Monday, December 10, 2012

Whisper: An excerpt

Last week, I wrote about my experience with 2012 NaNoWriMo. Today, I thought I'd share a small excerpt from my work in progress.

Please keep in mind this is a rough draft, so it's not going to be perfect. These are words that are hot off the tips of my fingers.

But first, a little setup:

Eleven-year-old Sommer Davis can't understand Momma's sadness. Nor can she understand the reason Momma brought her and little sister, Clover, to the tiny farm where she grew up, especially when the aunt and grandmother about whom she spoke so wickedly still lived there.

This scene sets the story in motion after the first plot point. Sommer has just witnessed a gut-wrenching sight -- one that illustrates the depths of her mother's despair -- in the barn at her Grandmother's farm.

     I opened my eyes to a dark house and a vacant spot on the bed next to me. My stomach growled and cramped with hunger until fuzzy visions of the evening before flittered back into my memory. 
    A siren. Police lights. Crying. And blood. So. Much. Blood.
    The pictures twisted and tangled in my mind. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. Now, more than ever, I needed Momma. As I peeled back the covers and set my bare feet against the hard wood floor, I prayed that she wouldn’t send me away from her when I went to her this time. 
     I tiptoed across the floor, hanging onto the banister railing as my head swam in the wooziness of being upright. I had trouble keeping my balance as I approached her bedroom doorway. 
    “Momma?” I whispered into the darkness. 
     No response. 
     I stepped a few feet further inside the room. 
     “Momma?” I whispered again. 
     I had reached the edge of her bed by the time my eyes adjusted. But no one lay there. It was just a perfectly made bed sitting in the middle of an immaculate room – just the way Momma left the apartment on the day we left – like she was getting everything in order before taking off. 
    A spray of stomach acid filled the back of my throat. The urge to throw up rushed over me like a tidal wave. I managed to make it halfway down the stairs before the rancid liquid erupted from my mouth and shot onto the base of the steps. 

Well, that's it. 

What do you think?

Connect with me on Twitter: @katharriswrites   

1 comment:

Jill said...

I love it!