I’m attempting to participate in Holly Lisle’s Friday Snippets meme, but I can’t seem to figure out how to set up the code. I’m really good with HTML, but for some reason this just isn’t happening.
I will post my snippet anyway. If anyone knows how to do this (I don’t have an ‘edit theme’ tag), please leave me a comment or email me at ericon22 AT hotmail DOT com.
So the snippet. It’s a recent scene from Survivor, my psychological horror novel that’s been in progress for 2 years. I’ve been totally focused on Pirouette and the Rewrite of Doom, but I have been working on Survivor in between. This is a scene towards the end, where the main character makes a devastating discovery.
Please note that this is pure first draft, unedited, and is thus not perfect. Also, there is some explicit language.
The nausea doubled me over.
My vision blurred; my muscles cramped, and I nearly hit the sink. Carefully, I stood upright, cradling my belly.
What the fuck was happening now? Possibilities raced through my head – a flu bug, food poisoning, medication side effects…
Something pinged my mind, something that sent an icy finger down my spine: my period. I haven’t had my period. I sank slowly onto the cold tile, sitting back on my knees. I tried not to notice the way my fingers trembled ever so slightly, or the way that I purposely kept my eyes off the calendar – the calendar that I hand-made everyone for Christmas one year. I couldn’t remember which year, or the events surrounding the taking of the pictures…it was all a blank space. Time missed; a beat skipped.
My belly churned, but this time is was from anxiety.
I forced my gaze away from the calendar, with all its accusing images, memories left on the fringes of my mind. I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want to see the dates. Somewhere in the farthest reaches of my mind, the idea lurked, the thing I didn’t want to face, but knew that I had to.
Come on. The Guardian, sounding exasperated. You can’t run away forever.
“You wanna bet?” I asked. I didn’t think about the strangeness of talking to the thin air, to a woman who existed only in my head. She had no face, no body, no eyes – but her voice to me resounded like the voice of God. I let out a breath. If she was pissed, then so be it. “I don’t want to do this right now.” I covered my face with my hands, to stave off the tears forming rapidly in my eyes, for all the good that it would do.
We must, Laura. It’s important. Her voice softened to silken edges. You know what’s waiting for you on the other side.
I nodded. Didn’t wanna look. Didn’t wanna look. “No, I don’t.” I decided to sink into the quicksand of denial, rather than face it. If I could hold off a little while longer……
Yes, dear child. Yes. Now, she reminded me of Mom. All motherly-love and warmth and kisses. Shit. Damn her.
The first tear slid a path to my chin, warm and moist. “Don’t do that,” I said softly. “You’re making it very hard for me to be oppositional.”
The Guardian chuckled. Just like a child.
My head jerked up. The world seemed to waver, shimmer, and then halt. I blinked.
The abrupt transition caught me off guard. I was sitting on the ground, my face wet with tears.
How did I end up here?
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