Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Yes, I'm a writer. You want to read my work?

Hey everyone!

I'm not sure how many of you know, but I'm a writer. Nothing published yet, but that's the goal.

Over on this side of the blog is a link to my other blog, which is geared completely to my writing. Feel free to follow it if you'd like.

I've entered a contest on another writer's blog where we post the first 500 words of our story. I thought it might be kind of fun to see what you all thought so I have posted the first 500 words below. Feel free to say exactly what you feel. That's the only way I can get better. 

Sacrifice is my first fiction novel which will fall under the YA category.

Basically, would you want to keep reading after you read the first 500 words? Again, be perfectly honest.

            The man without a name walked the dark hallway, cobwebs clinging to his pants. He didn’t need light. He had been here many times before.
            If he were any other man he would think about things, meaningful or insignificant, as he walked by himself answering the summons. But he was a man without his own name, his own thoughts, his own feelings. An outer shell that encased nothing because there was nothing inside.
            At the end of the hallway he reached for the door. With ease he placed the key in the lock and turned it. The scream hit him as soon as the door opened a crack.
He didn’t flinch.
The click of the door behind him sealed in the terror as the man followed the pleas of innocence. When he reached the cell at the end of the hall he stopped in the shadows and waited, watching.
The man called Terry wailed, desperately trying to pull himself away from the beating that was sure to end his life. He crawled to the wall and propped himself up, too weak to sit under his own strength. His face was covered in blood and as he cried it flew into the air in front of him. He continued to beg for mercy.
            His boss, Balach, stood up and placed his hands on his hips, surveying the damage he'd caused. His breathing heavy due to the passion he placed in every blow. He tossed a small blue stone as he walked around the man. After a few circles he squatted down so that he was face to face with the prisoner and in the most menacing tone, he inquired again.
            “Terry, where did you get this stone?”
            The man continued to cry. Through his sobs he managed a few words.
            “Like I said Advisor, sir, I found it.” He shook his head from side to side as he mumbled again. “I found it.”
            The sound of Balach’s strike was so loud that even he shut his eyes at the realization of the pain.
            “I don’t believe you!” Balach screamed revealing the face of a madman.
            Balach huffed and walked to the other side of the cell. He ran his huge hand down his face, transferring blood, making him seem like the devil himself. Balach rarely lost his cool. He wasn’t the King’s trusted Advisor by happenstance. He put a great mask of kindness and compassion over his heart of stone.

What do you think? Would you continue reading?


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