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Beginning of Book #7 - Untitled
whiteclouder
Member Posts: 10,574 ✭✭✭
CHAPTER 1
Fretful. He turned over in his bed, tugged the threadbare greatcoat over his naked shoulders and buried his face in the forest debris that was his bed. He didn't know what it was that lurked just outside the cave's narrow opening. He'd sensed it before, and as before, he knew to be deathly afraid even though he'd never laid eyes on it. Closer now. Any second, he'd hear the rattle of its labored breath, and then the smell-sweetly rotten, oily ripe-would foul the still night air. He couldn't suppress the whimper that formed in his throat, and he squeezed his legs tightly together to staunch the trickle of urine that warmed his bare leg.
To see him, you'd know he was human, but just barely; he wore no clothes, his immature body marred by open sores and livid scratches. One place in particular vexed him, twin puncture wounds on his right arm where something with teeth had resisted his efforts to kill it; knife against claw, his desperate need for food, against the animal's overpowering instinct to live. His realm was the deep shadows of the thick forest where he spent his days scrounging for food and listening---his nights, surviving. His hide-away was a long narrow cave with a wall that was strangely warm, the naked granite radiating heat from within. He didn't understand it; he only knew that without the shelter, he would die when the snows came. It had been his refuge for five years. Five years since he'd ran screaming into the night, his brain purging the terrible scene that had played out in the flickering light of an oil lamp.
Closer still, the power of the creature outside stole the air from the cave and once more the trembling boy felt his mind begin to leave him. And then he felt the gentle caress of her hand on his cheek, and with the soft promise that he would see the light of the morning again, he slept.
Clouder..
Fretful. He turned over in his bed, tugged the threadbare greatcoat over his naked shoulders and buried his face in the forest debris that was his bed. He didn't know what it was that lurked just outside the cave's narrow opening. He'd sensed it before, and as before, he knew to be deathly afraid even though he'd never laid eyes on it. Closer now. Any second, he'd hear the rattle of its labored breath, and then the smell-sweetly rotten, oily ripe-would foul the still night air. He couldn't suppress the whimper that formed in his throat, and he squeezed his legs tightly together to staunch the trickle of urine that warmed his bare leg.
To see him, you'd know he was human, but just barely; he wore no clothes, his immature body marred by open sores and livid scratches. One place in particular vexed him, twin puncture wounds on his right arm where something with teeth had resisted his efforts to kill it; knife against claw, his desperate need for food, against the animal's overpowering instinct to live. His realm was the deep shadows of the thick forest where he spent his days scrounging for food and listening---his nights, surviving. His hide-away was a long narrow cave with a wall that was strangely warm, the naked granite radiating heat from within. He didn't understand it; he only knew that without the shelter, he would die when the snows came. It had been his refuge for five years. Five years since he'd ran screaming into the night, his brain purging the terrible scene that had played out in the flickering light of an oil lamp.
Closer still, the power of the creature outside stole the air from the cave and once more the trembling boy felt his mind begin to leave him. And then he felt the gentle caress of her hand on his cheek, and with the soft promise that he would see the light of the morning again, he slept.
Clouder..
Comments
"I would not mind being the last man on earth just to see if all those girls were telling me the truth"
Ben
I root for the
Just kidding.[:D]
Sounds great so far!
BW
IT'S WHAT PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT THEMSELVES THAT MAKES THEM AFRAID.
I'm new here,where are books 1-6?
Waiting--patiently--gathering dust, mostly.
Clouder..
Clouder: Ever attend a workshop? I'm in my second one this semester. I just had one of my shortstories critiqued by my class, I got better reviews than I expected [^] Have you ever had these critiqued?[?] Also, are these novellas, shortstories or novels? I like what I have read so far. [:)]
No.
Sort of.
They are full lenghth novels, each 75 to 115 thousand words.
I encourage workshops. You will learn more in 20 hours studying under a qualified instructor than I learned in a year of struggling on my own, maybe more. Keep at both.
Clouder..
Enough play time, back to work! Your readership awaits you.
Am I missing 5 or 6? Snuck one by me didn't you?
Enough play time, back to work! Your readership awaits you.
Ya read five, Morgan's, and six died being born (a partial birth abortion? YUK) Just wasn't happy with it and got tired of rewriting the damn thing. I will shelve it for now and maybe let you guys (you know who you are,) read it and give me a helping hand---or a poke in the snout.
Seven is gonna be the best one yet, guaranteed.
Clouder..