Behold an extract from my first attempt at writing a novel. (This aint edited and there's a few "wtf, that doesn't make sense" moments so sorry?)
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I wake up in the lap of Leuruna. She's massaging oils along my temples, humming softly. By my side, sits Henrik. He tends to the stab wound on my left delicately. Wrapping around a cooling strip of cloth ripped from his sleeve around a row of tight stitches. His large callused hands carefully tying everything up slowly.
I feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I'm not used to be taken care of by others.
Leuruna cups a gentle hand on my forehead. "Easy does it," she assures kindly.
Everia's body shimmers still in the obsolete waters below. Immense guilt fills my system like a broken piece of pipework. What if we had been able to talk things out?
I shuffle onto my feet.
"I have to warn Adel,"
"No you don't." says Henrik knitting his brows together. "Not with that stab wound."
I let out a benign sigh. "But I'm fine now."
Leuruna shakes her head, propping a few ointment jars into her bag. "A wound is still a wound. If you ignore it the cuts run deeper."
Tilting his head, Henrik studies the floating body of red. Then turns back to us. He looks a little shaken as though Leuruna's words somehow affect him not me. Perhaps they do.
"Well what do you want me to do then?" I ask slightly annoyed.
I need to tell him about Irene's plot to murder him. I need to tell someone about it. Stop preventing me from achieving my goals. I shake my head, standing up idly.
"You can't stop me." I command.
My knees wobble under the weight of my body. I force myself to hold a steady stance. Like a clock the blood beneath my bandages fizzled rhythmically past my shoulder blades. I take a step forward, then another.
My sight grows fuzzy with a wave of unnatural warmth bestowing over my entire body like a blanket. Wrapping me tight in heat. I gasp. My legs buckle together. I tip over the edge. My eyes squeeze tight, awaiting for the harsh surface area below to crush my face into mirror shards.But I don't fall.
Henrik grips onto the back of my other arm tightly. He won't let go.
"Does that prove enough to you?"
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Short Stories
Short StoryAn accumulation of short stories and flash fiction I've written over the past few years. Most of these are unedited. I've created this to keep track of my improvement and to have a place to store all my random pieces together. I probably won't touch...
