Work In Progress Progressing Quite Nicely

I thought I’d do a little post today on my WIP I Am The Damned. I’m feeling very positive about where it’s going and the way Emma will be concluding her story – although I don’t have the ending in mind yet. Well, I do but not in its entirety. I have a twist unfolding…..*insert eery music here*

This little excerpt has nothing to do with the twist, however it’s the beginning of the beginning of the twist – if you know what I mean. I’m not making it very easy on myself because I’m not writing in sequence. One of my goals for this week was to print out what I have written so far and put an order to the scenes – but that goal is out the window for the moment because my printer has decided it doesn’t like ink cartridges anymore.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little tidbit of I Am The Damned. (oh, Emma likes to throw the F-bomb now and again for effect – but I’ve strategically starred those out!)

I have a mirror. It’s not very big but it hangs opposite my bed so I’m the first thing I see every morning. I hate it.
I mean, I don’t look bad. I could look worse.
But, God, the monotony of it all. The mind numbing, soul crushing monotony that makes me want to smash this piece of glass into smithereens.
Every morning I wake to find myself enveloped in luxuriously stiff bed sheets; unable to move because of that pointless hospital tuck thing. The pastel green walls around me reflect back on themselves. Because of that damned mirror that greets me every damned morning.
Every. Single. F***ing. Morning.
I’ve asked Gary to take it down, or to move it but he mumbles some shit about how it’s important I keep my sanity this way. I have no clue what he bangs on about half the time.
I wonder how he would feel if he had to live with self loathing. And look at it every single f***ing day.
Every morning I leave my bed and walk over to the mirror, hoping to seize a rare moment of truth.
Who am I?
Today the question is not within my head. I ask myself, out loud, ‘Who am I?’. Emma White. 23. Fierce. Strong. Stubborn. Short. Confused. Murderer. Weak? Sad. Pathetic. Damned.
I stare at my reflection. The eyes are sunken – still. The dark circles darker.
I miss Angus. The eyes fill with tears as a black feeling of grief passes through my chest. I clutch onto it as if to save myself from falling. I cry out as I tumble onto my bed and at that moment Gary walks in to catch me.
‘Come on Em’ he says gently, laying me back down. He strokes my hand. For a large man, he’s surprisingly soothing.
I look up at him from my bed. My saviour. My Gary.
‘Who am I?’
He was surprised I was opening up to him. I don’t like to do that. Especially if I’m going to kill someone. Makes it too personal.
Does this mean I don’t want to kill Gary anymore?
He smiled gently. ‘You can discuss this with Dr Bergen, you have an appointment with him after lunch,’
I nodded. I looked towards the mirror. 
My heart sank.
For the first time, for a change, I felt like I wanted to kill myself.

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