Yona of the Dawn

I despise my brain. It’s obsessive and single minded. When I latch on to a subject, it envelopes everything. This happens when I write, it happens when I’m sexually frustrated… and it happens when I discover a show or book that sparks an interest above others.

I wish I could pick and choose where and what I’m enraptured by, but unfortunately it hits at random.

I used to watch anime. I’ve gotten away from a lot of it just because I’ve moved on to things I want to do more. My best friend hijacked the television one evening though and instantly got me hooked on the show Yona of the Dawn. I’ve just spent the last week binge watching it on Crunchyroll.com. Only to discover that they’ve only animated part of the (still ongoing) Manga. When the final episode rolled around… it wasn’t enough. So I decided to hunt down the Manga.

There’s still no closure. It hurts. The last Manga that was released leaves the series on something of a cliff hangar. I’m heartbroken. I need to know what happens… But I’m currently stuck just checking back to the website I found till something new is released.

Though in the meantime, there’s nothing else for me to really dive into. I need to see if I can push myself into the book. Hopefully by trying to focus on the characters I can dive back into writing.

I really need to find my glasses. My eyes are already aching. If I spend much more time on the computer I’m going to start getting headaches.


“I know he looks rough around the edges, you’ve just caught him at a horrible time. He’s normally softer spoken than even Nathan,” I told someone. She was injured and laid up in the bed of an old house. It was dank and musty, cobwebs clung to the corners of the room. Beyond the old wooden door, people milled about the hallway.

The girl’s face was drawn, sad; her eyes were puffy from crying.

A light rap on the door drew our attention. Nathan stood in the doorway. His blonde hair had been left to grow and hung in loose waves around his broad shoulders. The golden beard he wore was manicured closely around his jaw.

“I was just making sure everything was alright,” he asked, sunkissed skin crinkling at his eyes as he smiled.

“Fine, I think Nicholai’s outburst upset her more was all.” He nodded sagely, hands in his back pockets.

“I’ll talk to him if you like.” I only nodded. I changed out the cool clothe that I had against the girl’s forehead. It wasn’t minutes before Nicholai stood in the doorway. He had filled out over the years, weight and health filled his clean shaven cheeks. He rested one large hand casually on the top of the door frame.

“We can’t stay long.”

“You’ll stay as long as you need. She needs rest.”

“And what happens if they come here,” he almost snapped. I raised a challenging eyebrow and rose from the bed. I was anything but intimidating, though he still backed down; brown and gold eyes cast to the dark wooden floor at his feet.

And that’s about when I woke up. I never dreamed of my characters before. Imagine my surprise when i opened my eyes and realized I’d just seen them clearly for the first time. They were individuals, not some actor that I’d chosen to look like them. They were living and breathing. There was nothing cartoony or fake.