Lola: The creation of an imagination.

  Well, I have finished my very first novel, and I'm waiting for some feedback on the query letter for it.  I've begun working on the sequel already, but I've found myself thirsting for something new lately, something really different from the premise of my completed novel and it's sequel.

    I had an idea while making coffee this evening, and I began writing it almost immediately after thinking up the idea of the main character.  I get these ideas in my head a lot, just small details of an unwritten character or a scene from a yet to be written book.  Then I start writing and following different pathways in my mind.  I don't know where these ideas will go in the beginning stages.  I just write, and I let my imagination take me to places that I never knew existed.  Sometimes, I end up in a really twisted and scary place, and I have to drag myself back to reality and out of that frightening world.  Other times, I end up in the greatest of places that are full of my own hopes and desires, which is also a place that I have to drag myself out of so I can return to reality.

    I can't write a story or novel with an actual outline.  I spend a lot of time in my head, thinking over fight sequences, reunion scenes, intense dialogues, and general plots.  I then write, and I keep writing, and eventually I have something amazing that is pieced together in the deepest parts of my imagination.  It's exciting and really quite scary to go back afterward and reread what I have created simply from a small corner of my own mind.

    So, without furhter ado, here is the short story that I created not two hours ago.  Please remember that this piece of writing belongs to me, as I thought it up and created it.  Now that I am posting it to my blog, there is an offical time stamp attached to it.  It is copyrighted to me and only me, so please be respectful.  I only corrected spelling errors and some of the larger mistakes, so don't be too critical of the errors that you may find.  Enjoy!

Lola

   The bringer of demise.  The dimmer of human life.  The sharpened dark sword.  Death.
    So many names and descriptions have been given to her over the years that she could no longer remember them all.  Depending on the geographical area and the time period, she was known as any number of names.  She preferred Lola, or just Lo.
    Lola didn’t choose this job.  She had no choice in the matter at all.  One couldn’t say that she was born into it.  She was just IT.  As though created from nothing more than the elements themselves, she came into existence one evening approximately ten thousand years ago.  One moment, darkness and the vast nothingness of nonexistence made Lola deaf and blind to the realities of human life.  The next moment, she was laying in a grove of orange trees in what is now Sicily.
    The ocean breeze came sauntering to her off of the Mediterranean.  The salty sweetness of the ocean mist tickled her nose and stung her eyes, but the feeling, her first feeling ever, was unlike anything that she had ever felt and like nothing she would ever feel again.
    Appearing to be no older than eighteen has it’s advantages.  She beautiful, and she voluptuous.  She’s never aged one bit in her entire existence, and she sees no reason why she would now.  Her long black hair gleams in the moonlight, small beacons of pale white in the dark tangles.  Men lust for her in all continents.  Women would kill for her beauty, and a few have tried on several occasions.  She was a girl on the brink of womanhood, despite being older than anyone she has ever known.
    She has always accepted what she is.  She hates what she has to do, and she has yet to find a way out of her duties.  But she is good at what she does, really good.
    Lola shook her head side to side a few times, clearing out the long day dream that she was having.  She had to focus so she could complete her task and be done with it once and for all.  In ten thousand years, she had never had so much trouble taking a man.  He seemed to be untouchable.  More than likely, he was just very, VERY lucky.
    Following the man’s shadow down the darkened beach, she stepped quietly on the sand.  Her bare feet sunk into the cold and damp post-tide sand just beyond the lapping of waves.  The wind took her hair up and around her head, snapping back against her cottony white shirt.
    The man, Gregoire, had no idea that she was there, waiting to strike.  He was so caught up in his own thoughts that she could probably run at him and tear his head off without him noticing.  But she was cunning, her killing style the definition of stealth itself.  She needed to bide her time and wait to take him.
    Gregoire stopped suddenly when the bar came into view just over a hundred yards away.  The music thumped heavily from a distance, pounding inside Lola’s chest as she watched the man staring off at the people within, those lucky individuals enjoying their holiday.
    “Life would be nothing without death.  Life…would be nothing…without death.” Gregoire spoke his words as a poet would read his prose.  He paused at all the correct spots, accentuated the most important words.  He was beautiful to Lola.
    A young woman who looked to be in her late twenties came stumbling out of the small bar and onto the sand.  Her white dress dragged in the sand behind her as she half-walked and half-stumbled toward the water.  Behind her, a man who was no older than twenty-one walked ambitiously in her wake.  She giggled as she made her way to the calm water that seemed, in day time, to be a lighter mirror image of the sky. It’s light blue and green colors drew the attention of all who passed by.
    And now, just before midnight, the water was again a mirror image of the sky.  It was black, impenetrable, and deadly.
    “Mila, come back!” the man laughed.
    The woman called over her shoulder to the man as she let her toes make contact with the water.
    “The water is so warm!”  she yelled.  “Let’s go swimming!”  The woman named Mila lifted her white dress over her head, revealing a baby blue brassiere and matching panties.  She turned in as sexy a fashion as she could in her drunken state and looked seductively at the man who had just reached her.
    “Are you following me Blane?” She teased.
    Mila reached out and placed her hands on his hips, drawing him near.  She kissed him long and deep, pushing her tongue passed his lips and into his mouth.  Blane followed suit, taking care in his kissing technique.  He seemed nervous to be with her.  If Lola didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was a virgin.
    The kiss halted, the couple backing away from each other just a few inches.  Mila said something in a whisper, causing Blane to smile and laugh nervously at her comment.
    She reached down and unbuckled his belt as he unzipped his cargo shorts.  He pulled his t-shirt over his head while his shorts dropped down into the sand, leaving him standing there in nothing more than his boxer shorts.
    “Now what do we do?” Mila asked in a raspy voice, her eyes squinted closed halfway.  A gust of wind rose again, muting Blane’s response.
    Lola watched as Gregoire began walking toward the couple, moving faster and faster until he was almost at a run.  She began running also, trying her hardest to not use her inhuman abilities and seemingly zip from one location to the next in the blink of an eye.  Even after all these years, she had trouble controlling her strength.
    The couple were now laying in the sand, Mila on top of Blane, her legs straddling his pelvic area.  She kept her hands pressed into his chest as she began to rub forward and back on his lower regions, grinding into him forcefully.  Blane reached out, his left hand grabbing into the sand with pleasure while his right hand reached back toward his shorts.  After a bit of fumbling, he grabbed at a blade that was in his front pocket and brought his closed fist over the handle.
    Bringing the blade forward in an attempt to make contact with the center of Mila’s chest, time seemingly froze.  Things happened so fast, yet they also halted for a beat.
    Gregoire, running toward the couple but still fifty feet away, changed into a transparent blur as he sprinted at them and arrived between the couple on the sand.  The blade curved forward hit Gregoire in the lower part of his stomach, just below his navel.  His eyes grew wide as the blade made contact and broke on his skin as though he were made of marble.
    Blane, still in the sand with his eyes closed as he attempted to sink the blade into the woman’s tan flesh, felt the odd sensation of his knife breaking.  He threw his eyes open wide and saw Gregoire looking down at him.  In a rush of panic, he bucked Mila off of his midsection and stood.  Gregoire kept his ground, keeping Mila behind him in a protective position.
    Blane grabbed his clothes and took off, leaving the remnants on the broken knife behind.  Gregoire turned and looked at Mila, her own eyes wide in the confusion and panic of what had happened.  She was in shock, unable to speak.  Most of all, she felt stupid.  Stupid for having almost had sex with a man she had only known for a few hours, a man who would have killed her if not for this stranger.
    “Oh my god. . . Thank you for.. .” she choked on a sob, seemed to recover, then broke out in a hysterical fit of crying.
    “Sshhh. . . You’re fine now.” Gregoire had a thick Italian accent.  His black collar length hair fell over Mila’s face.  “It’s over.”
    He stepped away from Mila and started to walk away.  Mila dropped her face into her hands and Gregoire disappeared in a sprint that was nearly as fast as Lola’s.
    Lola watched as a spectator while Gregoire saved this woman.  Gregoire, the man she was supposed to take, to kill, had just done the ultimate good deed.  He saved someone from certain death.
    But he was stabbed in the stomach.  She saw it with her own fine tuned eyes.  The knife broke against his skin.  He ran like an immortal, just as Lola could.  Her mission was to take him.  She couldn’t take anyone else until she took him. How could she kill someone that couldn’t be killed?  She thought of the old conundrum of an unstoppable force colliding with in immovable object.
    Lola followed easily enough behind Gregoire, her need for answers driving her toward him more than her need to take his life.  She had questions, and he had the answers that she momentarily thirsted for.
    When she came upon Gregoire just a few miles away, he was just laying Blane’s limp body down on the ground, the young man’s neck twisted in the oddest of positions.  Gregoire looked down sullenly at the dead body.  He seemed to hate himself at that moment.
    With her deepened voice, she spoke from the shadows she was hiding in just a handful of feet from Gregoire.
    “Who are you?” Lola asked.