Draft a short story of about 600 words. Include at least one line of dialogue from your character.
You may use as many facts as you like from your initial list. You may also use any or all of the three paragraphs you have already drafted. Feel free to modify the paragraphs as you like. Do not feel that you have to use the dialogue you have written. It may or may not relate to your story. The important thing is that you write in the character's voice. Keep in mind everything you have learned about writing so far.
* She re-positioned herself, settling contently with her legs folded and arms intersecting. A cigarette balanced in-between her lips- she inhaled the thick, toxic smoke and when pulled from her mouth a stain of a vermilion red remained. As she exhaled she watched as the smoke slithered from the ablaze butt, withering away into the atmosphere whilst pleasing herself to another satisfying drag of the cigarette- only then to continue back to her observation of the smoke for a second time, murmuring openly, "the beauty of life lies in a single cigarette."
Her life circulated much like the smoke, withering into the atmosphere- depression overcame her, deprived her of the humane life that bled through her fantasies. She hadn't an understanding of the language but a comprehension of the message- she thought herself worthless and that was good enough. She no longer cared for the illustrious beauties the world could offer, humanity had failed her- emptiness gave her reason to hate and reason to make her first movements for the edge.
She had fallen for a man only weeks before , just as he had understandably fallen for her. Her image was compelling-- seductive; her face deceiving. Her cheekbones high and eyes wide set- she had always said that the deepness of them set off the proportion of her face, making her look unattractive- but she was oblivious to the fact that he could be easily lost in the bottomless, icy, turquoise of her eye. Her skin was a translucent pale and illuminated the color and shape of her unique eighties hairstyle- her bangs overlay her eyebrows, meeting her eyes. The length of her tawny hair intersected her shoulders. Her posture justified her care for life- careless and in spite of the season, she had always worn a cardigan to cover, distract and mask the eye from her flaws.
Her feet were a bare, lustrous pale as they crossed the edge of the windowsill and joined the alluring warmth of the light. Exhaust fumes trailed from the street below and as she took a final drag of her cigarette, she watched once more as the smoke withered away. The warmth was soon to fade, leaving her cold and peaceful, allowing his music to freeze over her body once more. The melodies he had once played whilst she slept overcame her, filling her with an emptiness unlike no other.
His music would be her demise, her…