EPTAt some point I got it into my head that I would try to write a book. It doesn't really matter if it happens, I have enough fun just planning it. I wrote a chapter that I thought was fantastic; every time I read it I convinced myself it was awesome. Then, about a week later, I realized it was terrible. That was my first lesson; shit writing looks fantastic just by wanting it to be.
I have attempted to remedy my bad writing with a book called Techniques for the Selling Writer by Dwight Swain. It came highly recommended, so I have to assume the hours I spend conforming to its lessons are not wasted. I have actually stopped thinking about writing a book and have devoted my limited time over the last few days towards this single chapter, trying to apply everything I have learned.
I would like to know what you think, be brutally honest. It would be nice to know if my efforts are completely futile from incredible lack of talent. I'd get over it, some things you just aren't born to do.
So here it is. Note that this is not the first chapter of my (theoretical) book, but it is meant to be the first chapter starring this particular focal character. Oh, there is some foulish language and depictions some may consider "graphic."
+ Show Spoiler +
The suffocating decay plagued the air like a terrible sickness. Mounds of charred bodies littered the streets, shadowed by corpses hanging like ornaments from awnings and trees. The body of a young girl swung slowly, her small feet dangled inches from a wooden porch. Although the strangled shade did not entirely mask her delicate features, vacant eyes betrayed the life torn from her. Bail shivered, forcing himself to look away.
A thick alcoholic haze obscured his vision as he wandered the town’s main stretch. He could feel the hopelessness flood his body like ice water; a soul crushing tide he battled every waking moment. Distant, stifled, memories clawed their way forward. Bail began to sense a numbing familiarity with the horror before him. He fought to clear his head, focusing clouded thoughts.
A sudden realization sparked an ember of dread. The odor and rot betrayed the age of the bodies, yet the towns' infrastructure remained; uncharacteristic of a routine purge. The muscles in his arms grew tense, whitening his knuckles. He began to recall the responsibilities that were his by oath. The dread ember grew to flame as the poison that armored his mind turned to water in his veins. His heart began to race and his vision cleared.
The unfortunate town seemed quiet enough; the lonely house’s and stores passed by without objection. Bails breathing slowed, and he began to collect himself. He came across a portly man’s cadaver sprawled face down in the street. Bail knelt down beside it. Perhaps he proved too fat to relocate? The notion gave Bail a moment’s relief, but reality quickly returned his nausea. Unburned and lacking obvious signs of strangulation, the body showed no clear cause of death. Sighing, Bail began to roll the heavy mass onto its back. He felt the body twitch. Bail leapt back and scrambled to his feet. He abandoned the scene, the now still form mocking him as he fled.
The street became increasingly crowded with misplaced remains as he made his way towards the towns center. The initially subtle twinges grew frequent and violent. One boy threatened to break the rope from which he hung with his horrid outburst. Bails hurried pace became a frightened jog and his head spun wildly, desperately searching for the source of the animation. The intensity came to a head in the same spot where the corpses grew densest; culminating just outside a large tavern. The pattern of seizing bodies told the tale of a brutal assault by lightly armed villagers on whoever was occupying the pub. Their movements became increasingly precise and frighteningly deliberate. Bail felt panic rise from his gut. He anticipated that only minutes remained before he would have no choice but to set the town ablaze and run.
An armored man, dressed in the custom of a church Templar, sat with his back pressed against the taverns heavy door. He sported over half a dozen open wounds, yet his hands still grasped a sword driven through his own bowels. Bail was momentarily overcome with panic and he found himself unable to muster the coordination needed to draw his own sword. He closed his eyes, trying to remember how he used to keep his fears at bay.
He forced the weapon from its sheath, a light, thin blade of silver composite that trembled like a reed in his hands. The visage of a fearsome boar was carved into the tavern door. Bail allowed its image to distract him for a moment while he prepared his assault. He took a deep breath and rushed inside the dark barroom with a recklessness that could only hope to compensate for his fears. He was immediately struck by a heavy mass that drove him to the floor. His first breath after forcing cold flesh from his mouth was strangled by a putrid fume. He gagged violently, threw the attacker off and drove his sword repeatedly into its center.
The blood drained from Bails head, and his vision cleared. A burnt corpse lay before him, unaffected by his blades wrath. Bail fell to his back, fighting to control his rapid breath. He was embarrassed, angry, and on the verge of vomiting, but he struggled to his feet. The tavern was devoid of life, both human and supernatural. The man Bail had mutilated wore the pendent of a church exorcist around his neck. Four similar bodies were strewn about the tavern floor. Two were recognizably Templar, and one a beheaded monk. All were apparently killed by the sword, and put to the torch. Bail thought of the church warrior outside who had taken his own life. What fit of madness could cause men of such standing to turn on one another?
Terror brewed as the worst possible scenarios played through his mind. He began searching the room for any indication, any sign, that might abate his growing horror. Near the back sat a table: It was large, round, and of a dark wood; commonplace in a tavern such as this. What distinguished it from the others nearby was the spirit ward carefully carved into the surface, and the young girl crucified to the top. A familiar tide of depression washed away his fear; he could feel his body relax and he stood transfixed. The girl was pretty, with dark auburn hair, soft skin, and a small chest pierced by an ornate silver dagger. A thin stream of dry blood escaped her parted lips.
Bail cursed softly as he closed her eyes. There was nothing left in this town that fire couldn’t cleanse. He walked to the bar and dusted off a bottle of 45 year-old amber whiskey. Unable to find clean glass he put the bottle to his lips-
“help…” a soft voice whispered.
“What th- !” he sputtered as surprise shook him from his stool. The bottle shattered against the floor. Pushing the rising terror as deep as he could inside him, he rushed to the side of the girl, whose eyes had reopened and were darting spastically. His greatest fear manifested before his eyes; it was all Bail could do to stay conscious.
“help…please…” her lips moved slowly, and she coughed dark blood that threatened to flood her throat.
“No…no… oh god please not this” the man plead to silence. This was a scene from his past, a bad memory, an alcohol induced nightmare, it had to be.
“please… it’s inside me, make it stop… kill me…” The look in her eyes was enough to bring the man to tears; she was enduring the torment of being dissected from the inside with fire.
“Girl, listen to me,” he started, grasping her shoulders “let it take you, and I will end the pain!” He wanted so bad to see her stop suffering, to put her out of her misery, but the code would not allow him. Protect the innocent. As long as she was in control of her own mind, he could not end her suffering. Without the code he was less than a man.
“please…he’s… getting stronger… I can’t……I can’t…ugh… ahhhhhhh!” She thrashed against the chains, the table threatened to collapse. “Get out of me you FUCK!” The entire building began to shake, barred windows blew open, liquor bottles shattered in place, and objects not bolted to the ground began to rise. Any pity that remained for the poor girl disappeared in that moment, there was only room in his mind for one crippling emotion. A dark power emanated from within her, beyond that of any ordinary possessor. Bail could no longer afford to let the girl lose control; he could not slay a demon of this magnitude. He swallowed, his mind lost in a sea of anguish. Only distant memory guided his hands.
“ughhhhh…” she moaned as he pulled the silver dagger from her still-beating heart. “wha- what are you doing?” she asked with a quiet, trembling voice.
“I’m…I’m so sorry” he whispered. He cut off her shirt, revealing her slender form, twisting and throbbing from the battle raging inside her. She screamed with horrifying agony as he carved an ancient, and painfully elaborate, symbol into the flesh below the division of her breasts. Once complete, he sank the knife six inches deep into its center. Her screams muffled as blood flooded her throat.
He began reciting with a voice he no longer recognized, as he removed the nails and chains binding her to the table.
“You are sacrificed, a martyr to the war against the enemies of humanity. Your life is given to pain, torment, and fear. You shall gain the strength to carry the sins of the world, to contain the burning fires of hell, and to abate the cruel wrath of heaven. Be they demon, angel, devil, or god, you will strike them down. You lie as prey, now rise as hunter.”
She rose, pulling the knife from her own chest.
I hope you enjoyed. I am seriously not familiar with basic literary concepts (as I AP tested out of needing any English in college) so don't feel bad if you need to treat me like a noobie.
-AKA
