So, I've been farting around, not doin' much (if any) writing, but today I decided to sit down and just write somethin' so with out further ado, here we go! My first trip back into writing in a few months! *Not: Don't know much 'bout genres so once someone either a)points out what kind of genre it is, or b)I make up my own genre I'm sticking with what I got right now. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Descent The lights were off in the small hotel room that we found ourse- no, just me, it’s only me, no one else. I found myself in the hotel, checked in ‘bout an hour ago<b>Surprised they let ya’ rent a room. Threw our – MY stuff on the bed, turned down the AC to freezing to fight the burning. It didn’t work so I- Course not, what did I tell you, piggy? Shut up! Stay out of my head. Ok, think, wha- what did I do next? “She’s hot,” Austin said- No, too early, not where we-ME- you, whatever, turned. Keep ranting. Ok, AC then shower, which didn’t work. Moved to curling underneath the vent and whimpering. Still, the burning’s there, good God the burning. Why won’t it stop? Why’d it start? “Who?” You ask and scan the crowded school grounds. When was this? Who cares?! Get to the fun part! Shut up!Austin points with his cigarette to the statue where a gaggle-the f*** is a gaggle?- of school girls gather around a girl of exquisite beauty-you’re just makin’ s*** up now. “The one with the hair… frick, what color is that?” “Gamboge,” Richard rumbles. Our-my-your group of friends look at Richard like he’s grown an extra head. “Gamboge?” You ask as your group of friends look at Richard like he’s just grown an extra head; Richard isn’t known to talk much, let alone have much intelligence. Richard nods, you shrug. “Whatever, beats Flamingo.” Austin laughs. “Beating flamingos,” he snorts, “that’s so stupid. Anyway, like I said, Gamboge haired girl over there’s hot. I’d bonk her.” The three of you laugh. It was a good joke! Quiet, it barely qualified as one. “ One of you should go over there and introduce her to me. Any volunteers?” No one says a word. Richard raises your hand for you. “Well, gee, thanks for volunteering, man. Tell her all my good qualities, especially my personality, and then tell her to get over here, alrighty? Go get ‘er, sport.” He stands you up and shoves you into the crowd. You bounce off a few people before regaining your balance enough to make your way through the crowd. Despite your many, many, many faults, navigating a crowd is probably your best attribute. You find your way to the statue-Wasn’t hard, f***ing thing was taller than the people!HA! - and pause as the gaggle of girls fall silent and turn their eyes land on you for disturbing their little cult gathering. You swallow your fear and excuse yourself as you step through the line, ever wary of their eyes on you. Gamboge watches you the whole time, a smile on her beautiful face. Something is off putting about the smile, almost as if it’s more smirk than smile, but that thought is quickly pushed away. You find the need to get closer to her grow and overwhelm all other thoughts. Without realizing it, you’re pushing girls out of the way to get closer and no longer excusing yourself. Dad’ll beat the crud out of me if he ever found out about that. Who gives a s*** about that old fart?!Ahem. Anyway, in almost no time at all you’re standing next to the smiling, Gamboge haired girl and staring into her red eyes. For a moment, you find this weird and are about to question why you can’t seem to look away, when she speaks. “Can I help you?” she asks. Her voice is like honey, sweet and glowing, and you stumble as you try to remain standing. “Uh-um, well…” you continue to stammer for a few seconds more, all the while the girl continues to smile as if amused at your stumbling. Finally, you find your tongue.Should’ve looked in your mouth first, dumb***. “Uh, yes, my friend, over there,” you point to Austin. Gamboge girl looks over to Austin who smiles and waves. “His, uh, name is Austin and, uh, he would like you to, um, go over and talk to him.” The girl purses her lips and taps her chin as if thinking deeply about something; your eyes follow her finger. The tapping stops. “What’s your name?” She asks. “I-I-I’m sorry?” You stumble. “Your name,” she says again, slowing down her speech and drawing the syllables out. “I’m asking for your name, but I can understand why you would be hesitant to give your name to a stranger so I shall introduce myself first.” She holds her hand out. “They call me Dawn. Now, may I have your name?” You take her hand and shake it as you try to remember your name; you keep getting distracted by how unnaturally colder her hand is for someone with such glowing skin. You have four names: one first, two middle, and your last. In your nervous state, you reach for the nickname your friends had cursed you with. After a few failed attempts to speak, you manage to finally to squeak out a respone. “Dusk. They call me Dusk.” “Dusk? That’s a nice name.” She smiles wider, and the light glints off her fangs. BRACE! The Burning returned.