The following is a brief preview of the novel I have been working on in my spare time for about five months now. I don’t want to explain what it is about. I just want to offer you a snippet for your (hopeful) enjoyment. If you would like to give any feedback, please feel free to do so in the comment section below.
Now without further ado, please enjoy the first chapter of the book I plan on fully writing within this year:
The lights were out in all the house, and in the far, dark corner, a boy crouched, dripping with blood and fear. The demon got him. The demon finally got him, and that’s why he had killed.
But it was only a matter of time. He always knew the potential for murder lurked deep within. The drinks only further brought it out. But it wasn’t like the man didn’t deserve it. He did. He was beating her, like he always did, drunk out of his mind with pale ale and unrighteous power, as if, somehow, beauty justified suffering. It didn’t. That’s why he had killed him, because she didn’t deserve to be beaten anymore.
One too many drinks on both sides, and now the source of all the boy’s past anxieties – that which drove him to drink in the first place – was gone, being replaced by a greater fear involving the police and what it would be like to spend the rest of his life behind bars, rotting away as the love of his life moved on and tried to figure out how to live after seeing what she just saw.
She was gone by then. He wished she hadn’t been there in the room at all. But she was, and now she was going to have to live the rest of her live having witnessed her brother’s murder – by her best friend, nonetheless. She may have hated her brother, but there was no need for her to have been there. Because of what happened, he knew she would never talk to him again, probably the worst punishment that was to come from this crime. Tears fell at the thought of letting her go.
But what to do with the body? He looked at it lying there on its side, motionless, then leaned his back against the wall. The broken bottle, glistening red, was still clutched tightly in his hand. He let it drop, suddenly too aware of the soul it just took. It clattered to the floor, another piece chipping off. The young man slowly slid down the wall until he was fully sitting on the floor. His thighs had grown tired from crouching.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The anxiety that had centered like a thorny weight in his stomach was spreading out, shutting the rest of his body down. He remained there for what felt like hours, the sun slowly setting outside the window to his left. He was unable to move, unable to fully fathom the thing he just did.
A chill settled in the air as the room got dark. This is what alerted Tae to the fact he needed to go. He opened his eyes and told himself to stand, to run. But he couldn’t. His body remained in place, still sitting on the floor in front of the heinous mess before him. He could feel the blood drying on his hands. He wanted to rip his skin off. He looked around, found an open, half-empty bottle of water, and began pouring it over his fingers. Shaking, he wiped them on his once-white shirt. His breaths were short and jagged. He almost wished he was the one who had died.
He thought it was strange how easily he committed the act. If he had known it would lead to this much dread, he would have never done it. But with all the alcohol that was in his system, Tae reasoned that even knowing the emotional torture to come probably wouldn’t have stopped him. This was simply destiny fulfilling itself, with nothing to be done about it. And such a hard destiny it was.
Tae still didn’t know what to do with the body. He was never any good at thinking in urgent situations. His best friend, however, was. Tae knew his friend was working then, but he didn’t think it would matter. June said he would always be there for Tae, at any time of any day. After all, they had already been in quite a few predicaments together. They knew to always be on guard just in case they ever really needed each other’s help.
So Tae decided to call the old payphone at June’s gas station. He was a pump hand, but no one ever used service stations like that anymore, which meant business was always dead. To spice up the boring evenings spent waiting around for a customer, June would always answer the payphone anytime it rang. This would be Tae’s godsend in his time of need.
He pulled out his cellphone and dialed the number, long memorized. His favorite thing to do was call the payphone for fun, pretending to be different people or no one at all just to give June a kick; anything at all helped the grueling nights that both of them spent.
Once the number was dialed, Tae inhaled deeply, the ringing feeling like a needle in his ear. He needed to calm down or else he wouldn’t be able to properly explain what had just happened — although, even if he couldn’t find a way to be coherent, June would still probably understand and be able to give advice. June was just that kind of guy, someone who always understood and would do anything for anyone he loved. He had a truly sympathetic heart. That’s why he was a poet.
So Tae stood there waiting, the ringing carrying him forward to whatever his life was going to be.
And that is all. Thanks again for reading, and have a great day.