Now writing in a funk is risky for me because the last thing I want is to sit there struggling. I love writing and have a lot of fun when I'm able to jump write in and roll around in the creative muck. But something had to give yesterday so I started to think - what should I write?
I've been kicking around an idea for the last few weeks. For those who don't know, I dream my story ideas. I'll wake up with a few images in my head and take it from there. This one idea, one of the images was of a man holding a lifeless woman in his arms, covered in her blood. Gory right? No where NEAR the romance it's going to be *giggle*
But that's what I went with last night and I am VERY proud to say that 2 hours, 9 pages and 2600 words later - a story was born. It's still rough but it's all mine and I can't wait to see where it goes. I have a rough idea but with this story it keeps morphing so I think I'll be "flying by the seat of my pants" with this one. I don't know whether to be excited or scared LOL
So to celebrate my de-funkification and return to writing after a dry spell, I thought I'd shared a short teaser. Ok, I'm sharing the first few paragraphs LOL Anyway be gentle and here it is...
It was everywhere.
There wasn’t a place he could lay his hand that didn’t come back covered and as Aidan lifted his fingers to his brow, the fading sun caused the redness of the liquid to take on a more sinister hue.
As if being bathed in blood could get any more sinister, he snorted, chuckling to himself.
There really wasn’t anything funny about the situation but for the very life of him, he couldn’t seem to stop the wave of hysteria that threatened to overcome him. It started somewhere in the base of his chest and rose with such a force, to ignore it, to stifle it, would cause more pain than what it was worth.
Should anyone at that moment stumble upon him, he would look for all intents and purposes a mad man – sitting there in the middle of a dirty, rat infested alley, cradling in his arms the lifeless body of a woman, her heart finally stopped as the last of her life blood trickled slowly from her.
With one glance at his disheveled appearance, clothes caked with blood that was already beginning to dry and skin smeared with the sticky gore, people would be screaming for the authorities and his life.
Aidan knew he needed to come to his senses, that he needed to remove himself quickly from the situation but still he sat there, rocking back and forward, his bloodstained hands roughly smoothing over the hair of his victim as if to comfort her in her passing.
He had done this and as his eyes soaked up his surroundings, bile began to slowly rise up into his mouth as he gagged on the scent of bitter copper.
Aidan turned the woman’s face towards him, her lifeless eyes staring back at him as if in death she continued to accuse him. Her name was Isabelle, or was it Annabelle? Letting out a hasty breath, Aidan cursed his stupidity for not remembering her name ...
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