Welcome to the Tuesday post. I have caught myself up to date with the editing of The Sibling novel, and hopefully won’t be too long now until that is complete and can start thinking about ARC distribution and publication date. I feel the nerves, they are tingling.
This post is all about an experiment though. To improve my writing, I have started to write in a format or genre I am not confident in and used this blog as its base (it is isn’t groundbreaking or innovative, just a new way for me). This week I return to first person. It’s in a different style to how I would write but found it enjoyable nonetheless.
This was also a challenge as I capped the word count at 500. No more, no less. I hope you enjoy and I have an amazing Tuesday!
The moment I first felt alive was when I killed Orson Jones.
Okay, not a great way to start, but it was essential for you to know that, so you can appreciate how far I have travelled. It has been a turbulent journey, one if I had a second chance, I would repeat again. There are no mistakes in this life, it took me many years to reach that conclusion, and many lifetimes to accept it.
I am not a bad person, I just do terrible things in order for the world to continue along on its unheeding path towards the apocalypse. I do it for survival, is that a bad thing?
If you think about all the times you leave the room to complete a task, only to return oblivious to the original place confused or stand staring at an item you have no intention of using. You may even ask yourself, or others, if you are lucky enough to share a life with someone; what did I come out here for?
You wanna know the real reason for that aberration? It’s quite simple really. I just prevented your shadow from entering your body and possessing your soul. Could you imagine the hysteria, the religious wars, and meltdown the world would go into if cases of such subjects made its way in to the media? You are welcome.
I have no intention of starting at the end and I am getting way too far ahead of myself. Allow me to start where all good stories do, with an introvert child lost in the world of sexual adventure, puerile activities and the supernatural. I was never the cool kid, just so you know.
If you thought this was the story about the arsehole who went through life with cheeky quips, an award winning smile with an air of confidence unmatched by even the most beautiful adult, then you sir, or madam, are sadly mistaken.
This story begins with me, a sixteen year old inept, awkward confused Demisexual bookworm, lost in mind and soul, looking for answers that would not present themselves for time to come. I didn’t know that back then, and in hindsight would have come in handy. Nonetheless, it is where the adventures begin, and like any other good story, it started with a song.
Eyes set upon me, their lips turning into a wry smile, the audience waiting for the awkward individual to fall. I could hear the heavy breathing, the tension building. Oh how they would applaud. I felt the nerves, my hands trembling, stomach gurgling; but I took it as a good sign, as without them, it wouldn’t have meant much. Surely? I wrapped my fingers around the housing of the microphone, closed my eyes, and opened my mouth. The music started and my fears dissipated, for when I sang, I was transported into my own world. It was there the melodic tune soothed the aches and pains of the world away.
I was home.