Genre: Urban Fantasy
When I was a kid, I found a human skull. But that isn’t the bad part. It’s the nightmares and the screaming. And the longevity. After fifteen years, it should be ancient history.
Not counting the original owner, only one other person knew about the skull.
But he too is dead.
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On some distant level, I knew it was only the dream, as familiar a place as the shape of my nose in the mirror. But in my nightmares, it wasn’t my face reflected in the night-darkened pool or my boots walking through the dry leaves. The hands holding the weapons know the caress of the iron. And my belly flutters with the familiar dread of the hunted.
The emotions are the same; desperation and the acceptance of things left undone. And my screams when utter failure is all I can expect…
And waking up in my bed.
With a groan, I slumped back for a moment, and then sat up to fight my way out of the twisted, damp sheets.
Just when I think it is all behind me, the stupid dreams, the yelling…
I brushed the hair away from my face, grimaced when I saw my hand still trembled and clenched it into a fist. With a muttered oath, I pulled my legs from the rumpled sheets, made the bed properly and padded to the kitchen.
Eva, my sometimes-roommate, sat at the table cradling a cup of caffeine in one hand, a newspaper spread open in front of her.
1 comment:
I like this, but if this is the beginning be careful about starting with dreams. Not that I haven't ever done it myself but I hear editors don't care for it.
I liked how the author set up questions, about the skull, about what is real and what is dream, about being hunted...the last bit about Eva almost felt like an intrusion. I wanted to know more about the other stuff: "The hands holding the weapons know the caress of the iron." That stuff.
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