Monday, March 11, 2013


Following is a paragraph from my work in progress, which I haven't named or examined deeply enough to determine genre. I am enjoying writing it. The characters are not exactly enjoying being in it.


I tumbled, bounced off something sharp and caught for a second on a utilidor before gravity reared up and hauled me over the edge. My left femur broke, the edges of the bone shearing away from each other and waking nerve endings I hadn’t known existed. Then a man came out of the house. Not the owner, maybe a groundskeeper who’d been taking a break or a cook with no regard for hygiene. His hair was greasy. He wore threadbare brown pants and a rough brown shirt, and the second he saw me he stalked over and stabbed me with a short, thick knife.

No comments:

Post a Comment