And in the spirit of kicking 2012 off to a good writerly start, have a Six Sentence Sunday!
This is a snippet of a potential opener to The Novel, aka my baby and the project I hope to finally flesh out into a proper sort of life this year, as opposed to just the chaotic whirlwind of snippets and false starts that it’s used to bludgeon my brain for half of my life, now. ♥
There are fireworks in the garden, or else the flashes are the echoes of a flaming sword. Either way, there is a lick of ozone to the air, a sweetly seductive sort of thing that promises the heady rush of choking or of drowning as it begins to fill her lungs.
But she doesn’t dare to breathe too deep, for fear of displacing the delicate tangle of overhanging leaves. It’s the only shelter she can find, her body otherwise bared to the winds, with her skin a brightly shining beacon in these precarious hours before dawn.
And she is not alone here, she knows; she hears the rustling at her feet, subtle as the storm-scents themselves. It is a softly pervasive sound, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and she fears that if she ran from it, she would only lose her way.