It’s about time that I got back into some sort of blogging rhythm here, after being a lazy bum for the last week or so. (I guess my read-a-thon hangover was worse than I thought.)
I’ve decided to take the tiniest break from writing The Night Princesses, mostly to write a mountain of reviews that are well overdue, but also to write a few short stories for an anthology.
And what better way to ease back into blogging than by posting up a SFP for the latest short story, The Hungry Garden. (That title may change though. Maybe.)
Anywhoozit…the unrefined first page:
Moonlight dripped from the ceiling and painted shadows across the room. I listened. Before, like the first few nights, I would have slapped the pillow over my face and ignored it, but it wore me down. It was the kind of melody that was too beautiful for words, but heartbreak swam beneath the surface, like a dirge disguised as a lullaby. Ten nights at a minute after midnight, without fail.
Maybe I should get up, slip out of bed and gently pad over to the window. Maybe this is the night I see them. Maybe they might invite me to join them.
Before I could will myself to move I was at the window gazing out onto the inky lawn. Weeping willows draped in mist that reminded me of spun sugar and weekends at Nana’s dotted the horizon. How I wanted to join them, if only I knew where they were.
And then, something moving. I glimpsed it, a shadow in bed clothes. I slid open the window and the voices enveloped me. They were all around me, but nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, wait for me.” My own voice sounded inadequate, sinking into the cloying night voices.
I took the stairs two at a time, but it still felt like I was crawling. There were only moments left. Soon they would be gone, replaced by emptiness. If I could just get to the shadow I knew it would lead me to them. Finally.
But something stopped me at the threshold. A vice around my arm pulling me back with such force I thought everything in me shattered when my body met the floor.
Since, like the majority of my stories, this was written longhand, it’s time for me to finish transcribing it. Lots o’ typing ahead.