Just When You Think It's Going to be Okay

*Today my blog is being critiqued by Laura at Laura B. Writer.
**Please don't forget to follow the instructions on this post and "heart" my entry if you like it.

            The blood disappeared in the black sand, but not even the salt in the air could cover the odor of decaying bodies. I leaned back, bark catching on my shirt, and tried to breathe through my mouth. An unbroken mix of blue and green spread out before me. It was worse than the stench.

            The tree shook all around me. My legs tightened around the branch. I raised the gun in my lap. Loud bangs pierced my ears and metal grew hot in my hands. The four closest wastopaneers blanketed the ground, the holes in their heads shining red in the sunlight.

            One tried to stand back up, digging her nails into the tree. I reached inside my bag. I was going to have to tacise her. My fingers brushed the smooth cylinder. I jerked out my taser and fired. The wastopaneer dropped, brain fried.

            I settled against the trunk once more, air blowing between my lips. I yanked an apple from my knapsack and took a bite, too sweet. The juice, cold and sticky, dribbled down my chin.

            “Is anyone alive down there?” I jumped. The apple fell, hitting a wasopaneer in the head. My neck snapped back. I squinted to see the synbatec against the sun.

            I jumped to my feet, bracing myself with one hand and waving the other over my head. My voice clawed up my throat. “Me. I’m alive. Oh please, see me.”

            A rope ladder tumbled onto my head. I grasped it desperately, clambering above the foliage of the tree. Hands pulled me in.

            I kissed the thin carpet before rolling over. A man stood above me. “Are we headed to the ship?”

            He shook his head. “The ship’s been overrun.”

            He held out his arm, the circular bite-mark deep and fresh.

There Is A Perfectly Reasonable Explanation For This

1. Glee is my new favorite TV show.

No! Don't run away! That's what not this whole post is about, I swear! Just give me a minute to explain. Please! -throws self at feet- You'll stay? Great! -stands up and brushes self off-

On my First Campaigner Challenge post, I received a comment that went something like this:

Jen said...
Great job! Love the idea.

By the way...You've been tagged! Share 10 random things about yourself!

See, better now isn't it? I told you there was a reasonable explanation. And now that the most terrifying fact of the ten is out of the way, how's about nine more? Fabulous.

2. I rub my eyebrows when I think.
3. I have fairy doors on the wall in my room. Close to the ground, of course.
4. I hate people who walk slow in school hallways.
5. My feet are barely bigger than my nine year old sister's.
6. I got my first ARC recently! It's called All Different Kinds of Free.
7. Sometimes I make random noises for no reason at all.
8. I <3 Kaleb Nation.
9. I was conceived before Lizzie, even if she is older.
10. And the color of the day is blue more often than not.

You Are an Imago in the World of Publishing but Sometimes Even Spiders are Shown Mercy

The agent sat in her armchair, a manuscript nestled in her lap. Miasma hung in the air, brought upon by the dim lighting and the storm outside. It coated her tongue. Her eyelids drooped, and she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands before starting to read. She couldn't help but oscitate at the first sentence, but by the end of the first paragraph she was laughing, all signs of sleepiness gone.

Behind the windows, the sky grew darker, not a drop of sun shining through. She squinted to see and kept reading. The paper crept closer and closer to her nose. Her eyes screeched to a halt at the end of the last line. She stared at the last period, then slowly set the manuscript down.

Thunder crashed right aside her window. A mirror on the wall fell and cracked. The agent jumped, awakened out of her revery.

She hugged the submission, excitement bubbling up inside her. It wasn't perfect. There was a elephant-sized lacuna in the plot and some synchronicity wouldn't hurt. But the writing, and the characters, and the voice. She sighed, happy.

She stood and hurried to the phone, hoping the line wasn't down.

When A Door Opens, It Usually Closes Afterwards

The door swung open, his fake silhouette framed by the light.
            My muscles tensed, but I didn’t press against the wall. I was ready. Yesterday, exactly twenty-four hours ago, I hadn’t been. But today, I knew I was.
            The simulation, the same one that came every day, stepped into my cell. His lips parted.
            I interrupted before the preprogrammed message could start. “You’re not my father. Leave me alone. I don’t want to hear your lies. I’m not going to help you. No matter what you say. No matter what you promise.”
            His mouth hung open. A wrinkle line appeared between his eyebrows. “Vela, it’s me. We have to hurry. They’re close.”
            A knot wrapped around my heart, pulling tighter, tighter. A tear slid the down the side of my nose. “No. You’re lying.”
            I flinched when he reached to touch me. “Vela, you must listen—”
            Then there were other people in my room, too many people. And they dragged him away, touching him, physically touching him, his body solid under their hands.
            I realized my mistake too late. I ran forward, but was pushed back. I landed hard, a cry springing from my throat.
            The door swung shut.

-200 words

Click With Speed!

campaign - n. an organized operation designed to bring about a particular political, commercial, or social goal

Third Writers' Platform-Building Campaign - n. a hell of a lot more fun

Are you a writer? Do you like to connect with other writers? Do you have a blog? Then waste no more time reading this! Run, gallop, and click with speed before you miss this great opportunity!

And if you haven't rushed off and left me in the dust (aka you're reading this), I love you. ^^