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.


21 thoughts on “So, I’m writing this book…

  1. This is fantastic. I can’t wait to read on. I’ll buy the book as soon as it’s published. I want to know what the spider injected him with and who the three women are. Fascinating!

    There are just two sentences that I would alter:

    As he stepped into the cool water, he said quick prayer that his mother’s death would be quick and complete [did you mean said *a* quick prayer…also, i’d change one of the “quick”s to another word or just take out the first one]

    “I must become more than I am now. Please, unlock my potential. Please show me who I’m meant to become. Please help these strangers who’ve helped me. if something can, it should.” [last sentence or two probably weren’t finished as intended]

    Also, quotes should precede new paragraphs that are continuations of dialogue by the same person:
    “…So there must be a reason for me.

    [add “]I don’t know how to stop it. How …”

    Minor stuff, but the story is tingling!

    • Thanks Chaz! You could be my editor! Great advice. Thank you for reading and taking the time to comment. I’m serious about the editor thing. I’m definitely going to need one.

  2. 10. He is ten. He needs to think like a ten year old, using ten year old’s words.
    Other than that I think it’s excellent. Got ‘me’ interested! But (lol) – yeah, some of our kids (the older ones) thought: 10 year olds don’t talk/think like that. Meaning some of the words; nothing wrong with the notions themselves. But a little less articulate, perhaps. and a good story. 😀 Really, mean that.

    • Thanks Jeff. I was thinking the same thing. Of course, he can’t talk like my almost 10 year old, or it will be a story about all the disgusting noises boys can make 😉 but he does need to be a kid.

      • Honesty & openness will get you shot sometimes, LOL!! (“No, dear, its not the dress making your butt look big, it’s your butt making your butt look big,” – classic example, LOL!!!) Or when you shoot yourself in the foot a few times. (“That idea sucks, boss . . . am I being too brutally honest here???” LOL.) But we appreciate that you appreciate. And appreciate that right back on ya. LOL! Have fun, girl! 😀 😀 😀 😀 😀 😀 😀 😀

      • Go for the gusto and write a book. The parts you have posted so far, and you can beat me if you don’t like it, reminded of a cross between a King novel and a fantasy trilogy style. Liked it very much. We are here to act as a sounding board if you need it, but if you are inspired, do the novel.

        • Thanks John. I think it’s the committing to an actual novel that scares me. Not to mention the insecurities I’m sure most unpublished writers have. I like King, and am slowly reading his book about the horror genre now. This does have a lot of the fantasy element as well.

          I had 3 dreams that have basically led to this story. The part about the oil was in a dream, so real, a very lucid dream. My description doesn’t even come close to the intensity…

          It’s weird though. I’m so damn unsure of myself it sickens me. Blogging is much easier.

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