So Imma be honest with ya again.... I’ve been really struggling to write recently. Every time I go to uni I come home more and more dejected, and it’s really hard to find the motivation to get anything done. Now I don’t know how much of this a direct result of my injury and medication, but it is holding me back regardless.
The people at Uni, once more, are struggling to grasp the world in which I am setting the story. This time, I want to write a story set in the same world as the popular fanfiction writing trope, The Soulmate AU.
People have tried explaining it, tried to help me see it from their POV, but it hasn’t really helped. In fact, I’ve seriously considered changing my assignment to one that they can understand. Something basic, generic, and boring. Something that’s been done a thousand times over, because at least then I won’t feel like this anymore. But at the same time, that’s not why I write. I don’t write to follow the rules or jump in the footsteps that giants have taken before me. I write to tell my story, my way because no one else can tell the tale like I can.
So I’ve also decided that I’m not going to change my assignment. I’m going to restart it for the fifth time, but this time, I’m going to write it my way. I’m not going to get stuck after half a chapter and spend days staring at a screen wondering how to write my story their way, and if they have a problem, and I fail, so be it. At least I would have stayed true to myself, and the story I’m telling.
So here’s the fifth attempt at a rough draft of Chapter One. I don’t know if I want to end it here, or keep going a little further. Ending it after that phone call rather than before. Let me know what you think?
Chapter One:
Archer bounced his way towards me, visible only by the two cups of coffee spilling everywhere as he ducked and weaved his way through crowds of zombie-like students, all shuffling towards the warmth of the law building. The occasional glimpse of sandy brown hair flashing with each side step closer.
“Dude! I got you coffee, Black, no sugar, just how you like it.” Archer slides to a halt in front of me, still bouncing on the balls of his feet in a failing effort to stand still. Bronzed arm shaking as he offers me the coffee. My fingertips grip the base, ignoring the burn of boiling liquid that accompanies the handover.
“How many have you had?” I eye up the second coffee, held against his lips. His hazel eyes are red and blown open, he hasn’t had any sleep, running on nothing but an overload of caffeine.
“A few! I’m so ready for this test! Are you? I stayed up all night studying.” I flick the lid off of my coffee cup as Archer babbles on. Tuning him out as I look around the campus, it’s not normally this sombre. The crowds of exhausted students are nothing new, but there's something else. Something all my years of training isn’t allowing me to overlook. The bin is still overflowing from yesterday, the cleaners prided themselves on never having a bin that full.
“Braedon! Are you even listening to me?!” Archer’s hand rests against my shoulder, startling me.
“Does something seem off to you?” He stops bouncing for the first time since I’ve seen him, eyes doing the same loop as mine had moments earlier.
“No? You haven’t drunk your coffee.” I toss the lid towards the bin, taking a sip as I scan the campus once more.
“There’s something else...” Nothing stands out, no imprints on the dew stained grass. No overly chirpy students - except Archer, but that was normal. Everything seemed to be exactly where it should, except for the bin.
“You’re just nervous dude, come on. We don’t want to be late-” My coffee dropped from my hand, reaching for Archer as I felt my leg burning. A scream echoes around campus as I feel my body try to tear itself in two. The pain from my leg shooting up to my chest, grabbing my heart and squeezing. It hammers against my chest, happy to beat again as the pain goes after my lungs, emptying them of air and filling them with liquid. It’s like I’m drowning, but it's gone again within moments. My head falling forward as the pain returns to settle in my leg, where I know my soul mark rests. The physical manifestation of a soul and a bond I share with another.
“BRAEDON! Dude!” My back was resting against something solid, an arm around my waist and Archer’s voice in my ear. Sweat pouring from my forehead, tears from my eyes as my throat feels dry and scratchy. I hadn’t felt like this in four years, but the bare echo of that was nothing against the blinding memory of two moments earlier.
“Hey, welcome back, here.” It wasn’t Archer that spoke as something cold is pressed to my palm, my fingers wrapping around it automatically, lifting it to my lips. Only half the water made it down my throat, the other spilling over my chin and splashing against my leg.
“You collapsed Dude. I caught you, but it was like you weren’t even here.” That was Archer, his voice rumbling up my spine. His chest moving against my back with each breath, it was something to steady myself on, mimicking his breath until I felt like I could do it myself once more.
“Think you can stand Braedon?” “On your feet soldier.” A barked order through gunfire, a weapon pressed into my raw bleeding hands.
“Yes sir.” My leg gave way as I tried to stand, the pain flaring momentarily. Two pairs of hands grabbed me steadying me as I swayed from side to side. “Hold out till we get you to the medics.”
“Steady.” I looked at the familiar voice, into the concerned ageing face of my law professor. Grounding myself in the frosted white hair atop his head, the half moon glasses that perched upon the ridges of his nose. Details, he excelled at details. The south-west wind that ruffled the browning leaves of the trees, knocking them against the overflowing bin.
“You good?” The professor was one of the few who knew who I was, what I had been through.
“Fine.” I lied through gritted teeth, I needed to believe it myself, being fine was all I had right now.
“Let’s get you to medical.” The hands holding me adjusted, pulling each of mine over my two shoulders, their's going around my waist. I recognised this hold, I’d put people in it. Those that were too weak to walk on their own, those disorientated, confused, hallucinating. I’d never been unable to walk before, even in my weakest moments. This was worse than all of that.
“I need to make a call.” It was my voice this time, logic overruling. I needed to contact my supervisors, they needed to know what had happened. They had taken my soulmate. I had been compromised.
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