Wednesday Words: Old = New #1lineWed

A new year, a new series of #1lineWed themes. Today’s theme: **OLD** should be an easy one for most writers. There’s old news, old friends, old clothes, old age, old…take your pick. In my case, the first bit that popped up when I did a search of my Works in Progress, is the prologue for Gravedigger’s story. I know some of you are waiting for him. Maybe I’ll hit a writing streak this year and he’ll get his book done as well. This bit is in the POV of Shiane “Shy” Rourke. There’s graphic language, just FYI.

Prologue

Fifteen years ago…
I wrapped my arms around my big sister. I was beyond screaming, beyond tears. The storm raged around the house, lightning flashes and thunder that weren’t from Mother Nature. Shadows stomped through the room as I crouched over Becca. I wanted her to hold me, to tell me it would be okay but her arms were limp.

Men cursed saying really bad words, words that Becca told her boyfriend not to say around me. Why wasn’t she moving? Why wasn’t she doing something to make them go away?

“Fuckin’ shit.”

I stopped breathing as a huge shadow loomed over me.

“Brick!” the shadow yelled.

An even bigger shadow appeared. “What the fuck?”

“That’s not a nice word,” I whispered. Or thought I did. My teeth were chattering I was so scared.

“The bitch is dead,” the first shadow said.

What? He shouldn’t call Becca a bitch. That was a bad word too. Then the other word he’d said hit me. Dead? No. She couldn’t be dead. She was my big sister. She took care of me.

“Fuck it all to hell,” the second shadow growled.

I cringed back as hands reached for me. I clutched Becca’s sweater, clung to it as those hands plucked me up.

“Let to, baby girl,” the first shadow said, his voice so low it rumbled in my ear like a diesel truck.

“No!” Never. I would never let go of my sister. Something silvery glinted in a flash of light and then I was jerked away, my fists still grasping parts of Becca’s sweater.

“Bury this, Gravedigger,” the second shadow snarled.
****
Now
A cop had found me sitting on a bench at the bus stop half a block from the police station. I was covered in blood—none of it mine. All I had left of my sister was two handfuls of unraveling yarn. They never found her body. Never found her boyfriend’s or any of the guys in his motorcycle gang.

Mitch Collins, the cop who sat with me at the ER, who walked me through the system, was a good guy. He and his wife took me in though they didn’t adopt me. That was fine. I didn’t want any of my baggage to taint them. You see, sitting there on that bench? I started to plan. I might have been only ten, but my sister was my whole world. Our old man had been a biker and our mother a biker’s old lady. They drank, smoked pot, did meth. Mom OD’d when I was five and Becca was fifteen. She took care of me because losin’ Mom? That just made the old man drink, smoke pot, do meth and fuck every pussy he could stick his dick into.

Becca got us away from that. She was going to community college, going to become a dental tech because there was good money to be made. Then she met Bozo. His name should have told her something. He was a biker. And Becca? She fell hard. And it got her dead.

Still, Mitch and Kathy were nice people. They saw me through high school and I think they were relieved when I joined the Army after graduation. See, I went into the military to get trained. I had an agenda, one I’d kept close to my chest since Mitch found me sitting on that damn bench, covered in blood, teeth chattering from shock, and scared out of my ever-loving mind.

That was then. This was now. I remembered two things from that night—two things that haunted every last one of my nights: a wolf’s head, fanged mouth open ready to eat me alive, and a name.

Gravedigger.
****
I have a few chapters written, inspiration that comes in fits and starts. The same happens with Wizard’s and Gunner’s books. We’ll see which gets finished first. So, in this first week of the new year, do any of you have old words to share? Any thoughts on Digger’s dilemma? *bwahaha*

Advertisements

About Silver James

I like walks on the wild side and coffee. Lots of coffee. Warning: My Muse runs with scissors. Author of two award-winning series--Moonstruck and The Penumbra Papers, Red Dirt Royalty (Harlequin Desire) & other books! Purveyor of magic, mystery, mayhem and romance. Lots and lots of romance.
This entry was posted in Writing Life and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Wednesday Words: Old = New #1lineWed

  1. Oooo, want want want. Gimme. :heavy sigh: Okay, yeah, I know… It’s not done. When it is, I want it, though.

    Old? Well, that just happens to fit right into the beginning of Blink of an I.

    The twisted hulk stretched into the air above Mary like a man straining toward a loved one who had been torn from his embrace. On the opposite side of the strait, she could almost make out another structure reaching back through the fog.
    Or maybe she was only remembering it was there. Every chance she got, she trekked the many blocks to stand on this strip of land between the ocean and the bay. On sunny days, she could see across the thick belt of water where another twisted husk waited. Two corroded towers between the shores of the strait rose from the waves—silent guardians of a past she would never know.
    Her fingers traced, yet again, the strange symbols rising off a brass plate at the base of her forgotten friend. The squiggles might’ve once told what the expanse was for, but their meaning had been lost. Below her, the surf crashed against the rocks and silently slithered back into the bay, whispering secrets in a language she wished to understand.
    Turning her back on her favorite mystery, she directed her eyes across the bay toward the hills, wondering if the upper castes who resided there knew what any of it meant. Surely those people would’ve been taught these things. In her mind, Mary was certain that at some point in the distant past, someone believed this structure important enough to build. It ought to be important enough for someone to remember, even after all the intervening years.
    But if anyone still understood, they would never tell someone like her. She was nothing. To them or to anyone else.

  2. Denise Zlater says:

    No words to share but I sure hope this story comes together for you….you know I love your bad boy wolves 🙂

Got something to say?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.