I have been fighting with myself, trying to write YA Fantasy, my favorite genre to read. I keep failing. I am working on a book that is 20K+ words long and for the life of me I can’t make it work! I love the characters, but the story is just lacking. They deserve better.
So I evaluated myself for a few days. I have come to the realization that although I love to read YA fantasy, I am not very good at writing it. So I have decided to write an NA Contemporary piece. I have decided to share what I have written tonight with you fine people to get your opinions. 🙂 Enjoy!
Landon & Penelope (“Poppy”)
Landon would eventually be the death of me. He would be my unmaking, my end, my final breath. When I found him lying in the rain outside my New York apartment, rain beating down upon his half naked body, I knew at that very moment that he would be my undoing.
I thought he was dead. I was sure of it. I covered my mouth with my fingers, hands shaking uncontrollably, and tried to catch my breath. My heart pounded against my chest, begging to be released from it’s cage. A deep breath in, out, and in again. I stood for a long while, letting the rain pour down upon me, soaking my clothes and numbing my limbs. My blue umbrella was discarded at my feet, forgotten from the shock.
I could have called the police. I should have called an ambulance. What’s the number for 9-1-1? But I was never the type of person to make good decisions. I took a step, then another, and bent down to examine the body. “Sir,” I croaked, reaching to touch his arm. “Sir?” I said again, clearing my throat. “Are you okay?”
The October winds picked up, taking my umbrella with it. This is mine, and thank you.
“Sir?” I said again and shook his shoulder. He didn’t move. I put my fingers to his neck. His skin was ice. There was no pulse. “Oh my God,” I whispered, trying to swallow the lump that built up in my throat. I hesitated, then picked up his hand and put my fingers to his wrist. There, against my fingers, was a tiny thump, thump, thump.
“Sir!” I said, giving him a good shake. He moaned and shifted on the cold, hard ground. “Are you okay?” I said and pulled him upright. Still kneeling, I put my arms on his shoulders. “Are you okay?” I repeated. Finally, his eyes met mine, icy blue to match the cold of his body. “Hmm?” he mumbled. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying in vain to wipe the water from his eyes. “What’s…?” He stumbled to the side, and I righted him. “Are you okay?” I said again and shivered. “Where am I?” he slurred.
“Wait,” I said, putting a hand on my hip. “Are you… drunk?”
The man grimaced and tried to stand, only to stumble back to the ground. The wind picked up again, causing my wet hair to whip around and sting my face. He tried again, but this time I put my arm under his and helped lift his massive body from the ground. We both swayed and nearly toppled to the ground before we were finally upright.
“Let’s get you in out of the cold,” I suggested and we both swayed and fumble our way to my apartment.
I knew he would be the death of me. And yet, I let him drag me down.