Maya Doyle » Blog » Excerpt Monday http://www.mayadoyle.com/blog Thu, 28 Jan 2010 23:55:15 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.8.5 en hourly 1 Excerpt Monday – August http://www.mayadoyle.com/blog/2009/08/excerpt-monday-august/ http://www.mayadoyle.com/blog/2009/08/excerpt-monday-august/#comments Mon, 10 Aug 2009 04:39:50 +0000 Maya http://www.mayadoyle.com/blog/?p=309 Excerpt Monday was started by Mel (Urban Fantasy/R) and Bria (Rom Com/PG).

I wasn’t going to do it this month because I have a lot going on and I honestly couldn’t think of anything to use, but I decided to for Mel and Bria. This was a piece I started last year (a story that I’m not good enough to write yet), so I decided to use it. I actually got the idea last year, while walking the devil spawn (aka the old puppy) when I saw the moon.

With her face buried in her hands, Kendra sat, hunched over on the couch. Her breath came in ragged, short gasps.

She prayed numbness would take over as the pain in her heart became more and more unbearable with each tear that streamed down her tear-soaked cheeks. It didn’t matter how hard she tried; she couldn’t make them stop.

Raw sobs tore from her throat, burning more and more. She started coughing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. Instead of giving her a reason to try to calm down, it enraged her and she surged to her feet.

When the gold watch she had forgotten was in her hand fell to the ground and shattered, it was the last straw. She dropped to her knees and pounded the floor with her open palms. “Damn you,” she shouted between sobs. “You can’t do this to me. It isn’t fair! It isn’t right!”

Pain and a wet feeling under her hand gave her pause. Lifting it from the ground, she winced. Bloody handprints covered the ground where her hands had just been.

Why was she bleeding? she wondered dimly. Disgusted, she turned her hand over and discovered a cut, in the shape of a C, on the heel of her hand. It circled the burn she’d gotten earlier in the day.

Together, the wounds were unusual and, somehow, familiar.

She didn’t know how, but Kendra knew she recognized the design. She’d seen it somewhere. It meant something. It had to.

There were no coincidences in life. Isn’t that what she’d heard, even earlier that day?

Energized with a sudden spark of hope, she scrambled to her feet. She slipped on her own blood and fell back to the floor; glass crinkled under her knees and dug in to her skin. Ignoring the pain, she managed to get to her feet again and ran to her bedroom for her lock box.

Whatever was going on, whatever that design on her hand was, she knew it was important.


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]]> http://www.mayadoyle.com/blog/2009/08/excerpt-monday-august/feed/ 22 Excerpt Monday – July http://www.mayadoyle.com/blog/2009/07/excerpt-monday-july/ http://www.mayadoyle.com/blog/2009/07/excerpt-monday-july/#comments Mon, 13 Jul 2009 02:04:25 +0000 Maya http://www.mayadoyle.com/blog/?p=124 Excerpt Monday was started by Mel (Urban Fantasy/PG-13) and Bria (Rom Com/PG). I decided to give it a shot this month and see how things go. It’s my first time, so take it easy on me. :wink:

The scene below is, or will be (possibly), for one of my WIP’s–The Strike. It was just a scene that popped into my head and I had to write it down before I forgot it. It’s only had one round of quick edits, so it’s far from perfect.

Tess stared at the man before her. If he was a man. He had no face, wore only a black hooded robe.

And he needed no introduction.

“You’re not after Ross, are you? You’re after me.” It was posed as a question, but she wasn’t asking. She already knew the answer. Besides, she wasn’t sure he could talk. Did he even have a mouth?

Death nodded gently. “Yes.”

The one-word reply sent chills down her spine but she wasn’t really scared. Should have been, she realized, but wasn’t. Ross had spent the better part of two weeks trying to convince her that when it was someone’s time to go, it was their time to go. She didn’t believe it, didn’t want to, not when she thought it was his time. Now that it wasn’t his but hers….

She jutted her chin out. “Well, here I am.”

“I’m not here to take you—yet.” Death smiled down on her. “I’m here to talk.”

“Talk?” Her jaw dropped down. “You want to talk?”

“Yes. A simple conversation.”

What could be simple about a conversation when it was with Death? “Sure. Why not?” she said with a shaky laugh. Death wanted to talk to her. Nice.

“You view me as the bad guy.”

“You are the bad guy,” she hissed.

“You were given gifts, child. The gift of sight, the gift of—”

The laugh that bubbled out was full, loud, unexpected. “Sight? My sight is gone, in case you didn’t know. I’m blind.”

“Not that sight. That’s secondary.” Death put his hands behind his back, started to circle her.

Dimly, she realized he had no feet. Or if he did, they were hidden under his cloak and not touching the ground. Neat trick. All he’s missing is the scythe.

“The sight to see me, and the gift of being able to speak with me. Not many people get this opportunity.”

“I doubt that many people want it.” She sure as hell hadn’t. Even now, she didn’t want it. Who the hell wanted to talk to Death? Who, in their right mind, wanted to meet him?

“I see,” he said. She could only assume he had read her thoughts or heard them. “Sit.”

The command was pointless. As soon as he said it, she was sitting on a couch. “Since you asked so nicely,” she said, her tone dry.

He smiled again. “I want you to see what I do. What I really do. Who I am, what my purpose is.”

As he spoke, he waved his hand and a kind of projection screen appeared out of thin air. Images of people filled her vision. Broken, bloody bodies. Hospital patients, war victims, tragic accidents. Everything you heard about on the news and never wanted to witness for yourself. She was seeing it now in Technicolor. And surround sound, she discovered when voices filled her head. Screams, yells, moans that could hardly be considered human.

Finally, the images slowed and her attention zeroed it on the newest one. It was of her and her brother Jason, right after the accident. She was kneeling down with his head resting on her lap. Blood dribbled down the sides of his mouth and chin as he tried to speak.

“Don’t,” she begged, turning her head away. “Please don’t.”

“You need to understand, Tess.”

Despite her efforts to stop it, her head turned back and was held in place by an invisible power. With nowhere to go, she was forced to watch the screen as the images played for her like a fast-forwarded movie. She couldn’t stop it, couldn’t close her eyes against it, and couldn’t block her ears or the sounds she heard. She was forced to watch, over and over, helpless, hopeless, as her brother died in her arms again.

Death waved his hand again and a kind of filter covered Jason’s body, giving her an inside look of his body. “Do you see the damage there?”

How could she not? His organs were torn and bloody. Bones were broken and shattered.

“Would you have really wanted him to live longer?” His voice was almost kind now. “The end result would have been the same. He would have still died with or without me. But it wouldn’t have been quick and it wouldn’t have been painless. You saw how much pain he was in, how much he was suffering. Would you, willingly, have wished to prolong that?”

She shook her head and tried to close her eyes against the pain. Her eyes did close this time, but the pain was still there. “No,” she choked out. “Of course not.”

Death changed the image to a small child, no older than six years old, Tess guessed. His face was deathly white, his cheeks hallow. His eyes were nearly lifeless. Machines buzzed and beeped all around him. A woman, who she assumed was his mother, leaned over him, silent tears streaking down her face.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Leukemia.”

“And let me guess,” she began, unable to block the raw bitterness in her tone, “you’re going to save him from the pain and misery? You’re going to spare him?” When he nodded, she shook her head. “What about his mom? Her pain, her suffering?”

For the first time, he spoke harshly. “The living aren’t my priority.”

“So cure him!” She jumped up from the couch. “Take away the disease! It’s a win-win.”

“That’s not my purpose, nor is it my job. Life happens, Tess, as well as death. You don’t think that’s fair, so be it. I don’t make them sick; I don’t give them their diseases. I can’t control how they live. That’s out of my hands and in another’s. I’m only here to take them where they need to go.”

“You deliver them to heaven or hell?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t decide where they go or why, I only take them to the other side. From there, it’s up to other…people.” There was a slight pause. “Think of me as a host in a restaurant. I lead customers to their tables, but I don’t order for them, Tess. I don’t serve their meal.”



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