Otherwise known as procrastination.
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Once upon a time—Delilah told herself as she glided silently from tree to tree avoiding coldly illuminating moonlight for the comfort of most-cast shadow, hard-frost vegetation making the slightest, barest, most-impreceptable-even-to-things-with-fantastically-scary-hearing, crushed velvet noise. A noise more felt than heard. Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved kittens and rainbows and glitter and unicorns and bunnies and Jesus and her boyfriend too, who always made her bed and wore pretty little dresses with pretty little flowers and liked boys that reminded her of her father, and was made of sugar and spice and everything nice—
Who the fuck do you think that you’re kidding?
“Can it, Sam,” Delilah snapped, quietly, leaves felt-not-heard shuffled around her ankles as she stepped carefully over a fallen tree as she shivered in her Hunter’s Hood, breathe fogging and smoking as she spoke. “My story. I’m the hero of it. I can retcon it anyway that I want.”
A distinctly doggie snort from somewhere close but far, the echoes of the ravine Delilah was in distorting where the snort had actually emanated from. Red, no one in their right mind is ever going to believe any of that about you. I don’t even know you, and I don’t believe it.
“Hey, dog, no lip from you. You’re the one who was getting the Tom Petty reference.”
I’m a Hyena, and I don’t live on Pluto.
Yeah, poor Pluto.
As amazement tickled the back of Delialah’s mind, something made a shuffling-huffling movement in the leaves ten meters away. It could be Sam or it could be a squirrel or— it could be a hentai- tentacle monster here to do unspeakable things to me. It’d be my luck.— but the night was too moon-bright and too cold-dark— moon casting misleading shadow- shapes and glinting off of every surface and the cold fog that hung between trees and perched perilously amongst the leaves— making it impossible for Delilah to see anything in the wood, eyes dazzled and snow-blind even at half-past-fucking-too-late in the morning. And, I’ve wandered off the path. Wandered into the unfriendly wood in the middle of the night. Lost. Lost in the woods. When did I start living in the fucking fairytales instead of hunting them down with a crossbow? “But, still with getting the Tom Petty reference. I didn’t know that Hyenas were into popular culture.”
Enough to know that you were totally riffing off of Sixth Sense back there too; the entire “they don’t have meetings about rainbows” crap. They totally do; they have meetings about you no matter what you do.
Now, before anyone goes nutty about my prose, remember that, during NaNo, you’re not to correct; you’re just to write—no matter how ridiculous or drama llama it might be.