Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Excerpt From Work In Progress In His Hands

This is another excerpt from my work in progress "In His Hands" which will hopefully soon reach the rewriting process. This scene is takes place on a Lord's Day evening after the services. Maia has been being taught by the Greens who have adopted her, the basic things about the Scriptures and the Sunday School class has been doing a basic study on the attributes of God. All of that is in earlier scenes, and here is the scene for today.

DAVE SWALLOWED the last of his coffee for the night. They had arrived home from the church service an hour before and had gone to conversation almost immediately about the sermon. It had been a treatment on the supposed accidents in life and how they were all part of the plan of God. Like the morning message, it set Dave thinking. Were there really any accidents?
      Maia hadn’t commented much on the sermons aside from that she would have to think about them for a little while, which was to be expected, it being her first exposure to any real Christianity and certainly to that level of theology. That was one thing that Dave could give Pastor Vic, you pretty much never got a sermon that didn’t tie into a deeper theological thread. At first he had been concerned that it would drive Maia away from the idea of preaching, but she seemed anxious for the next service, surprised it was only a few days away. He had seen some scribbled notes here and there on the paper she had in her Bible, and the load of papers that she had brought from the class from the previous lessons. She seemed to dwell more on the one from that morning though, and less on the others, except the one from the week before on the Sovereignty of God—his personal favorite subject—that had some underlining on it. She seemed to be looking for something and he supposed she had made the markings in the afternoon after Sunday dinner. He had only seen them by accident, when they spilled out of her Bible halfway through the sermon—quietly, thankfully—and he had leaned over to pick them up. She had given a sheepish half-smile and thanked him silently.
      She hadn’t said much that even though, she had just sat on the couch by Mom and listened. She twiddled her fingers together while listening, but he didn’t really know what wheels were turning behind her skull, it was really hard to tell. They hadn’t bothered change; he and his father had only removed their suit jackets and ties, those detestable things, and set them aside.
      He placed the mug on the side table and returned his father’s gaze. “It kind of makes me think of Ruth,” he said, “and how she ‘just happened’ to enter into the same field that Boaz who ‘just happened’ to be her near kinsman, was in charge of, and he ‘just happened’ to favor Ruth who turned out be his wife in the end and ended up in the lineage of David and in eventuality the lineage of Christ.”
     John Green grinned as he sipped his own cup of coffee, “Interesting isn’t it? You ever think about the fact that Ruth was a Moabite, a Gentile, and Christ would become the Light of the Gentiles?”
     “Goes to show you there are no accidents,” His mother added, “We see how the awful thing that happened to Naomi and Ruth ended out being turned into something good.”
      “All by the workings of Providence.” Father finished.
      Maia asked, “What happened to them? I haven’t read that story yet.”
      “Well,” John began, “Naomi and her husband had two sons, and a famine came in Israel, so they went to Moab, another country, and settled. The two boys married two Moabite women, and then they died along with their father. The two sisters-in-law had a choice to make—leave, or stay. One of them left, but Ruth stayed with Naomi. When Naomi moved back to Israel, she changed her name to Mara which means ‘bitter’ because she said that the ‘Almighty hath dealt bitterly with me’ she blamed God for the awful thing that happened to her.” He sipped his coffee.
     “Why did she blame God?” Maia said.
     “Because she understood that God controlled all things, and that maybe He could have kept them from dying. She didn’t know what God was doing at that time, He was preparing Ruth for Boaz who would have kids and then David, who was part of Christ’s bloodline.”
     Janet Green leaned in, “You see, God brought something good out of something seemingly evil, He knew what was going on.”
      “Okay.” She sat back and nodded. “I get it.”
      Dave wasn’t sure if she got the whole thing—but she knew what she needed to know for the moment. Truth was, he had a question beginning to eat away at his mind about what they had called and accident for so long, and the fact that it was no accident.
      “A lot of food for thought,” Father said, “something we had better sleep on. It’s late, so let’s all get ready for bed.”
      “Okay,” Maia stood and Dave rose up, snatching his coffee mug from the side table and went over to where his Dad was draining his mug, and took it from him after he had finished.
     “Thanks, son.”
      Dave took them into the kitchen and placed them in the sink, running a little water into them so that the coffee did not dry up and stain the bottom. The whole time though he had a question growing in his mind about Maia.
      Mother walked in the room and set her cup on the counter, still holding the coffee inside. “What’s on your mind?”
      Dave shook his head, “Nothin’”
      She tilted her head, “Yeah, right.” She picked up the coffee again and leaned against the counter. “Seriously, what’s on your mind?”
      He cocked his head in the direction of the living room, “Maia.”
     “What about her?”
     “The Providence of God.” He said. He decided to go ahead and rinse the cups and the few other plates in the sink that had somehow migrated there without being rinsed beforehand.
     “You mean what she went through?” She asked.
     “I wish I knew. I was thinking the same thing actually when we were talking about Ruth. I think Maia was as well, but she didn’t say anything.”
     Dave nodded, “You and me both.” He set the dishes on the counter and reached for a towel. “I know she was thinking something about that, who in their right mind wouldn’t? I mean, it’s such a terrible thing that happened to her, it just doesn’t…I don’t know.”
     “Doesn’t seem fair?” She offered.
     “I guess.” He folded the used towel neatly. “I know the guy was shot, yeah, good, done. But I’m not sure that was completely just humanly speaking, he died, she didn’t—now she’s got to live with the horrors of what he did. Granted, he’s in Hell, the wrath and vengeance of what he did is being enacted against him, but in the meantime, what about Maia?”
     Mom shook her head, “I don’t know, Dave. I really don’t, we’ll have to pray about it some more I guess. It’s a good thing Pastor Vic it preaching those messages now, huh?”
     “No coincidences.”
     “That’s right. We had better take strong heed to them then.” She looked at the clock and dumped the few sips of coffee in her cup down the sink. “Good night, Dave.”
     “Night, Mom.” Dave replied.
     She headed upstairs. Leaving the downstairs empty. As he went through he shut off all of the lights, and started walking through the hallway when he looked at their family picture from four years ago, four people stared back at him from that picture and he sighed.
     No accidents.
     He shut the light off and went up the stairs.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Pearls in the Sand.

I wrote this around the end of last year or so. It is, simply, about temptation. Excellent, no; thought-provoking, I hope so.

Pearls In The Sand

By Joel D. Garner

I sighed, looking at the window as I lay in bed. it had been a rather unpleasant day. The day before had been full of much hardship as well, but also victories. I was so tired of constant attack, oppression, yet it was what I had asked for. For how else does one become meet for the Master's use if he does not take His choicest gifts - His pain, His trials, His hurts, given to us by Him to draw us close.

Shifting my position somewhat, I closed my eyes once more, finally for the last time. Sleep, sleep, precious sleep, at last, after a hard, trying day.

I awoke quickly as I heard the wind howling loudly, sending sand all around me. "Sand?" I muttered. "What?"

I brushed myself off as I stood up, my eyes partially closed due to painful sand-blasts. I began walking aimlessly, knowing I should but not knowing exactly why I should. With my left arm in front of my face, I stumbled around for a few minutes, until, finally, a man in a white robe appeared.

"Greetings, Knight-Prince," he greeted, smiling. It was none other than the angel Gabriel.

"Gabriel!" I exclaimed. "How nice to see you. What I doing here?"

"The Lord wants to show you something," he replied. "Come! I will take you to a field of pearls."

Puzzled, I nodded as we teleported to another part of the parched desert.

"Here we are," the angel announced, waving his arm out over the landscape.

"What are those men doing?" I inquired, nodding at the many men walking throughout the sandy field.

"They are going through life, as are you," he answered. "Oh, and whatever you do...Do not, I repeat, do not reach for the tempting pearls. Now, come - we will look around some."

I followed him slowly, looking around at the men, who were oblivious to our presence, and at the many pearls scattered all over the place.

"Gabriel - what do the pearls represent? They are very beautiful. Yet, there are others that resemble a ball of rock."

"They represent the deceptive pearls of sin and the precious pearls of righteousness," he responded solemnly. "Look! A man has just fallen for the schemes of the enemy."

A nearby man shouted jubilantly, and threw himself upon the sand, digging his hands into the grains. However, all of the beautiful pearls turned into sand themselves, and the man joy quickly turned to anguish.

"The devil is very cunning, as our his cohorts. Though...many times, your flesh is all it takes."

"Yes," I agreed. "I know all too well..."

He looked at me, and placed both hands on my shoulders. "Knight-Prince, time is short. You MUST yield to the Master, you MUST resist the world, flesh and the devil! Satan hates you with a passion, and he will do ANYTHING to do destroy you! Do not let him! Do not take the pearls of sin! Choose the pearls of righteousness! Choose the pearls of righteousness!"

And then I woke up.

And, there it is. I hope it made you think. Thanks for reading, and God bless.
In Christ,
Joel Garner ><>.
2 Chronicles 7:14; Romans 5:8.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Scene from Work in Progress - In His Hands

Before I post something very theological, I want to put this out there. This is one of the primary main characters, named Dave Green. His family has adopted Maia one year after her ordeal, and they are a firm Christian family. The Greens have suffered their own family tragedy four years prior to when the book takes place, and this book is used to show the Providence of God in all tragedies, both Maia's and theirs.

     WHEN DAVE woke up he wasn’t sure what was happening exactly. The room was completely dark—the only way he could sleep—and there was a deep penetrating silence over all. He was sweating, he knew that, but he wasn’t sure why, the air conditioning was on. He looked at his hands to see fingernail marks in the palms, where he had been gripping his hands tightly enough to do that.
      He jumped, thinking for a moment that someone had called his name, but realizing it was only an echo deep in his mind. One that he desperately wished he could forget.
      He sat up and rubbed his eyes that were gradually adjusting to the darkness. He saw the glowing bars of his clock on his desk, beaming out to him, the only light in the darkness.
     Only that? He thought. His heart was still pounding like a bass drum in his chest but he felt his pulse going down. Some dream.
     He huffed, and rubbed his eyes again, climbing out of the bed and stretching, reaching out for the door as he did so, grabbing hold of the knob and twisting it silently. He started out into the dark hallway, and heard the faint hiss of the air conditioner on his way past. The moonlight shone in the hall windows and illuminated the rest of the hallway. He stepped onto the lighted carpet and heard the floorboards beneath creak with protest. As he passed Maia’s room he listened for a moment. Nothing.
      He continued on to the stairs and proceeded down them quietly, avoiding the spots he knew squeaked. The smell from dinner was surprisingly still in the air, and he felt his stomach rumble with the scent.
     He didn’t need to eat anything this late at night though. He moved for the kitchen and grabbed a cup on the counter that he had left there earlier, and moved for the waterspout on the fridge.
     He thought he would like a cup of coffee, but decided against it when he remembered the time, even though he doubted he would get back to sleep. Usually he didn’t at those kinds of times.
     He gulped down the water and decided to head back up the stairs before Danforth heard him and started making a racket. The dumb dog would wake up the whole house to get one person to let him out of his kennel.
     Dave opened the fridge and grabbed a slice of the pizza that was left from the previous night before he left for the next room however.
      As he walked through the living room, he wondered what he had dreamed about that had woken him up so suddenly? Normally he remembered his dreams, but this time he did not. He could see a vague image of a car in his mind still, he knew that someone was in great danger and heard that awful scream that he knew all too well—the same scream that had haunted him for so long.
      He hadn’t dreamed like that in a long time. He hardly ever had those kinds of nightmares anymore…not for a year and a half. Then again, that meant it was probably about time he started having those dreams again. In a grim way, the dreams were a good thing—they helped him remember.
     He took a bite of the pizza and swallowed it; the cold ham and pineapple of the Hawaiian pizza were surprisingly dull in his mouth. Perhaps that was the effect of refrigeration
     As he walked up the stairs he thought he heard mumbling, as if someone were trying to speak to him, and turned around—but nobody was behind him.
     He took another bite of the Hawaiian pizza and started to walk up the stairs slowly, again avoiding the squeaking stairs. The sweet pineapple tasted better on the second bite than it had on the first. He rounded to the second set of stairs.
     He heard mumbling again, this time coming from upstairs. Someone was talking, he couldn’t discern who it was though. It was probably his mother talking to Dad about something. He may have made too much noise and woke them up. He took another bite of the pizza and held onto the end crust of the slice as he finished up the stairs. He looked up ahead and saw his father standing at Maia’s door.
      His Dad looked at him, and he seemed concerned.
     Dave walked over to where his father stood, and stopped by him, “What’s going on?” He whispered.
     His dad pointed into Maia’s room and gestured with a finger to his nose for Dave to be silent.
     Maia was muttering something, something in her sleep. He leaned in closer to listen better and try to make out what she was saying. The words were slurred so it was harder to make out, but whatever it was it sounded frightening. She was talking to somebody, somebody who obviously meant her hurt.
     “No. Please don’t…I won’t…never tell…never tell…please just…” She stopped for a moment, and then he heard it start over again. “Please just stop…just stop.” A rock rolled around in his stomach and he knew what she must have been dreaming about.
     He wanted to rush in and destroy whatever was tormenting her but he knew that he couldn’t destroy something that existed in her mind. As she spoke he felt the words tug at his heart, and tug deep down within him. Something roused with the words—anger, something that was birthed when he had first read of what had happened to her before they had adopted her. He remembered the blazing words on the page even then, the way they had set his heart ablaze and made him long to help her…long to do something. That same fire sprang up as he listened to her mumble those awful things in her sleep.
      “Should we wake her up?” He whispered to Dad.
      “I don’t know if we should…isn’t this getting it out of her system?”
      “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.” Dave looked at Maia, who was now silent, with the sheets thrown away from her upper body in a fit of dreaming, her face shining with light sweat under the moonlight. She looked deceptively serene; he knew that a battle was going on inside of her skull. It was more like a war than anything, fought in the subconscious dream world. In that realm he was completely powerless, and he hated it.
     “Are you sure we shouldn’t wake her up?”
    “Only if it gets worse. We’ll just keep an eye for now.” John didn’t sound so sure himself of what to do.
     “What are you doing?” They turned to Janet Green’s voice as she finished tying a robe belt around her waist. She drew up next to her husband and looked in on Maia. “What’s going on?”
     “Maia was talking in her sleep, we were just trying to see if she was all right.” He explained.
     She turned to Dave and Dave held up the pizza crust. “Woke up and couldn’t sleep.” He explained.
     She nodded and looked back in. “Well she seems okay, so let’s just leave her alone.” She backed away a little.
      “Okay.” John said. He reached out for the door and began to close it. Dave took a chunk out of the pizza crust and started to head around them to his room. He could work on some of his music with the headphones on.
     Maybe that song I’m working on.
     He heard Maia mumble something else before she spoke loudly enough to be heard just before the door was closed.
      “…please…” The last word was more of a pained plea than anything, and he felt a splinter of empathy shoot through his chest.
     His mother moved past his father and opened the door, his father followed in with her. The mumbling had stopped and he heard them talking to her softly, trying to rouse her peacefully.
     Dave moved for the doorway and saw his mother seated on the bed by Maia lifting her into a sitting position. Maia was awake and breathing heavily, the sheen of perspiration still shining in the moonlight.
      “You’re fine. You’re fine. It’s okay, Maia.” Janet whispered calmly. As he watched, a creeping sickness sunk in, and he didn’t know quite why.

If you would like to read further, please contact me for a full copy of the rough draft (please specify that is what you would like) at michaelrwright92[at]gmail[dot]com

Friday, June 3, 2011

Prologue from Work in Progress - In His Hands

Alright here is that promised excerpt. This is kinda long but it is the entire prologue to the book I just finished the rough draft on last week. This is the rough draft writing so please excuse it. This wasn't written for children so please exercise discretion with who reads it, there is nothing graphic here, but I am dealing with mature subject matter and there is a bit of violence toward the end of the excerpt. The novel was primarily a drama, but this scene is required for the rest of the novel to work.


MAIA SHUDDERED as she turned over in the bed, pulling the blanket closer over her in the darkness. She didn’t need to for the temperature, it was the middle of summer after all, but still she pulled it close—while she knew it did little good, she felt that she needed to.

     Her eyes moved around in the near total darkness, spotting small reflections given by the dim bar of light coming under the door. The same light that had been turned off hours ago, and stayed that way, until just a few moments ago when someone had turned it back on. It hadn’t always been turned off at night, she used to sleep with the door cracked, but that was a long time ago. The sound of movement in the living room made her wish she could curl tighter into the blanket and never come out…she knew it could only mean something awful. Sweat began to break on her brow, warm and sticky like a bath in sweet tea. The smell of laundry detergent on the freshly washed sheets was at once pleasant and sickening—in most cases it would be pleasant, but she found it at the moment sickening.

     She felt a twist in her stomach as more movement sounded in the kitchen, that familiar sound of a wineglass being pulled from the cabinet above the fridge, slowly withdrawn and placed on the counter next to the liquor cabinet.

      She turned over again, meeting once again that smell of laundry soap, like fake flowers, and the soft pillow that was beneath her head.

       Maia could see in her mind a bottle being pulled out of the cabinet, and a small glass being poured, not enough to make him drunk, just enough to give him a shot of energy—just one.

     The knot in her stomach twisted tighter.

     Maybe not tonight…maybe he won’t.

     She knew that was too much to ask, but hope was all that she had to hold on to. She felt painful tears sting her eyes and pushed them back. She couldn’t get upset yet, she might be clear, maybe he wouldn’t…maybe he wouldn’t.

     The ticking clock on the nightstand sounded louder than ever before, and the stupid black face drawn on it to contrast the pink background stared at her menacingly. Those little eyes had seen a lot since she had gotten it for her seventh birthday—soon after her three-year torture began.

     12:27 it said. Every second felt like an hour.

      She wished she could close them, or turn them away or something—anything. The thought of someone watching was unbearable. It was bad enough without something else watching and taking part in the torment.

      Her head pressed harder into the pillow, and her eyes locked shut for a moment, just a moment, but when they opened again, the clock was still staring. Watching. Waiting. It would continue watching the whole time, and it wouldn’t say a word because it couldn’t help her. Nothing could help her.

      Maia was glad that it was dark, and she couldn’t see the expression on the face of the clock. She used to be afraid of the dark—but that was a long time ago too, before she found other things to be afraid of. That was before she knew that the real monsters didn’t hide under the bed or in the closet, but that they walked around in broad daylight.

       Her hand slipped out of the blankets and she tapped around silently for the locket hanging on the headboard. The metal chain met her fingertips after only a few seconds and she found her way down to the main pendant, stroking the soft golden surface—the one that she’d stroked so many times. She wished she had her light on so that she could open it up and have a look inside. She wanted to look at her parents’ faces again. Grandma had kept the locket for a while and gave it to her just before she died. She’d looked in the locket a million times in the last six months, and had a feeling that she would continue to. She’d almost told Grandma that last time, but she had looked so happy Maia didn’t want to ruin it—that’s all that it would have done, ruin it. She couldn’t tell Grandma then and she certainly couldn’t tell her now. She couldn’t tell anyone, if she did she would die. She knew it.

     The sink turned on in the kitchen, and a new slice of fear tore into Maia and she withdrew her hand. Her hand was shaking, so she shoved it under the pillow as she turned over yet again, wrapping herself tighter in the blanket, and building a cocoon around her though it would not help. Her heart was thundering within, like a hammer against her chest, rumbling even in her throat. She tried to control her breathing, but she couldn’t. She knew that she had to fake it. Try, at least try.

      The water turned off, and the cabinet door closed.

      Sweat ran more freely on her brow, she didn’t bother to try and wipe it away. Her hands tightened into fists and she tried to calm down enough to fake it—

     Maybe it’ll work, maybe it’ll work.

     —But she knew she couldn’t fake it well enough. It wouldn’t matter either way. Nothing could change it. Nothing.

     Footsteps trailed down the hallway, and each one echoed her heart thumping. Her hands gripped and loosened, matching almost exactly her erratic pulse. She held back tears as best she could, and tucked her legs closer to her. The smaller she made herself the better chance that she had.

     The footsteps stopped outside of the door, not slowed, stopped, the silence, broken only by the ticking, staring clock. She opened her eyes and saw two towers of shadow under the door—looming pillars that heralded his awful arrival. The awful towers of darkness that, to her, meant only pain.

      The doorknob slowly turned, metallic grinding that sounded like a tin can rolling on hot sidewalk sand.

     Her uncle entered the room slowly.

     She shut her eyes quickly.

     Yellow light flooded the room as the door slowly opened, and the irregular breathing that she knew all too well broke the near-silence of the bedroom. Excited breathing, breathing that meant nothing good for her.

    She tried to stay calm.

    Fake it. Fake it. Fake it. 

   The figure closed the door slowly and made his way to the bedside opposite of her face. She was glad she was facing away from him. Maybe he would buy it if he couldn’t see her face. Perhaps he would go on, even though he had already had his drink, even though he had followed the same schedule almost every week—even though she knew that it was too much to ask.

      He sat there for a minute, just breathing, slow and heavy. Every breath was a new stab of fear into her. Every inhale made her want to jump, and each exhale begged her to scream.

      A cold, slimy hand stroked her blonde hair, pulling it away from her face, still sticky with sweat. She forced herself not to flinch.

      Please, please, please, please, please…

     The hand stroked again, his finger ran the corner of her ear, cold and wet, rubbing fear in with every motion. The jellyfish fingers raked her hair again, and then slid beneath the covers, tracing her thin arm, and running the length of it to her hand and back up again. Slowly and torturously rubbing.

     Please, please, please…

     The bedsprings creaked as he leaned forward, and a fire of anxiety burned in her chest when he inhaled slowly, like a savage beast sniffing his prey. She had seen that on TV once, a lion sniffing the corpse of an animal that it was about to eat. Shining teeth, glittering in the light, reflective because of the rich drool that ran down the feline’s awful jaws.

      Oh, please…

      Lips parted, loud and moist. “Maia…” The scent of alcohol stung her nostrils like smoke. Her stomach turned over. “It’s time to wake up.” His voice was soft and strong, but she knew that the man behind it was cold and hideous.

     His hand gripped her thigh, the other her shoulder and turned her over to face him.

     He grinned in the dim light, like the lion.

     She began to cry.

     The pink clock watched.

(-) (-) (-)

     WHEN JEFFERY Dalton left the room Maia was crying harder, and he really didn’t care. He rolled his sleeves back down, and stretched as he turned around, “You go to sleep now.” He said softly.

      She didn’t stop crying. He ought to shut her up.

      He pulled the door closed and rubbed his face with his hand and stepped out into the hallway, slowing his breathing from the excited pace it had been at for the past half-hour. He looked at his watch.


     Good grief, he had to go to work in five hours. Where did the time go?

      He glanced up and saw Jessica, his wife, standing there, wrapped in a bathrobe and the cute pink slippers that she loved so much. He smiled at her, “Hey, babe.” Convincing. “Couldn’t sleep and needed a drink. Maia made a little noise so I went to see what was…”

     She held up a hand. “Don’t.”

     He rubbed his arm and grinned, she didn’t. “C’mon, what’s the matter? Let’s go ahead back to bed, she’ll calm down in a minute, just a bad dream that’s all.” He walked closer and she stepped back.

     “Don’t come any closer.” She sounded scared.

     He felt a twinge of worry for a split moment, but blew it off. She didn’t know anything. “Oh, come…”

     “Stop!” A knife flashed out in her hand. Sharp, chef’s knife that was supposed to be in the kitchen.

      “Seriously? Jess, what’s goin’ on?”

      Her eyes beheld him as they had never before, with a hate that he didn’t think that Jessica could ever feel. He began to worry for real.

      “How—how could you, Jeff? She’s your niece! What are you?”

       Better move fast. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Maia was having a bad dream and I went to see what the matter was, that’s all. Now let’s go to bed…”

     She backed up again. “I’ve been here a little longer than you think, Jeff. Plenty long.”

     He stopped.

     “How long has this been going on? What have you done to her?”

     “This is nothing, Jess. Just put the knife down.”

      “No!” She shouted. “This is not nothing…”

      “Put the knife down—”

      “She’s a ten-year-old girl for crying out loud!”

      “Just put the knife down.”

      “No.” Her voice fell from a shrill shout to a growl.

      “I can explain everything—”

      “Shut up, Jeff, I don’t want to hear it!” Shouting again.

      “Put the knife—”

      Jess yelled louder, topping his voice: “I will not put the knife down!”

      He said, “You stupid—”

      “You’re right I was stupid, so stupid I trusted you!”

      He stepped closer. Jessica backed into a wall. Cornered.

      “Put it down…”

      “How long has this been going on? How many others have you done this to?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and the knife was tilted a little to the right. “How many other things don’t I know about?”

       “We don’t have to do this.” He whispered. He stared her straight in the eyes, and saw that she didn’t seem to recognize him, like he was a foreigner. In reality he was, she had never known who he was…and because of that she had never been able to fill that gap in his life.

      Sirens pierced the air in the distance.

      She swallowed and looked at him. “It’s already done.” A phone emerged from her pocket—someone was still on the line. Three free guesses.

      He went for the knife and slammed her brittle wrist against the wall as hard as he could, shoving her into the wall behind her with his shoulder, wielding his brute strength to it’s fullest.

      He felt the plastic handle switch to his hand as he snatched it from her.

      Jessica screamed—and then was forever silenced.

(-) (-) (-)

MAIA HAD moved off of the bed when the shouting began. She didn’t want to move because of the pain, the bruising that was already happening on her back, the agony on the inside. It felt like very part of her hurt. However, somehow she eventually made it to the door.

     From the open door she watched the knife be knocked from her aunt’s hand and soon, wielded by the hand of a lion, and it stabbed into her chest. Aunt Jessica fell to the floor in a pool of blood. It hissed as it left her body, as the air in her lungs was released through the new hole.

     Her uncle kicked the body a few times and screamed like a madman. Screams she wouldn’t forget.

     Then she heard the sirens. Lights shone in the front windows and rubber squealed.

     She knelt down on her knees, and looked into Aunt Jessica’s eyes, wishing she could cry but found that she couldn’t.

     The pain. 

      She watched as Uncle Jeff turned around and looked at her, his own face contorted by anger. He cut her down with a dagger stare, and pointed a bloody finger at her.

     “You! This is your fault, dirtbag!” He screamed, and took the knife out of Aunt Jessica’s chest, and began to move for her. “If you just woulda stayed quiet!

      A door burst open and he turned, holding up the knife.

      “Drop it!” One voice yelled.

      A shot rang out, and a twitching body fell to the ground.

      Maia realized that she was screaming.

     “Mrs. Dalton!” A man shouted into the house. “Mrs. Dalton! Police!”

      Maia watched the body of her uncle—her monster—twitch for a few more times, before everything went black.

Thank you for reading this far, if you would like to obtain the full rough draft I would be more than happy to email it to you. Any feedback from that would be much appreciated for when I rewrite the draft. Contact me here: michaelrwright92[at]gmail[dot]com and I'll reply with the rough draft attached. All I ask is if you want to share it with anyone else then please let me know. I would really like to keep track of where this document goes.

Following Him,
Michael Wright
Rom 1:16; Phil 1:21