This is my first time ever being part of a blog chain, so I’m purty excited. I’m going to try to link to all the other blogs in the chain at the end of this post if I can find them all. But anywho! The topic for this month’s chain is….
“What are you writing for NaNoWriMo? Briefly explain how this book idea come about. Then write a mock first page for the novel.”
For NaNo, I’m writing a novel called Broken Moon, it’ll be roughly 75,000 words, and it’s the third book in a trilogy (I’m currently writing book two, so hopefully it’ll be done by NaNo). I knew when I wrote the first book in the trilogy, Next Full Moon, that I wanted to write more than one book about the characters, and a trilogy seemed the perfect length.
And now, mock page one!
I’d been in hospitals plenty of times before. Somebody had to take the vamp attack victims in for care, and occasionally that person was me. I left them in the capable hands of the ER staff and then took off again, either to wash the vamp blood off my hands and clothes or to hunt down stragglers.
This was my first time on the other side of things.
The gurney I lay on creaked as they pushed it down the hall, and doctors’ and nurses’ faces floated above me in a gray, red-tinged haze.
I must have blood in my eyes. That should probably hurt.
Pain had stopped registering a long time back, somewhere between getting hit on the back of the head and having my neck torn open by vamp fangs. The gurney went through a pair of swinging doors, and a rush of voices hit my ears as people called out orders and responses and blood pressure.
I closed my eyes for a second and was immediately patted on the cheek, jerked back to wakefulness. One of the nurses, the redheaded one, spoke, probably telling me to stay awake or something, but I couldn’t.
I was lifted from the gurney, and the jolt of my body hitting the hospital bed snapped me fully awake again. Everything in the world was hazy bloody, and I blinked a few times, trying to clear my vision.
“Hey, champ,” somebody said. I turned my head a fraction of an inch to see who had spoken.
Brown hair. Brown eyes. I blinked once more and made out Farren, crushed between two doctors, refusing to move even when they ordered him out of the way. His whole face was black and blue, and the right side of his face was sliced open. He looked like he’d been attacked by a tiger.
Seeing the claw marks made me remember.
A doctor put an oxygen mask over my face, so I couldn’t apologize, or curse, or even tell Farren to give me the smack across the face I deserved. I could only close my eyes and start to cry.
“It’s not your fault,” Farren said.
Right. It wasn’t at all my fault that the world was going to end.