Book Explorer: murder

I've seen dead lights before, when I was a child, when my mother was still among the living. Little impish things danced in it, a light shrouded by the fogs that a friend of my mother's claimed to creep from the underlands. They were supposed to travel from the Lakes of Fire, or the Forests of Diamond, to bring the dead to pleasure, or to sorrow. The dead lights that had come for my mother, killed from a car crash, were periwinkle.

None came for the corpse in front of me.

Sin.

That was Father Marley's favorite word, preaching to us from his high pedestal up on the stage of the old, resurrected chapel newly dedicated to Saint Gavin—self proclaimed freedom fighter. Sin explained everything that was happening now, everything, and in the late night prayers full of somber chanting, I like any good flock member, whole-heartedly agreed. And, being who I was, I condemned Felicia Stone.

Her Imperial Majesty, Felicia Stone.

I'm not convinced Im completely done with this yet....we'll see. But this is what I've got so far. I might alter it in the future, who knows. But I finished a story, finally, by fuck.....

           Oh, my beauty, my angel with your hair like fire and your skin of cream, I want to drown myself in you, in your eyes, so wide and round and the way you whimper makes me crazy.  At last you’re mine, all mine.  I know you love me too by the way you are breathing--gasping. You play the game of trying to get away but your movements just make me lose myself in you.

Okay, so here's the first of my comp entries.  It could probably stand an edit, more a little rewrite, but it stands until I find more time (and energy) to come up with something else...  And it's a little longer than I would have liked to enter here, but what you gonna do?  Hmm?

Read and deride, my fellow bookzekees.

 

Distractions

 

 

**As I have stated before, this story is not quite on par with some of the other things I have written in the past.
But I can deny the fact that I am proud of myself for being able to write anything.
Tell me what you think will help with this peice, as it is a little-I dont know, I think there might be something missing-**

                                                              Taste
               
          I knew when I very first saw you, exactly what it was  I was going to do. And damn me for it, too, But I just cant stop myself. I cant. I want- I need, to taste your blood.

Chapter 13: Angel of Death

Date: May 25, 1922
Location: The Atlantic Ocean
Mission: Kill Amhearst Pearson.

They didn't make ships like this in my time. I'm talking about the RMS Mauretania, the biggest and fastest ocean liner of its time. There were cruise ships in my era, sure, but they were only in space. In both time periods, they were the purview of the wealthy, with the exception of those migrants  who scraped together enough coin to make a one-way voyage.

Patrick awoke to the sight of three younger boys staring up at him, a peculiar glee on their faces. He realized its cause when he discovered he couldn't move--something bound his hands and feet. He felt a wooden post against his back as he squirmed against it.