Tonight is the night that Richard prays for the first time in his life. He doesn’t kneel at the foot of the bed or fold his hands like they teach you in Sunday school. At four fourteen in the morning, he lays on his back, his arms outstretched and his left foot sticking out from the edge of his comforter where the breeze from his ceiling fan makes that small part of his body less comfortable than the rest of him. Richard paws at the bedside table until he finds the little plastic cup lid that they give you to shoot the NyQuil with. To the left of that, there’s his glasses and a bottle of that cheap water you can get at his old employer, by the Zingers and the Twinkies, for fifty nine cents. His fingertips skim the table surface until he finds the actual bottle of NyQuil
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This is a "stream-of-consciousness" style novel that will be my first undertaking in any project of major length. The longest short story I've ever written has been around 5,500 words, and it's looking like this will be at least 30k when it's finished.
If it hooks you, let me know. The first two chapters deal mostly with emotion, with the problems that the characters are experiencing, and most of all, the pull of this dream and the feeling of dread it inspires in all three protagonists.
Sorry in advance that it's a little over 13 lines.... I hope KDW doesn't chastise me for it.
[This message has been edited by Violent Harvest (edited March 18, 2010).]
note from Kathleen: I don't usually chastize. I just cut.
[This message has been edited by Kathleen Dalton Woodbury (edited March 18, 2010).]