hands like secrets are the hardest things to keep from you
It's the 4th here. Means JulNoWriMo. To be quite honest, I'm surprised I'm even taking part this year - my novel writing has been terrible, to say the least, and the quality of what I'm producing is probably worse.
I've kept the plot under wraps - aside from one person, who doesn't even know the main storyline - for a few reasons. I'm really afraid of being ridiculed, told I can't do it. That's a main one. But the fact is, I can't. I'm not old or experienced enough to tackle subject matter like this. I'm definitely uncomfortable writing this. Should this make me feel happy or sad? I'm not sure anymore. (Surprisingly, I wasn't that uncomfortable with it, until on June 30th, I saw a Reddit group based around killing transgender people and posting photos. I don't care if it's "trolling", it's affected me in a large way. I'm uncomfortable doing a lot of things, and most of that discomfort has manifested in this idea. Which is quite odd, considering it doesn't go near gender issues, but it's happening nonetheless.)
The quality of this isn't great, but I can't decide if I like this or not, and I'm sticking with it for now.
The other removed a long, black glove from his left hand, peeling it off elongated fingernails and flaking skin. He held it for a moment between his forefinger and thumb, before letting it slip, floating gently to the ground.
He walked forward, grabbed a girl, twisting his gloved hand around the neck, forcing her to face him. Her mouth opened in a scream, but before the sound could come rushing out of her lungs, he placed his bare hand at the edge of her lips, squeezing them together.
Thomas craned his head to get a look at what was happening. The children closer were looking shocked, scared, but he could barely see anything.
Flecks of spit began to decorate the floor in front of her, her shoulders convulsing as she sputtered. The man tightened his grip, and Thomas finally got to see the effects of the uncovered hand.
Grey concrete was spidering from her lips, inching over her face, sealing it into fear forever.
She began to kick at him. The other man sighed, and pointed his gun at her, lowered his head, and pulled the trigger.
This time, there was no screaming, merely a canvas of salvus eris tu eris nostra figenda brains and blood and bone plastered over the wall, slowly dripping down, sinking to the ground.