I don't currently have any edits done on the first three chapters, and I prefer it this way. I figure the best way to finish my work is to actually complete it. Go through with edits, add or detract from what I have, and then let it sit. Then go back, read through and make more edits, and then let it sit. I'm a strong believer in letting go of the work for a couple of days or even a week. It lets me have a new perspective when I read it again.
So, instead today I will be posting the prologue of my novel "Don't Fear the Reaper". It's not my first work in progress, but it is the one that I will finish. It has been ground into my head to, and I quote, "finish your shit". It's probably the best piece of advice I have ever been given. Without further procrastination, here's the prologue. Enjoy!
In the meantime, while I work on my novel in progress I hope you have a Happy New Year and safe travels! I may upload a bit about my evening later on, if it's appropriate ;)
~Smoak
Prologue
Have you ever looked
into the eyes of death? Felt its grimy fingers grip you around the throat,
watching as you fight for another breath? How about the constricting thud of
your heart, the stabbing and stretching pains in your chest? People describe
death as a peaceful succumbing to darkness or as a jubilant skip into the
light. Stupid people. Death is pain. Death is grief. Death is cold. Worst of
all, death is inevitable.
Death comes after
everything. Everyone you know, everyone you love, and eventually he’ll come
after you. He’s come after me a few times. I’ve seen enough to know that I’ll
avoid him at all costs. I can’t die. No, I refuse to die.
Death is a strange
thing. He’s tall, dark, and cruel. That’s what no one tells you. After your
first near death experience you can see him. You seem him all the time,
everywhere. The reapers cloak hides his face, but I’ve seen it. The black eyes,
hallowed cheeks, pale skin, straight nose and angular jaw make a frightening
sight, especially when your life is in his vice grip. He has that grin; you
know the one. The warning you get not to leave the little ones with him alone,
or not to trust him with your wife. He’s feral, and you can see nothing in his
eyes except a cold black abyss.
You can feel it when
he’s around. The air changes, it’s almost suffocating. You can feel the color
being drained from the things around you and all that’s left is grey. Then
again, that is just death.
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