up and landed on James's shoulder. *Indeed. It is past time for us to be going.*

Frowning, James swatted at the fox. "Get off me!"

Digging its claws into James's shirt, the creature settled into a comfortable position. *Head north.*

With a loud groan, James clambered to his feet. "I'm definitely missing dinner today."

Me, In Flux

Change is inevitable.

People say that a lot. What they don't say is that sometimes (a lot of the time), change is scary. In fact, change can be outright terrifying.

I am 30 years old. I live with my parents (rent is very cheap). I have never lived on my own. Ever.

My life (and the prospect of what my life will look like in the future) has altered drastically in the past year.

Last Thanksgiving, my parents told me that it was extremely likely that our home, along with the other houses in our tiny subdivision, would be sold to developers in less than a year. My parents would be downsizing. I would have to move out on my own, alone, by myself. The prospect of such a drastic change being forced upon me pushed me over an edge I didn't know I had been walking for quite some time.

As months went by, I grew more and more emotionally unstable. I was always tired. My motivation was so far gone it seemed as if I had imagined ever having it in the first place. I spent hours at work feeling as if I might burst into tears at any moment.

It wasn't until I happened to describe my state of mind to my parents that I realized what was going on inside my head.

"Avital, it sounds like you're depressed."

Oh.
OH.
It made so much sense.
I was depressed.

I had dismissed the notion in my head without much consideration.
"I've led such a privileged life."
"I have it so much better than so many people."
"I'm just weak and lazy."
"I can't be depressed."

The moment I acknowledged that I was depressed, it was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Maybe it wasn't just me. Maybe I wasn't just lazy. Maybe, just maybe, it would be okay to ask for help.

And now, here I am, a half a year later.
I'm taking an antidepressant.
I'm going to therapy.
And my outlook on life is more positive than it has been for months.

I'm actually looking forward to getting my own place, to having a space that is all mine, that I can personalise. I'm no longer scared. I'm just nervous, but excited.

My journey has been difficult, especially over the last year. But it's nowhere close to being over. I have come to terms with my depression, and I am dealing with it in my own way, with the help that I didn't know I needed.

My advice to you? To anyone? Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid to reach out. Don't be afraid to ask for help.

Reach out.
People care.
It can get better.

Letter to Myself (and Yourself)

I am not worthless.
I am not useless.
I am not lazy.
I am not wasting time.
I'm just working through troubles and that's okay.

I am worthwhile.
I am loved.
I am capable.
I am not afraid.

I am not afraid.

I am strong.
I don't need anyone's validation.
My self-worth comes from internal, not external sources.
I don't need anyone to tell me that I'm good enough; I am good enough.
I am enough.

I am worth it.


(And so are you.)

Geek Bunnies

Hello everyone! First of all, I’d like to acknowledge that is has indeed been exactly a year since I last posted a blog. Oops, sorry about that.

Secondly, since Gen Con Indy (www.gencon.com-The Best Four Days in Gaming!) is coming up this weekend (Thursday-Sunday, August 14-17, 2014), this is technically my pre-Gen Con post. However, it’s not what I’m going to be focusing on. No, that’s another thing entirely, which leads me to…

My main point, which is… bunnies!

To be more specific, Giving Bunnies. www.urbanthreads.com/bunny

In short, the idea is that you make these little stuffed bunnies, give them name-tags, and leave them places for people to find. Hopefully you brighten someone’s day, or bring a smile to their face. My lovely sister has an embroidery machine and found the lovely website and free pattern that I’ve linked to above. This gave her a wonderful idea.

GEEK Bunnies!

Her idea was that we make several of these tiny bunnies, customize them in geeky ways, and leave them around Gen Con, with my Facebook page (www.facebook.com/avitalelizabethwriter) and Twitter (www.twitter.com/avitalelizabeth) info on the back of the name-tags so we could know who found them (be sure to add #GeekBunnies!).

So we did. I started a list of possible characters to base bunnies off of (it grew too large, we had to leave a lot for next year) and we picked a solid list of thirty-one bunnies to make (this year!). We customized them with different colors of fleece (what they’re made out of), different thread colors, and many tiny accessories. I even knitted several tiny scarves!

Now we’re done with this year’s batch. Thirty-one bunnies are sitting upstairs, nametags attached, ready to explore the Indianapolis Convention Center and Gen Con Indy. Hopefully the recipients will share a picture so we know who got lucky and found them. Who knows, maybe it will be you!

PS-After Gen Con, I'll post an album of all the geek bunnies we made this year, in case you're curious!