Book: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

David didnt know, but there had been another pair of eyes watching him since he had stumbled out of the woods. Those eyes were wide eith terror as they watched his body convulse from the spider’s powerful venom.

Although she feared for David’s safety, she knew better than to move from her hiding spot.

“The spasms are slowing.

Is he dead?

Not if he’s who we think he is.

Touch him.

Ewww, i dont want to, you do it!

Get the girl, make her do it.

Girl! Girl child, get out here. GIRL!”

Sarah ran from the woodpile where she had been hiding.

As she went toward the boy, one of the women stuck her foot outand tripped Sarah.

“Stupid girl. Can’t you even walk right?

Touch the boy child. See if he’s alive.”

But i can’t, Sarah protested, it will hurt…

A firm slap silenced her. “Who told you to speak? Do it!”

Sarah slowly reached her hand toward the now still boy’s shoulder.

The moment her fingers made contact, she hastily withdrew them.

Thankfully it was enough. The boy softly moaned.

Sarah ran toward the woodpile. She wasn’t stopped. The women, satified the boy was still alive began to care for his wound and brought him a blanket.

One of the women approached Sarah.

“This boy, he’s special. You will be our eyes. Follow him. You must not lose sight of him, but you know what will happen if he sees you. Don’t screw this up.”

Sarah nodded, but she wanted to scream. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought it would pound through her chest. How would she follow him wherever he went? What if he saw her? She couldnt let that happen. No one else would die because of her. She didnt know how the women would see through her eyes, but she hoped it wouldnt hurt.

David was moving a little now, although his arm twitched occasionally.

He was alive. Sarah would be watching to see how long he would stay that way.

Writing help please

If anyone out there in blog land has a suggestion for my writing predicament, I would greatly appreciate it.

The problem is that there are a few characters in my book who are somewhat insignificant to the movement of the plot, but they do serve a purpose, so are therefore necessary.

When I introduced them, I didn’t give them names, or identifying characteristics, other than stating basically that they are old.

In my mind, there are three old women, but the number doesn’t matter.

Ok, so the real dilemma is that another main character is about to be introduced. I want her to have a confrontation with the women, but I’m not sure how to convey the scene without detailing the old women.

UPDATE* I wrote this, then I played around with writing the part, so I’m just
going to post both. Let me know what you think.

Good guy/bad guy or girl…

We are writers here right? So no ones going to be bored reading this right?

My previous post (bedtime stories: I’ll think of something), dealt with a girl who might be considered an antagonist in the story. She’s a main character, but not very likable due to her constant lying. It isn’t until we see her hurt that we begin to have some compassion for her character.

Actually, that is based on my intent in writing the thing, not necessarily the readers viewpoint.

Anyway, that got me thinking about the whole good guy who is actually a bad guy thing. In the blog book I’m writing, there are several characters who appear to be something they aren’t (in a good/bad way).

I like that in stories. The surprise factor. Who the scoobydoo villain turns out to be. My question is, what do you think makes that work? Why are we compelled by and fascinated with the turn. The card shark who bluffs their way into millions. The preacher who is sleeping with the choir girl. The love story way too good to be true.

There is a popular song now, “Say Something” which illustrates this phenomenon. The desperation associated with love. Pain with healing.

Or, maybe I just read into stuff too much. Maybe it has nothing to do with that. Anyway, sorry so boring. I’m just thinking. A lot. Writing frees my mind, so, thanks for being a sounding board.

Bedtime story: I’ll think of something

I can’t write. I’d call it writer’s block, but I’m not writing anything, so I can’t exactly call myself a writer. Anyway, bedtime stories usually come relatively easy, so I thought I’d try one.

Once upon a time there was a girl named Kara. This girl was exceptionally gifted…gifted at lying.

When her friend accidentally broke her mothers favorite vase, Kara said, “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something to tell her”. When her mom got to the room, Kara explained how she and her friend had seen the vase moving, then it fell over and a mouse ran out.

When she forgot to take the trash out, she told her parents she had hurt her wrist and didn’t want to tell them cause they would worry.

As she grew older, “I’ll think of something” became stories of why she didn’t make it home on time, what happened to her homework, why she was wearing different clothes coming home than when she had gone to school, etc.

Of course, her parents, and teachers, even her friends were quite annoyed by her consistent lying. She was good at it though, and therefore it was hard to prove she was lying.

In fact, despite the lies, she fell in love and soon became a wife.

As any married couple knows, it’s not always the way the fairy tales would have you believe.

The first time he hit her could have been an accident. He said he was sorry right away, and he explained how he was just pretending like he was going to slap her, when she turned her head into it.

The next time was a little more clear, and, after all, she did kind of deserve it.

She didn’t understand why she was becoming too stupid to do the laundry right, or make the right food for dinner.

Now, huddled on the floor, she prayed the bleeding would stop, but knew it wouldn’t.

Look at this mess you’re making! Why can’t you just do things right so I don’t have to keep showing you?

I’m sorry. I don’t know.

Well, you better start thinking, cause it looks like we might have to go. I think there’s a new one on Robinson. You speak a word of this and I’ll kill you.

Can’t you understand, I don’t want to hurt you? I love you. You are just so damn difficult sometimes.

Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.

Write something

So, I’m here hooked up to an iv with my mystery drug being pumped into my body, and I’m bored.

“Write something” I tell myself in my ‘want to be writer’ voice. That voice is a bit of a bitch sometimes. Like now…

How are you ever going to become a writer if you’re trapped in a chair for two hours and you don’t write?

Well, I was hoping to be inspired by Candy Crush.

How’s that working for you?

Don’t Dr. Phil me, I have plenty of ideas, I’m just trying to figure out how to get them on the page.

Well, you aren’t getting any younger. If you wait much longer, you’re going to see your ideas being made into a movie because someone else managed to write them down.

Haven’t you heard of positive reinforcement? I respond much better to that, than to all this negativity.

Ok, how about this, you are such a great writer with wonderfully creative ideas. Now get off your ass and write something!

Better, but you know I’m hooked to an iv right now. Even if I wasn’t, I’m in a wheelchair. Getting off my ass is easier said than done.

I know that you are trying my patience. I’m done here.

Bitchy right? Anyway, I’ve got to go write something…right after I beat this level…

Soon We Will Be Cavemen Again

One of the best bloggers out there. Proving it again with this post. If you don’t read Nathan, you should.

The Life and Times of Nathan Badley...

Ladies and gentlemen, there is no doubt about it. We as a species are devolving. At this moment, we as a society are dumbing ourselves down voluntarily in an effort to “socialize”.

Hundreds of thousands of years ago, we were very stupid. We could barely communicate. Scientists say that the humans that lived in this era likely communicated with grunts and a variety of other sounds. This is not the most efficient way to communicate. If you don’t believe me, try grunting at a loved one sometime. That will likely not go well for you.

Not only was our verbalization ability lacking, but instead of written language, these humans would write stories by drawing little pictures on stone. These stories usually consisted of the following:

There once was an animal. We shot it. Then we ate.

The end.

Then we developed the ability to talk. We were able to say…

View original post 725 more words

So, I’m writing this book…

Okay, I’m going to stop blog writing this book, unless I change my mind…anyway, I’m putting what I have together here. Don’t feel obligated to read it, I’ve already posted basically the same thing in separate posts, but I’m trying to get a feel for the actual movement of the story, so I need it together.

If you do choose to read this post, please let me know if this sounds like a book. If I should pursue it, or send it to my mind’s mine field to quietly wait for the violent rediscovery of an unrealized dream.

“Run, David! Dont let them see you!” He would never forget the look in his mother’s eyes. Desperation and fear were etched on her face.

David gave her one last hug, and with tears in his eyes he did as he was told. “Run David” echoed in his mind as he raced out the back door, willing himself not to look back.

The woods did not seem as frightening as the image in his mind of what was coming to his house. To his mother. He couldn’t have saved her. She was dead either way.

As he entered the saplings near the edge of the forest, he heard sounds of glass breaking, followed by a blood curdling scream. Keep running, David told himself. After what seemed like hours, he came to a small river.

Though only 10 years old, David knew that the Outcasts wouldn’t venture into water. Even for him.

As he stepped into the cold water, he hoped that his mom wasn’t hurting, and that she was completely dead. If she had survived, it wouldn’t really be her who came after him. A shiver ran down his spine and he ran faster.

Deep in the woods three women were gathered around a dwindling fire.

It’s too late. The fire is dying.

Shhh, I think I hear something.

The women spoke with haggard voices that suited their aged faces. They listened carefully for any movement, the smallest sign that tonight would bring what they had long waited for.

Leaves rustled in the distance, followed by the sharp snap of a twig.

Hurry, he’s coming! Bring the oil!
They placed the pan with the oil on the fire and soon a strange earthy aroma melded with the warmth from the fire. The rustling in the woods was coming closer. Even the fire seemed to quiver with anticipation.

As David splashed through the creek bed after leaving his mother, he couldn’t help but cry.

Maybe he should have stayed and tried to help her fight them off, but she told him to run. He had to obey.

She had taught him to be strong, but she had also shown him there was great strength in knowing your weaknesses.

The creek was cold and he felt far enough along to step out and try to find shelter from the deepening darkness. As he clambered over the slippery rocks, his shin was gouged by a protruding twig.

Nothin like leaving a trail of blood when being chased by killers he thought to himself. Maybe they didn’t know about him. Maybe they wouldn’t try to find him. He has to get it cleaned up though, and he could see some smoke rising a little way away. The “Outcasts” don’t like fire, so that’s where he would go.

David drew closer and could smell that some sort of oil was being burned with the fire. It looked like three old women were the only ones by the fire. David was out of options as he stepped from the cover of the woods.

The women’s knowing eyes looked at last on the face they had seen only in their visions…the frightened, dirty face of the boy who stumbled out of the woods.

As David moved closer to the women and their small fire, he was suddenly, almost sickeningly reminded of his mother. Weird, he thought, but he didn’t allow himself to reminisce. His attention to the moment was the only thing that mattered.

The women were talking, seemingly to the fire, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

In unison they looked up at him.

You’re tired, and hungry. Say a few words, and we will give you some food before you head on. Even young travelers must rest, one of the women said.

“Umm, okay? I’m sorry, but I don’t know how…or what to say. They’re after me. They killed my mom. I’m hurt and… I need help, David stammered.

Shhh child. There is no set way. Some pray to God. Or to many gods. Some talk to the woods, or the moon, or even their own spirit. Our world is too full of evil to remain silent. One must speak. To anything, anyone with power to make a change.

David moved closer to the fire. “I don’t know what to say. My mom, she’s dead. She wanted me to run. I don’t know where to go. I’m, I’m scared. She just said “I’ll always love you Honey, I’ll be with you, in your heart. Run David, run and don’t stop”.

Although David didn’t notice, the women had been watching the oil in their pot since he had begun speaking. As they watched, beads of oil had risen in a line and moved toward the center of the pot. Strangely shaped crystals were forming along the sides of the pan.

David’s words were coming more freely now, but he still wasn’t exactly sure who or what he was talking to. “Please, help me. Help us. I don’t know what to do.”

David stopped talking. Something had touched his hand and sent a shiver down his spine. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand. On it was a spider, unlike any he’d seen before.

It was small and black, with a green line down its back. He was about to brush it away, when it bit the tender spot between his thumb and pointer finger.

The pain was immediate and aggressively started spreading through his body. David saw that the spider was still on his hand, still biting him, but he couldn’t move. His body was paralyzed as the spiders venom coursed through his veins.

The women at the fire intently watched the spider, but none of them moved to brush it off.

It didn’t matter long. David’s body, suddenly freed of paralysis, began convulsing and the spider fell off and disappeared into the woods.


This is another page or so in the book that I’m blog writing.

David stopped talking. Something had touched his hand and sent a shiver down his spine. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand. On it was a spider, unlike any he’d seen before.

It was small and black, with a green line down its back. He was about to brush it away, when it bit the tender spot between his thumb and pointer finger.

The pain was immediate and aggressively started spreading through his body. David saw that the spider was still on his hand, still biting him, but he couldn’t move. His body was paralyzed as the spiders venom coursed through his veins.

The women at the fire intently watched the spider, but none of them moved to brush it off.

It didn’t matter long. David’s body, suddenly freed of paralysis, began convulsing and the spider fell off and disappeared into the woods.

Bedtime story: cooties

Once upon a time there was a girl. This girl was lonely, but one day she discovered a hidden world in her backyard.

Inside this world were all sorts of insects, who weren’t really bugs in her mind.

One of them was a roly-poly. Cute, and fun to watch and play with. It was one of the first bugs she really liked.

She also found a grasshopper. At first she didn’t know what to think of it because it jumped right in her face and startled her. Then it hopped around in so many different directions that it was hard to keep up with, but as she followed along, she began to see the beauty in its wings, and the excitement in its life.

She made wonderful friends with a caterpillar that was beautiful, and interesting and would kind of tickle as it climbed on her finger.

Even the spiders enchanted her with their intricate webs and amazing abilities.

Butterflies came through at times and their presence brightened her day although sometimes she wished they had stayed longer.

The backyard became a place she clung to, a place she went when happy, or sad, or anything. She loved it. It was where she felt she could truly be herself.

One day the girl got sick and wasn’t allowed to go out and play. It was a difficult illness and even as she began to heal, she didn’t have the same desire to go to the backyard as she had before.

In her absence, some of the insects died, some had moved on, after all, they were just bugs, and she, just a girl.

When she finally did feel up to going out and playing in the backyard, she couldn’t find all the bugs she had before, but some were still there. She remembered and had missed them, and believe it or not, they had remembered and missed her.

Turns out friends don’t have to look like you or live where you live, or even keep in constant contact. Friends just have to care. Caring can soften even the hardest hearts.


Now, I know that no one who reads this blog would ever use any type of drug, illegal or not, but hypothetically speaking, what is your favorite, and why?

There is this show on about ecstasy. I’m listening to it while I do boring paperwork crap, and it is mentioning the “loving” effects of it, and how it is believed to increase empathy in people.

In my hypothetical drug past, ecstasy was a one time, and quite enjoyable adventure. Kind of like shrooms (not the type of high, just the fun factor) but x doesn’t taste like shit.

Now, remember drugs can be dangerous and deadly, so please don’t think I’m promoting drug use. I’m just wanting to avoid papers, and curious about people’s hypothetical experiences.

Anyway, I guess I should get back to paperwork. Oh yeah, I need some dance moves that I can do in my wheelchair while riding down the road. Might as well give people something to stare at and maybe bring a smile to some faces. I’ve always stunk at dancing, so any ideas are appreciated.