Literary Contest rough drafts

I'm not finished writing the rough draft of my short story, but here are two poems I've completed so far:

Escape

Run. Move. Faster.
I've got to get away from here.
I've got to get away from this place.

Where can I go?
I can't go back.
I won't go back.

These demons keep chasing me.
These ghosts keep haunting me.
These shadows keep watching me.

They won't go away.
They'll never go away.
I'll always feel their breath on my neck.

I have to show them who I am.
I have to show them I am better.
I have to survive.

I will survive.
I will run and I will move faster.
I will get away from here.
I will escape.


Queen of Broken Hearts

They say Wonderland is the most wonderful place,
But it is here where my people come to me.
My broken people.

They say Wonderland is the most wonderful place,
But it is here that I wait for someone to come and make something of this void.
To heal me.

They say Wonderland is the most wonderful place,
But it is here where my sister, my twin, is free to roam.
I am her shadow.

They say Wonderland is the most wonderful place,
But it is not for me nor is it for Alice.
But I am not Alice.
I am a queen.
A Queen of Broken Hearts.

I feel like posting...

This is a quote from a short story I'm working on right now. The person talking is a nameless man dying of terminal wounds after a massacre.

"There is a common belief that the sun will rise tomorrow and the next day and the next day. However, I have come to the conclusion that there is no such guarantee in life. So, in that knowledge, I will live today and only today because tomorrow does not exist."

Now, this is a snigbit from the same short story that I have yet to write.

"Take this," he says as he gently pulls up the sword, that beautiful sword, and holds it out to me.
My hands shaking, I reach out to take the shining sheath from his hands. I don't even look at the man; I only have eyes for what's in front of me.
"Wait."
I pause in mid reach. "What?"
The man looks up into my face and locks his eyes to mine. "You have to swear to me on your life and honor that the City Council will fall by this sword. I was too human to have done it myself, but this way, a part of me will be a part of whatever comes next. Will you swear this to me? This is not something to be taken lightly."
I admit I did have to think about it. If I gave my word, my life would be forever controlled by this. Did I want that sort of commitment? I hated the Council, yes, but how much was I willing to devote?
I laughed under my breath. Of course. Now I know the answer. Whether I like it or not, whether I'm ready for it or not, I know the answer.
"I swear to you on my life and honor that I will bring forth the fall of the City Council."

Excerpt from my book

I had to laugh at the situation. What could have possessed this fine officer to dump a 14-year-old girl-child into my interrogation room?

Then again, I have heard of stranger things happening around stranger people. I immediately shook the thought out of my head. Not with a child. Not with a girl. Not with Nouveau.

I plastered a playful smile on my face and bent down low to look down into the girl's eyes. They were incredibly big, beautiful hazel eyes. She still had the eyes of a child. Yet, they were oddly distant and cold. No, these were not a child's eyes. These were the eyes of a child that had seen too much of the worst in the world.

She just sat there, waiting. She was completely emotionless. There was no fear, anger, happiness, or any feeling at all in her. She only stared.

I must admit that this child had me baffled.

Well, I obviously wasn't getting anywhere with silence, so I tried another approach. "So what do you want to be when you grow up, sweetie?" I asked her with as much sweet sincerity as I could muster.

"Alive."

Alive in the Night

Beads of sweat run down my face. I'm wet with it. My arms and legs are sticky with the moist second skin.

I take in quick, shallow breaths.

I love this feeling.

Wind is rushing past me, flipping my hair all around face, sticking to my eyelids and cheeks. I don't care. I never do. This is the best feeling in the world. If speed is a poison, then I am drunk with it. There is no other intoxication that could ever make me feel this way, to feel this life beat within me.

I am in control. My hands hold my life. Everything.

What is it about these nights and these lights that intrigues me so? What is it about this asphalt that makes me want to feel it beneath me forever?

Faster do I move. Louder do I make the engine sing. Farther do I make the speedometer go, and farther do I travel away from sanity.

To me now, love is something unknown, hate is something I have forgotten, and fear is coursing through my every vein.

How could I possibly go back to life like yours? That is not life. What you have is not what I want. I want to stay here forever. I will never go back.

And thus my spew begins...

This is my blog. My oh so wonderful blog. This is my blog about nothing and everything. This is where I will write whatever pleases me at the moment. No, I am not concerned with what you might want to read because a very wise writer once said "write to please yourself" and intend to do just that. I will write about life, my characters, my hopes and dreams, and my wonderland that I wake up to every morning. Sure, there may be that evil Queen of Hearts lurking around the next corner, but hey, if she weren't, I may have nothing to write about. :)