I'm going to give this "writing live" thing a shot. Help(less) is a book that has already been written, at least as far as the first draft. I'm now in the process of re-reading and editing. As I finish a chapter or scene, I will upload it to my blog, so readers can check it out. When the book is finished, I'll publish it on Amazon. Really, it's more like editing live, but you, my lovely readers, will still get chapter by chapter of my next book.
I've always wanted to try my hand at Gothic Horror. I love the atmosphere, the slow build, the mystery. This particular tale started with an image in my head, as so many stories do. A young woman, thin and slouched over, trying to make herself as small as possible in an enormous room. She clutches a golden locket and waits.
But that's the next chapter.
This is the prologue. I know a lot of people complain about prologues, but I don't really know why. And I think this only is particularly exciting. It's short too, just a little snippit!
I hope you enjoy!
Prologue
Eloise held up the syringe and flicked the side. Her fingernail clinked against the hard glass tube. Gently, she pressed the plunger into the barrel, squeezing the air bubbles out. When the clear serum squirted from the tip, she nodded. “Ready.”
She stepped towards the bed where Victor straddled her father, kneeling on his arms and pressing down on his mouth. Eloise thought he might snap his neck from the pressure he put on the older man’s face. "Take care, Victor."
Her father’s eyes were wide and red; whether with hate or fear, she didn’t know. Probably both. He forced strong streams of breath out his nose, across Victor’s hands, in the moments when he was actually quiet. He began struggling and screaming through Victor’s hands as she approached him, syringe in hand. He tried to thrash, tried to free himself from Victor’s hold, but it was impossible. He was weak from months of malnourishment and thirty years older than Victor, who wasn’t a young man himself.
She leaned over his squirming, withered form. “I’ve waited for this so long,” she said, stroking back white wisps of hair. She took a deep breath and added her knee to the weight on his arm so he couldn’t wrench free and leave a needle wound. Evidence was the last thing they needed. As stupid and easily bought as local sheriff was, she didn't think he'd overlook this. Not this time.
More gently than she would have thought herself capable, she nestled the needle tip into a throbbing blue vein. “Goodbye, Father,” she said and pressed the plunger through the barrel.
A tear fell from the corner of his eye, as his body went slack, leaving a trail along his papery skin.
“All right, Victor,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked up as though surprised to see her and looked back down at Fredrick’s unconscious form. He nodded and climbed off him.
“Is everything prepared?”
He looked between her and Fredrick. “But...isn’t there some other way?”
She sighed. This wasn't the first time he'd tried to sway her mind. “You know there’s not. We need to hurry.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he stood staring, rhythmically clenching and releasing his hands.
“Victor,” she repeated, drawing his attention. “Is the boat ready?”
He nodded.
“Good. Grab his feet. The sun’s almost up, and we don’t need anyone catching sight of us.”
That's it for now. Like I said, just a little snippet, something to whet your appetite. So, what do you think of prologues? Are you pro or anti-prologue? Let me know in the comments section!
Cheers!
No comments:
Post a Comment