I finished my story Friday, and after a couple of reads and updates for grammatical goofs (missing word here, wrong intended use of a word there [their vs. there type things]) officially finished it on Monday morning. I turned it in for class last night, where it will be discussed in two to three weeks (I am near the back ofthis rotation).
We were also given leave for our last story of the semester, to do “whatever”… no point of view restrictions, etc. Hmmm….what to write…?
Anyway, I thought I would drop a piece of the story here (yes, here, as opposed to the “Fictional Echoes”)…
He stopped, raised his nose to the air. A sniff told him they were close, ahead to his right, a few hundred yards. Leaves were crunching as they ran. He smiled. Their fear hung thick in the night air, another scent on their marked trail. He gave chase, heading towards their stench, towards their clumsiness, towards the dancing, retreating glare as their flashlights stumbled through the woods. The leaves brushed his coat as he ran through the brush. His tongue lolled from his mouth as he ran, panting. Beads of drool dripped from his mouth.
He heard a crash ahead, followed by the thrashing sounds of leaves being crunched by a flailing body. Something had fallen, had separated itself from the pack, the running voices did not notice they had lost one of their own. He slowed and allowed it a chance to get up. He enjoyed the chase. He could see the figure through the undergrowth in front of him. It was coated in denim pants and a fluffy red coat. He could see the scar lines from branches that had cut into the coat. He drew closer.
It looked around, trying to spot the thing chasing her. He could now identify that it was a her, a she, almost an adult but not quite. She would never know what happened, it would be better that way. She turned towards him. His smile widened. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, jumping at her. She tried to run, but his weight pulled her down. She whimpered, cursing at him, and defended herself the best that her small frame could. His jaws gnashed at her coat, at her arms as she tried to push him off. She began to scream, but the sound was drowned by the gurgle of blood as his jaw tightened on her throat. He jerked his body, shaking her until the neck snapped. Her body still convulsed, as his claws slashed at the clothing and he began to eat.
This story was my first real attempt at a longer horror/suspense piece… something more than a couple of pages, and actually drawing out/describing some twisted things (like, what it looks and feels like to see someone change into a werewolf).
I was talking with someone after class last night, and we talked a bit about approaches. As I was telling this person, as an undergraduate I phoned most of my work in – waited until the last minute to put the story together [and rarely proofed more than the computer’s spell & grammar checks], and was doing good to have actually read the story before needing to discuss it in class. Now, though, I actually give a damn – I want to have a work [several, actually] that I can send out for publishing. I try to give thoughtful feedback, especially to those that appear to be of a like mind – if something feels “off” I’ll look it up, and include some of those notes in my comments.
I am at the point of, “I don’t mind taking some risks” especially in an academic setting, where I can get some feedback. I’m probably repeating myself, to the point of making equine jerky, so I’ll digress…
I’m actually generally happy with the story, and will wait a few weeks to reread it (just in time for class)… but now, I have other projects to work on…