Crack the sky

This past weekend was amazing!  Sunny sunny sunny!  Love it!  Except, I have no sense and didn’t wear sunscreen, so now I pay.  Sunburns suck…I’m just sayin’.  Got in some moat-time, walks and runs, even a fun afternoon with one of my best friends at Starbucks.  Life is good.

One of the best things that happened to me is that I finally got a solid idea for the third book in the ‘Pretty‘ series.  I’ve been making notes, hashing things out in my head and it’s starting to come together.  It’s so exciting when that happens.  I can picture it now, and that is my indicator that I should run with it.

With all the ‘fun time’ over the weekend, I left it until the last minute to pull together a writing exercise.  Once again, I had one of those moments where a word or phrase gets stuck in my head and bangs around in there until I write it out.  This time it’s ‘Crack the sky’ — the title of this exercise.  It was tough, but I think I found a picture that represents my thoughts exactly.  Enjoy!

The night scores the earth with darkness. Tiny tendrils of light scratch at the gloom, desperate to crack the sky. Darkness bleeds into every crevasse, trying to wipe out the light entirely, but the dawn prevails. Silence stretches over the lands, blanketing the battle cries, the screams of pain, the moans of the dying. It is stifling. The eyes behold the horror – a bloodbath. So many lost souls. Lost fathers, brothers, sons. Bones, bathed in blood are scattered to the four corners. A feast for scavengers. A sight no eye should ever see.

Prayers to the Gods have failed us. We have been forsaken. My heart is weighted. My body weary. My mind, numb. I fear I will never feel again – for I am wiped clean. My hands, sticky with blood, seem foreign to me. I wield a sword. I hack. I cleave. I remember not. My ears ring from the clash of steel. My eyes burn with death and dying. I am a man without a soul. It lies at my feet, thrashing about it the blood-soaked mud. I care not to save it. For a man with a soul, is a dead man. He who hesitates, dies. Yet, do I truly live? The answer evades me.

I love writing so much.  I love the way I feel as the words flow through me and into the keyboard.  Life is good.


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