NaNoWriMo 2014 - Lucifer Lockheed: The Devil's Daughter

Just taking the opportunity to actually do Fiction Friday post for a change, as it is easily one f my most neglected labels (which is a fairly major issue, considering the life path I've chosen for myself, but that's neither here nor there). I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year; that's National Novel Writing Month, in case you don't know. The goal is to write a 50,000 word story between November 1st and November 30th, and so far I'm chugging along. Not nearly fast enough to keep up with the needed word count just yet, but still trudging along. I'm posting the very rough prologue of my story here. I'm also adding a word count widget to the blog so my progress will be up there for all to say.

Because I'm still a child and peer pressure is a great motivator, obviously.

Anyway, wish me luck. And here we go with the prologue.

Did you ever wake up and know, just absolutely, no doubt about it know, that it was going to be a good day?

That's how I felt when I woke up that day. In fact, I didn't just know it was going to be a good day. I knew it was going to be a great day.  The red had settled into my hair nicely, the self-dye job from the night before combining with the expensive as hell salon styling to turn my hair from a mousy brown, clumpy mess into luxurious, vibrant curls of fire. I had had my doubts about a box job from CVS, but I couldn't afford a style and a dye from the salon, so I had to hope for the best. And that's what I got. I now had the kind of hair a guy would love to see in his lap... but we'll get to that later, hopefully.

No, fuck hopefully. We'll definitely get to that later. It's going to be a great day.

After the hair came the contacts. I had wanted to go full black, but freaking my parents out so much that they took me to therapy instead of school would seriously ruin the plan, so I went with a sooty shade of brown called "bistre." Not quite black but definitely the darkest brown I could find, and definitely an improvement over my boring old baby blues. Nobody was going to overlook little old common Lucille Fern Lockheed anymore, not with this hair and these eyes.

And of course, the outfit. It took months of saving all the money I could from the pitiful paycheck I got from my part-time job at the fro-yo dump, but I finally had enough to buy the kinds of things my parents would lock me in the basement for even thinking about wearing: short skirts, booty shorts, scandalously low-cut navel-baring shirts, and corsets. Oh, the corsets. Of course, I could never wear that out of the house; I'd have to wear the good little girl clothes mommy and daddy liked me to wear and make like all the other little sluts and change in school. No more fuzzy sweaters and baggy jeans for me, I'm over that shit. Puberty was very good to me when I hit fourteen, and three years later I was finally ready to let the world know it.

Specifically, the boys. One boy, in particular. One boy that would never look twice at Little Lucille Fern, but who won't be able to tear his eyes away from the brand new Lucifer Lockheed. I'll make damn sure he notices me.

I'll make sure they all notice me, and they'll never forget me.

Best. Day. Ever.

Of course, if you're reading this, it's totally possible it wasn't the best day ever, that shit went so wrong or I fucked up beyond the telling of it and I'm dead and you're all gathered here today to laugh your asses off at the dearly departed. Or maybe I'm not dead.

Maybe it's worse.

And before you ask, with the shit I'm dealing with, with what I'm planning to do, there is definitely such a thing as a fate worse than death. And if things go the way I'm planning them to, a whole lot of people are going to learn that. I just won't be one of them.

So maybe you're reading this because I did it all my way and I'm so popular and amazing and loved... or feared... that you need to know all this for the guaranteed blockbuster movie of my life Ben Affleck is directing. Or maybe it's the movie my father is making him direct about how awesome his little girl is; and I'm talking about my real father, not the asshole downstairs who keeps buying the goddamn pink fuzzy sweaters.

After all, getting Daddy's attention is half the reason I'm doing all this.

The other half is that it's just going to be so fucking fun.

Like I said, best day ever.

But first, the corset. The red one with the black trim today, I think. I tried it on last night and it undeniably hurt like a bitch getting it on; my curves aren’t exactly understated, after all, but it made my tits look amazing.  And they say beauty is pain, right? So it’s totally worth it.

Especially when my pain won’t be the only pain it causes.