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Hey readers! This is the first edition of my Book Bingos of the Month, where I design and publish a new bingo every month! This month, I just completed a new book that has become one of my favorites, and I realized I had found it simply by trying to fill out a bingo sheet! I hope this helps you find a new book you might love, or helps you step out of your comfort zone! Enjoy, and please like and subscribe!
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Hey readers, hope you enjoy Chapter 7, and please like and subscribe! This will be the last chapter I publish over summer break, but I will continue the story after the start of the new school year!
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We continued to walk, the silence suffocating. Damien was near the front when Aleksandr suddenly stopped.
“What are you doing, you psycho?” Alyona nearly shrieked as she stumbled into him.
He have her the gesture to be quiet, than muttered in a sharp voice,
“Will you be quiet.”
“EXCUSE ME? MY FEET ARE FREEZING, I’M HUNGRY, AND YOUR JUST STOPP-“
Aleksandr lunged over to clamp a hand over her mouth, his gaze warning. He nudged a head to the bushes.
Someone was spying on us.
Alyona stilled, and Aleksandr removed his hand as he crept towards the bush, slowly unsheathing his knife. He crouched next to it -the next movements were really to fast comprehend- but I think Aleksandr grabbed the person and threw them to the ground, because they were struggling against his grip as he pinned them. Walking closer, I saw he was a boy, around the same age as me. His hair was a dark brown with black streaks, and his skin was a sort of bronze, like the people who lived in the foreign kingdoms. He opened his eyes, revealing a silvery gray color, like the portrait frames back home, and suddenly, I felt a cascade of homesickness. Shoving that to the side, I stepped back so that Alyona could have a closer look at the sneak.
As she leaned towards him, he began to yell, seeming to have finally regained his senses.
“Get off me! Get off me, you brute! You lummox! You scoundrel of the lowest order!” He went on ranting as Aleksandr quickly tied him, then rose as we moved back a step.
“Thieves! Bandits!” He continued shrieking, almost hysterically.
Aleksandr leaned towards him and muttered something in his ear that had the color draining from his face. He gulped, then turned to look at us, his eyes darting to us, then our surroundings, trying to find somewhere to run no doubt.
“Wh-Who are you?” His voice was quiet, and very scared. I winced at the fear in his voice, hating I was one of the causes of it. He didn’t know who we were, what was going on, or what amount of danger he was in. Almost involuntarily, I walked towards him and knelt next to him.
“We aren’t going to hurt you,”
“We won’t hurt you, I promise.”
He looked at me, his eyes wary, but hopeful. Unsure as well.
Finally, he let out a breath and said.
“My name’s Ishaan. What is yours?”
“Annamaria. But you can call me Maria.”
He turned to look at the rest of us looming over him.
“Then who are you?”
__________________________________
She was still kneeling next to me, her skin radiating warmth in the terrible cold. Her hair shielded her face, her porcelain skin as pale as the snow that surrounded us. With her delicate skin, dark hair, and deep red eyes, she looked like a Rashkinka doll from back home, like my little sister used to play with. It was meant to stay on the shelf, but she loved that doll anyway.
The excitable brunette came closer and smiled at me, her brown hair matching her eyes like a forest.
“My name’s Alyona. Do you mind if I check for injuries?”
I immediately recoiled as she outstretched her hand.
“I don’t like being touched.”
Her eyes were startled, before looking at the dark-haired woman rising next to me, obviously hoping her friend could give her some explanation. Then, her eyes lit up, sparkling with a mischievous glint I used to see every time Charun dragged me into another of his plots.
Charun.
My best friend.
वह ईश्वर के बगीचे में सदैव ऊँचा चलता रहे
“Where are you going then, Ishaan?”
“Anywhere you’re not.”
“Then you’re out of luck, Ishaan. Because you’re going to be our guide.” Maria whipped her head up to stare at her as everyone else in her group glared. Alyona’s smile was serene as the brute that had tackled me leaned forward to growl,
“This is not your choice, Alyona. Your whims cannot determine our safety.”
“You think he is a danger to us? Don’t make me laugh. He is travelling on his own, seems to understand the terrain, and most importantly, he’s our only option.”
I decidedly already knew I despised people choosing my future for me, and this brown-eyed brunette wasn’t going to command me anymore than they had.
I felt a small hand on my arm, and I looked down to see a scarred, white hand clasping my arm.
“Please. You’re our only hope of getting there within the next week. I’m begging you.”
I didn’t know what was so special about one week, or why they had to be there, but she was obviously desperate, and the tugs at my conscious did not to allow me to refuse. She and Alyona didn’t seem like bad people, after all.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Hirhol.”
Hirhol. A city of ghosts and graves.
“I’ll take you”
“No. It’s not safe, Maria.” A boy with hair as black as hers and golden eyes stepped towards her, his eyes soft as they looked at her before hardening as he turned to glance at me. They were obviously friends, and he seemed determined to protect her.
“For once, Aleksandr’s right.” The large brutes sputtering at the golden-eyed one was almost enough to make me laugh.
“We can’t trust him.”
“Really Damien, I highly doubt it.”
Damien. Alyona. Aleksandr. Maria.
“Who are you?” I asked the one hanging near the back.
“Levka.”
“Mikhail,” The other one supplied, stumbling a bit as he quietly clutching a stack of books like his life depended on it. Levka had words tattood on his arm, I saw, as his sleeves rolled up when he went to help take some books from Mikhail, who was beginning to struggle.
There is no home in life, but in death, there you will find eternal peace
The Ten Skulls
Hmm. I narrowed my eyes at the still arguing Damien and Maria as both of them decided my fate again, taking it from me.
“Why can’t she choose?” I asked.
“Because Maria doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” He almost shouted the words, fear bleeding from the broken edges of his voice, like glass. But glass is double edged.
Break glass, and you bleed.
“I can take care of myself.” Her voice was curt, and he winced before rubbing the back of his neck and sighing.
“Fine. If Maria really believes he’s harmless, he’ll be our guide.”
Aleksandr looked like he was about to choke, his face was so blue, as Maria knelt again and untied me, her hands feather soft.
She stood and held out a hand to help me rise. They don’t know who I am. Perhaps it is best that way.
Perhaps.
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Ishaan was quiet as he led us through a towering forest, the green mixing with the suns setting pink and orange hues, reflecting upon the white of the crisp, pure, untreaded snow to create a picture so enchanting, a thousand words of a thousand writers couldn’t not have described, nor could a painter have captured it, the darkness of an eternal night now melding with the light and sun of day, creating the best of both worlds.
‘That sounds wrong,’ I thought. I explain a lot of things wrong, don’t I?
Levka stood next to me, his arms carrying many of my books.
Friend.
Maria walked near the front, glancing back every now and again to make sure I was alright.
Friend.
No book could have described what it felt like to care, and to have someone care. It felt like a single misplaced word could ruin everything, and also like they could destroy everything you own, and you will still love them. Friends,
Friends,
Friends.
Ishaan stopped for a moment as the sunset began to end, the darkness beginning.
“Why are you stopping?” Aleksandr’s irritated voice broke in.
“The sunset is about to be over, and I wish to see it.” His voice was calm, and his face was serene. Once the sun had faded and the moon finally took its place in the sky, Ishaan continued to walk, footsteps forming in the snow from each fall of his boots, leather and thin. He wore a green shirt that had seen better days, each blow of the wind a whip upon my heavily prepared self, but Ishaan didn’t even flinch, his tranquility at odds with the hysterical boy Aleksandr had tackled earlier. We must have walked for hours, my legs growing tired quickly, each step a struggle. Alyona collapsed, but Aleksandr quickly caught her and carried her through the rest of the wood, her breaths thin.
“How much longer?” He finally barked at Ishaan after hours of peaceful silence.
All Ishaan did was point. And there, down the hill, was a city, fortified with walls of stone.
Hirhol.
A city of ghosts.
“If you can get inside, I can take you too a…friend of sorts, who can help you get anywhere in the city.”
“What do you mean, if we can?”
“Hirhol is one of the most well-fortified cities on the planet, and they plan to keep it that way. Immigrants and refugees are guarded against with a ferocity that is well-known throughout the educated countries.” His smooth jab at Jeterna in his calm voice was enough to make Aleksandr clench his fists, Alyona narrow her eyes, and Damien growl.
Patriotism.
I never was one for it.
“We aren’t refugees or immigrants, though.” Alyona told him, her voice a tad cooler.
“Then what are you?” He had a slim eyebrow raised, his voice genuinely curious. Maria hurried to stand next to him.
“We are nothing and we are no one. We’re just looking for someone.”
“Who?”
This was going into dangerous territory.
“My father. Marco Lopez.”
“I’ve heard of him! He’s a neurobiologist?”
“Yes. He went missing a few months ago.”
Ishaan nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. They didn’t seem to notice the tremble in her voice, the way her fingers flexed, like she wanted to curl them.
We’re entering a city of ghosts, I reminded myself, as we walked down the hill.
Everyone has a secret,
and skeletons are stacked high.
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We stopped in front of the gates, the iron and stone a mockery of my lies. Everything was flashing in my mind, in front of my eyes.
Missing.
Alive.
But most of all,
a grave I visited, a grave I buried, near the riverside.
A stone, blank and curved marked the spot. The wind had rustled when I went to see it, the willow leaves fluttering violently, just like at her funeral. The river was a rushing torrent behind me.
“You said you’d always be there.” My voice was broken, as I looked up to see my father.
He stood in front of his grave, a soft smile on his face as his black curls fell into his eyes just like they had whenever we played tag among the fir trees back home.
He would throw his head back and laugh, a booming sound that resonated all throughout the fields. Then he would pick me up, spin me around, and call me his angel.
“Sometimes people lie, don’t they?”
He nodded sadly.
“I never meant a thing to you, did I?” My head was bowed, my voice thick, as I struggled to hold back my tears.
“I never meant a thing to you. If I had, you might have stayed.”
He shook his head, reaching towards me, arms outstretched, and with a strangled sob, I launched myself at him. But when I opened my eyes, he was gone, and all I held was a broken dream and a thousand memories, in front of a shallow grave.
“Who are you?” A man barked at us from the gate, his black hair with a streak of white gleaming in the sun like a horrid skunk creature.
“We are foreigners, good man, and we wish to enter the enlightened city.” Ishaan’s voice was cold.
“Is that you, Kaur?” A man called down, standing at the top of the gate, this one with gray hair and brown eyes.
“Good day, Robir,” He called back.
“मैं उस पास का उपयोग करता हूं जो गेट ने उनके लिए दिया है, अच्छा प्रबुद्ध शहर।” There was a pause, then,
“Let ’em in!” The guard called.
The gates creaked open, and we walked in, feeling more than a bit apprehensive as the gates clanged behind us.
“That was easier than I thought.” Damien said with a smirk even I found annoying.
“Yes. Easy.” Ishaan’s voice was clipped, and the corners of his eyes tightened.
What had he said?
Mikhail sidled up next to me.
“I wonder what the pass of the gate means.” he murmured.
“What pass?”
“You didn’t understand him?”
“No! What did he say?”
“I use the pass that the gate has given for them, good illuminated city.”
I paused, digesting that rather strange bit of information.
“I guess we have our own little mission in Hirhol now, don’t we?”
He gave me a broad smile before trotting to the front to walk with Levka.
My smile slowly faded as we made our way through the streets.
“I have a friend who can help you in there,” Ishaan nodded his head toward a building.
The Queens Inn, Best Beds in Town!
A rowdy dance, a man laughing near the fire.
Two step,
Three step,
Twirl,
Bow.
“Come on, angel!”
My father spun me around on the floor as my mother danced behind us, singing an off-key tune.
“Good night, honey,” She whispered as I fell asleep.
Waking up to her leaving.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Mama?”
“Go back to sleep.”
Her face was blurry.
“Go back to sleep.”
The streets were near empty as we walked, and the ones who were there kept there heads ducked and wore clothes that seemed to blend with the walls of stone.
I’ve been here before.
It was different, though.
“Where do you want to start looking for Maria’s father?” Ishaan asked, making me almost wince at the reminder of my lie.
“We’ll start at the palace,” Damien said confidently. Ishaan stopped abruptly, then he burst out laughing, the walls and ground seeming to absorb the beautiful sound, free and bright.
“Very few people can just waltz right in.”
“You said the same about the gates,” Alyona pointed out,
“And look how easy that was.”
His calm smile never once wavered.
__________________________________
“No.”
That was the only response we got from those guards.
No.
Ishaan gave us a small bow as he turned, his eyes dancing with amusement, as though to leave.
“Where are you going?” Maria asked.
“You wanted a guide into the city, and now I have been one. And besides, I have told you where you can find help. You will be fine. ” He gave her a faint smile as he backed away, then whirling around so as to walk forward, straight into a city of silence.
I cradled my books even more protectively, already missing the calm presence of Ishaan Kaur.
“What will we do now?” Alyona’s voice was thin, her eyes bordered with silver.
Maria’s smile was just as thin, but she pointed at a large building with faded words that I couldn’t make out.
“When in doubt, just go to the library.”
Her steps were light and quick, a hopeful glint in her eye replacing the small smile she had before. She pushed open the doors quietly, and a small woman looked up from behind a cart. It was piled with old classics from civilizations long gone.
Crime and Punishment.
Bleak House.
Great Expectations.
War and Peace.
Notes from the Underground.
Pride and Prejudice.
A hundred stories of a hundred lives.
“Hello, strangers.” She had a soft, feathery voice that seemed like it would rip or break with the softest wind. Her eyes were a pale blue, rheumy and deep.
“Welcome to my library.”
Aleksandr tensed.
“This is useless. Why are we here? We are merely following the orders of an untrained little girl! When you all come to your senses, I will be trying to find some actual information.”
With those words, he turned and stormed out, Alyona sending Maria a regretful smile as she followed him, Damien, and Levka out.
“Mikhail, you coming?” Levka called from the doorway.
“Yeah.” I turned to give Maria one last glance, and saw her staring after us, the slight wind pushing her hair across her face, her eyes flashing. And then she turned and vanished into the endless, dark stacks of the library.
___________________________________
“Wait, child!” The old woman cried, her legs creaking as she relied on a old wooden cane. I stopped, barely inclining my head so as to see her.
“Seems you can appreciate the beauty of the written word, and the wisdom of those who are now gone.”
A riddle.
“When the dead speak, I shall listen, but till then, may I stand and fight.”
“Well aren’t you a clever one. 1000 Breakable Things, by Zarai Kernati.”
I turned at that, a faint smiling pulling at my lips.
“You like to read.”
“And you like to listen.”
With a purpose in her steps, she walked over to a shelf behind me, well-organized yet dusty. She pulled out a black book, the cover laced with blue. In faded white letters, it said,
Soulseers.
I knew that title.
It was the first book banned in Jeterna since the Brother came into power.
“People are afraid of knowledge.” I said, raising my eyes to hers.
“And yet when they need it, it is always there.”
“Yeah. Frozen Dreams by Carilque Shrinkiha”
“Your friends did not seem to appreciate the value of books.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“Don’t worry, dear. Even the most stubborn souls have a way of coming to see the right way, don’t they?”
Soulseers
Looking back up, she was gone. I found my way to a moldy looking table, and pulling out a weak chair, I sat down and opened the book.
With so many mystical and magical things in this world, perhaps the rarest and most beautiful things would be the Soulseers. Capable of seeing the soul in a human body, they can predict how dark or light a soul will become and can tell every truth you tell from the lies. But darkness also controls them. To see a soul means you can steal a soul. Stealing a soul means you can take on their memories, become that person, if only in mind. But every time you steal a soul, a part of your own is permanently damage–
The words were suddenly blotted out. Blinking, I turned to the next page. It was blank. I flipped through the pages, suddenly frantic, looking, but everywhere was blank. Sighing, I closed the book and stood up. Walking back over to the cart she had been standing next to when we walked in, I pulled out Little Women.
“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents…”
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As Aleksandr trudged on, I glanced back at the library, and suddenly, I felt angry.
“Where are we going?”
He shrugged.
“So you just dragged us out here, separated us, and you have no actual plan?”
He shrugged again, and for some reason, this just made me even angrier.
“Why do you hate her? She never even did anything to you!”
“You don’t know anything, Alyona.” His voice was ice as he whirled around to face me, his eyes fire.
“Hey, guys?” Mikhail’s timid, scared voice was enough to make Aleksandr look at him. His face was worried and pale.
“Where’s Damien?”
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It took me 15 years to discover I had no talent for writing, but I couldn’t give it up, because by then I was too famous.
Robert Benchley
Hello readers! I hope you enjoy it, and please, feel free to comment if you have any ideas or just comments on the writing itself! I’m open to all critiques! Please like and subscribe!
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His eyes cut into me, forcing me to listen. Forcing me to understand. Making me see that I had just done something unforgivable. But then, if it’s so horrible,
Why did it feel so good?
I barely noticed, barely cared that Raphael was dragging me through the broken glass, yet feeling the glass cutting me, digging into my skin, leaving a trail of scarlet in my wake. I was numb as he shoved me into the street and forced me to walk. Walk. Walk. I don’t know where and I don’t care. Just away,
away,
away.
He led me through the dark streets, the sun just barely rising above, casting the sky into brilliant hues of champagne, violet, and sea. I despised it. Or, I think I would have. But I couldn’t seem to feel anything. Nothing. Everything. The streets became dirtier, and the people were all the more broken. Shattered dreams and blood covered the street and lingered in the air like a putrid perfume. Women crouched in alleys, clutching children covered in grime and dust. Men collapsed on the streets, some begging, some drunk, some dead. Broken bottles littered the streets and pathways like a darker version of a child’s confetti. One woman was crying as she held onto a little boy, his arm bleeding, the blood gushing, refusing to stop, the woman soaking in her son’s blood. I tried to move, tried to go over, but Raphael’s cold, firm hand held onto me like a vise. And then I realized, the boy’s neck was at the wrong angle, like it had been snapped. The woman was covered in bruises and scars as she knelt next to the boy, cradling his head in her lap. A tall man stood gazing down at the woman and the body, expressionless. I stifled a gasp and continued stumbling after him. The air reeked of despair. You could already tell that there was no hope left. Like hope too, had died on these dust-covered streets. I felt the pain begin to sear the edges of my numbness, and I let out a strangled whimper. One man, his breath smelling of alcohol and fear huffed a laugh, rasping,
“Welcome to Hell’s Alley, love.”
Faster than I could blink, Raphael had the man pinned to the wall. His hands squeezed tighter around the other man’s throat. I remembered that vise-like grip on my wrist and stilled. So I watched as Raphael squeezed the man’s throat tighter, and I watched with open fascination, as the man attempted to let out a scream, but all he could let out were moans. Terrified, hysteric, psychotic moans.
Beautiful.
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Finally, the screams stopped. And I watched as Raphael let go and the man crumpled to the street, his eyes wide and unseeing. But as I stared at the body, that same grip was suddenly around my wrist and dragging me away again, through the dark streets until we stopped outside a building. I suppose I could say that it was the nicest building there, but to say that, it would have to be just another dirt-filled, scum-covered waste of brick and stone. But it wasn’t. It was beautiful, it was grand, and it was theirs. But there was something else, a memory, tugging at the darkest recesses of consciousness. I remembered a woman’s face, standing before the building, holding my hand. Her features were hazy, but they were determined. It was a long time ago. I’m probably wrong.
But that face looked just like my mom’s.
_____________________________
He pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The biggest stronghold in the continent was accessible by a simple key? He saw me staring at the key and gave me a wry smile.
“Just a key?” I realized my voice sounded doubtful, and my cheeks flushed pink. I hated my tell. Whenever I was embarrassed, mad, sad, or anything, I went pink like a freakin’ azalea. He laughed, and shook his head before responding,
“The key has a microchip inserted in the front, along with a fingerprint reader. The camera will read my face and match it, then a member sits in the security room watching everyone who enters.”
That sounded way too overcomplicated. What if instead, you just put a facial scanner, and actually used the guards?
click.
All they would need to do is clean up the dead body.
I shuddered at myself. I hated that I’ve always had this weird fascination with death. I remember my own mother trying to understand it and… I shook off the memory before I realized,
“They can hear us?”
Raphael smiled again, this time with genuine humor. Amusement twinkled in his eyes again as he responded,
“Most definitely.”
And the doors swung open.
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“Why are you so dramatic?” A voice rang out through the still silence of the hall. It sounded very muffled. I couldn’t tell whether they were old or young, or where it was coming from. Raphael watched me look around with laughter.
“Ignore him. That’s just Damien, the attention seeker. Probably just got bored, the fool, because he has nothing better to do.”
“Fool?” The voice – Damien – now sounded insulted. And amused. Raphael continued to drag me through the halls as Damien went quiet for a moment, before saying,
“I’m not the one out on the sidewalk terrifying little girls, Raphael” I stiffened, immediately renewing my efforts to find where the voice was coming from.
“Damien” Raphaels voice was a warning, and the boy laughed for a moment before going silent.
Suddenly, as doors closed behind me with a loud clang, I realized that I was in a dark room.
And we weren’t alone.
“сын”
I peered into the darkness, but I could only make out a faint silhouette. Like a ghost.
“Why are you here Raphael?” The voice was cold.
“You have never come voluntarily on your own, Raphael. So, I must wonder, what favor will you ask of me? Will you ask me to spare her? Spare her for the murder of our brother? Is that why you have returned? To beg for the mercy of killers? ” I stiffened. They knew. They always knew. Because they were always watching.
Raphael let out a low chuckle.
“сын. Если бы она этого не сделала, то она была бы мертвой на полу. У брата Алексея никогда не было ни терпения… ни милосердия”
There was a contemplative silence. Then,
“Aleksei was there for you Raphael. You hid and allowed a little girl to take your fall, and Aleksei died for it. An example must be made, and as I am no longer capable of punishing you, she must be.”
Raphael bowed his head.
“Yes, Brother.”
And as much as I tried to reassure myself that they wouldn’t hurt me, couldn’t hurt me with Raphael’s protection, I felt the truth dig into bones, needing to be heard, as we rose.
It was a lie.
________________________
“What did you say to him?” I whispered to Raphael as a guard led us out to a staircase. He gave me a brief look, then said,
“Nothing of importance.”
“Then what’s my punishment?”
At that, Rapheal hesitated. Finally, he cleared his throat and said,
“Ten lashes.”
I blinked disbelievingly. Surely they wouldn’t be so crude.
“You don’t mean with a whip, do you?”
His silence was answer enough.
He quickly gave me a pitying look before refocusing on the guards stationed at every door.
“Ten. Lashes.” Raphael repeated stoically before a man came walking down the stairs, wearing a dark business suit and a secret smile that told you he knew something you didn’t. He was extraordinarily alluring, with his eyes of pure silver, edged with beautiful insanity, and a chiseled face, like a stone statue from long ago. He turned around to say something to the guard, and I saw…
Wings. Beautiful gray wings with feathers that looked soft as silk. Downy masses, like the wings of the dove. But only one species had wings.
I was about to be whipped by a Fallen.
_____________________
I felt my terror begin to rise as he dragged me down the stairs into a cold room, not a fire in sight, as I tried to remember everything I had ever been taught about the Fallen. Were some merciful? Think Maria, think.
The Fallen were children of angels and demons. They had the beauty of heaven and the soul of hell, and to touch a Fallen was to reach for the heavens, but to brush damnation. They were cruel and vicious, and they despised humanity. For the disobedience of their sires, every day, they burned, but despite the fact their very being was incapable of feeling a flame, their souls were made of it. While we could not touch it for fear of pain, to touch fire for the Fallen was to return to Hell. To serve the pure. To touch one of the Fallen was to touch death itself. No one angered them, not if they wanted to live. So I bowed my head as he finally stilled and gave me a smile that was so beautiful, and so cruel, it was torture in itself.
“We’re here”
____________________
The whip was bloody as he pulled it out. Ten lashes they said. Ten lashes. I felt my breath come in short bursts as the chains closed around my wrists, slender and scarred. He fingered the whip lovingly like it was his baby. I squeezed my eyes tight as he approached my back, bare and bent. I heard the air snap as he lifted the whip and then felt it come down.
Again
and
again
and
again.
“Count your lashes.” He gasped, his breathing labored, but excited.
I made no sound, the tears running hot down my cheeks, silent screams tearing me apart from the inside.
“Count. The. Lashes. Or I will..not…stop” He hissed in eager anticipation as he came down with the edges of the whips, covered in spiking shards of metal, designed to tear into the already injured skin, designed to give him the screams he so desperately wanted.
“One!” I whimpered, my voice hoarse, wanting the pain to end, needing the agony to stop.
“Two!”
I wailed, I cried, I moaned, and I screamed the numbers until I couldn’t breathe, until blood ran hot down my back. Until I couldn’t tell if he had given me ten lashes or ten thousand. I clawed at the ground, my fingernails cracking and breaking on the jagged ground, hating the tears spilling from my face, hated that the tears that had been torn from a place in me that I wished had died back in my cold, empty home. The tears I had sworn I would never shed again. Finally, he stopped. I could barely feel it. All I felt was the hot lashes on my back, the phantom whip. I heard my own screams echoing. I heard the harsh rasp of his laughter. I curled tighter into a ball as the blood fell to the ground, just another victim of this human hell. Another victim of the Ten Skulls. But I wasn’t a victim was I? I had killed,
killed,
killed.
But the thing that hurt me the most wasn’t that I had murdered, stolen a human life… It was that I liked it too.
“жин” I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken, hating that I was unsure of whom I was speaking about.
Demon.
And as I heard his shoes click away, I couldn’t tell whether he had left, or delirium had finally overcome me. I felt a soft hand touch my back, so different from the hard, sharp leather of the whips. I looked up through bleary eyes to see a figure with white hair and blue eyes. Raphael leaned in close to hold me as I cried and cried and cried.
_____________________
I saw Raphael nudge me gently, urging me to my feet. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. He sighed and stood up, his shoes clicking on the hard stone as he left the room.
I pulled myself in closer as I finally allowed myself to suffer alone. I felt the room go cold, and seem to shrink around me, suffocating me, and I shivered. Suddenly, strong arms picked me up and carried me up the stairs, steady and unfaltering. Quick, and sure. I felt myself pull closer to this unshakeable man carrying me. I didn’t know who he was, but I had a strange feeling like I was….safe. I breathed in the suddenly clean smell of sheets and medicine. I tried to move closer to the mystery man before I got laid down on my stomach on a bed and drifted off into the ever-going abyss of sleep.
_______________________
When my eyes opened groggily, I shifted, trying to feel the pain in my back, but there was only a faint twinge. I blew out a breath as I realized my shirt was off. Probably for my back. As I reached an arm around to feel it, my fingers came away sticky from a salve rubbed on. My fingernails were fixed, somehow healed. Someone had helped me. Someone had helped me. I tensed as I remembered my mother grabbing my arm and twisting it whenever I came home from school, a gift in hand from a teacher, or another friend. I remember her hissing voice,
“Keep your eyes open and your heart closed. No one does anything for nothing.”
Of course, she knew that better than anyone.
I sat up, wrapping a towel I spotted hanging off the bed around my chest, and looked around, absorbing the room. A woman was standing in white at the end of the room, humming gently as she tucked her gray hair behind her ears. She was rearranging bottles by color, I think, when she turned around and saw me watching her. She gasped as she rushed over to push me onto my stomach again.
“You cannot sit up while the medicine is still fresh” she barked, with a surprisingly strong voice for such a small woman. I turned my head to look at her, my face still, my eyes as dark as I could make them. Her expression became one of faint guilt and she sighed.
“Fine, but I have to be next to you,” she helped me climb to my feet. I felt a bit woozy for a moment, but that feeling passed soon to be replaced by a sense of nausea. She was helping me put on a white robe when someone knocked on the door.
“Just a minute” she called, tying it off, then reaching over to the door to open it. A man was standing in the doorway. He had his eyes pointed at the ceiling as he spoke, his voice low, but strong.
“The Brother would like to see her, Alyona”
The woman – Alyona – stiffened, and gave him a hard look, which he pointedly avoided.
“She is still healing, Volkov.”
At that, the man looked at her, his eyes a strong deep blue, sharp and cutting, like a steel blade.
“Gregori is known for his brutality, Alyona, and the choice the Brother made was not one of random. She deserved her punishment. And the choice to make you her healer was not one of chance either, Alyona. You are the best, and the Brother needed her healed quickly. Unfortunatly.“
I took a step back when those eyes truly focused on me, disgust and revulsion shining in those deep blue depths. Alyona stepped in front of me and gave him a shove.
“Fine. She will come. But give her time to dress.”
The man gave a grudging nod as he turned and stormed away. Alyona turned and began to rifle viciously through drawers, slamming them shut, and anger seemed to radiate off her.
She tore a hand through her hair before she called out after him, her voice mocking.
“You are playing with fire, Volkov. Eventually, who is to say we will be able to tell man from monster?”
Volkov stiffened but otherwise gave no signal he had heard her as he marched down the hall and out of sight. But not before he glanced back and locked eyes with me. And I saw a boy. One lost in the darkness. One who didn’t know how to find his way out. I took a step toward him, my body not listening to my mind, immediately regretting it, but it was too late to take it back. It was like a veil had been cast across his eyes of night and pain, then he was gone.
_________________
“Foolish.. imbecilic…reckless…mad..”
“What did he do to you?” I asked, breaking through her reverie. She looked up at me and answered,
“Nothing.”
“He didn’t say much of anything.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I don’t, but I want to.”
“Why would I tell you?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
We stood looking at each other for a moment before she let out a gust of breath and turned away. The room was quiet for several minutes. Alyona didn’t want to speak, and all I could think about was that glimpse I had seen in his eyes. That little boy was lost in the dark. And for some reason, I wished I could be the one to guide him back.
“What’s his name?”
Alyona stopped for a moment, twiddling some fabric between her fingers before answering.
“Volkov. Aleksandr Volkov”, and then we were silent again.
Finally, she had a dress in her hands as she approached to help me change. She had sounded so angry, I expected rough hands, cold and vicious. Rather, her hands were gentle and cool on the wounds on my back. She gave a sigh as she finished lacing up the dress, and I looked at it as she rubbed her face with her head in her hands. The dress was a lovely white, with mermaid lace along the sides, and a bodice that was loose around my back. My favorite type. How…?
“I’m sorry, child, they can..lose control sometimes.” She gave a look at the camera, a glare I was beginning to realize she seemed to aim at everyone, and I looked at it myself, noticing a red light on. Suddenly, I felt very exposed. Alyona barked out a laugh, and for the first time, I really took in that despite her gray hair, she couldn’t have been older than 23. Only five years older than me. Only two years older than my mom when she… I shut down that train of thought, refusing to give in to the memories that kept resurfacing. Kept coming back.
“Don’t worry, Damien turns off the camera here while you change.” She cast a dark look at the door, and her mood was black again.
Damien? That was the man that had been controlling the cameras earlier. The one Raphael called a fool.
“Was he here?” I didn’t know why I asked. It was a stupid question. Alyona opened her mouth as though to respond, but then looked at the camera and closed it again. She said too quickly,
“Of course not! What a ridiculous idea”
When Alyona turned away, my face turned bright pink. Why was she lying to me? Why had Damien come to see her when I was unconscious? And most importantly, why was Alyona scared of him? Who was he?
“What’s your name?” Alyona asked, her voice inquisitive, but not prying. I had a feeling that if I didn’t tell her, she would respect that and leave it be. But I wanted to tell her. I also felt like this was a desperate attempt to change the subject, but I was alright with that.
I looked at my feet, bare on the cold marble, and said,
“Annamaria. Annamaria Lopez.”
“Well Annamaria Lopez, It’s time you meet the Brother”
__________________
I felt my face go white as Alyona and I neared the great hall. Alyona was clasping my hand as she led me in, and I knew she could feel my body tremble. As we stood outside the doors, two men unlocked them, both staring at us with inscrutable eyes. My eyes began to narrow when Alyona suddenly asked,
“How has your knee been, Andrei? I keep telling you to take your medications but you never listen. You know how stubborn he can be,” She turned and said to the other man.
“How has your wife been Nicholas? I haven’t seen much of her lately. Not since the baby was born.”
She was normalizing them, popping in more facts about their lives, making them seem almost…human.
Andrei had a sweet 5-year-old daughter named Heather who played the clarinet. Nicholas’s wife had just given birth to a beautiful little boy named Mikhail. Andrei’s wife loved comedies. Nicholas’s son read horrors. It went on and on. They seemed so ordinary, so..typical.
Andrei and Nicholas just stared at her as she kept chattering, seeming unsure of what to do with such a talkative woman. I felt what was almost a smile tug at my lips before my expression froze, and I stiffened as I felt the air go cold. A man had swept into the room, followed by Raphael and a boy. He looked about 19, with silky-looking black hair and golden brown eyes that gave me a contemplative look, as though he was trying to determine my worth before actually speaking to me. He wore a black leather jacket and black skinny jeans, but that wasn’t what shocked me. What shocked me was that he wasn’t wearing a uniform. Why? The silence suddenly became deafening. The man in front wore black robes that I used to associate with the Grim Reaper. His skin was so white it seemed to glow, his eyes black as a tomb.
“Annamaria Lopez. Alyona Morozov.”
I stiffened. I remembered that voice. I remembered it. Not from earlier…from years before.
Why?
We both curtsied as the boy gave us a wink, his cold eyes now twinkling, his enjoyment at our fear palpable. My hands that were raising the skirt clenched into fists. Alyona stepped forward, her face cautioning me. I got the message.
Wait.
“Brother, -”
The man held up a hand to signify her silence, then swept down the steps to us.
“Ms. Lopez. You have done us a terrible wrong today, and while it was paid in blood, it is not over. You have taken a life, and now you owe one. You will be one of us. A bounty hunter. Охотник за головами. But, you have not proven you are capable yet, or to be trusted. I have given you a partner. One who will give you no loyalty and will hide nothing from me. He will guard your back in a fight, but if that fight is against us or me, his knife will just as soon end up buried in your back.” I watched with what I hoped were indecipherable eyes.
“You will be partners with Damien Gray, our best bounty hunter, and our youngest member”
My face went pink and I stopped focusing on my eyes as I realized this was the boy that had seen me earlier. The one that had made Alyona lie. Was this why? The Brother’s gaze darkened and his voice became like an ice-covered blade.
“Ms. Lopez, this is me being generous. If you do not take this offer, there will be no others. You will pay with your death, and this affair will come to an end.” His eyes glinted,
“I assure you, this is easier for all of us”
I nodded, the pink drained from the porcelain color of my skin. The Brother swept from the room in a swirl of silk and shadow. Raphael gave me a glance as he followed, but the boy walked behind, his steps languid and easy. He gave me a small smile before he left, but now that he was closer, his face looked sharper, the angles more pronounced. He was beautiful, he was demonic, he was
Sariati.
I was right. He wasn’t human at all.
He was a monster.
“Nice to meet you, Maria.” His voice was like iron-covered silk. Soft, but strong. Cold, and deadly.
I turned my head away and didn’t respond. I will never talk to a Sariati. Not after what they did.
Never,
Never,
Never.
He watched me for a moment before following them out the door, Andrei and Nicholas following behind. Alyona tried to put a hand on my arm, but I shrugged it off.
I hated the name they had given me, the brand that would haunt me for the rest of my days.
In Minor, the language of this god-forsaken country Jeterna, Охотник за головами may mean Bounty Hunter.
But in Respani, it had only one meaning.
Killer.
______________
Hey readers! I hope you enjoyed Chapter Two: Perfect Hell, and be prepared for Chapter Three on May 2nd! Please like and subscribe!
A writer’s life and work are not a gift to mankind; They are its necessity.
Toni Morrison (The Source of Self Regard)
Hey readers! I’ve decided to start posting the chapters of the story I’ve been writing on my blog every 2 weeks so that I can get reviews/opinions on my work! I’m posting one chapter per 2 weeks, so please enjoy! This is the prologue.
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I heard the nightingale singing softly in the branches that hung high above my head, the willow swaying in the softest breeze. They lifted the casket gently before reaching down to place it in the freshly dug ground that still smelled faintly of dandelions and wildflowers. I didn’t cry, I didn’t shake, I couldn’t feel anything. The sounds of the night seemed to expand, the chirping of the robin deafening, the clanging of the church bell a distant explosion. I knew that to not feel was rare, was wrong. Yet, she was always the one with the big smile, the warm hugs, the constant glow of happiness. My dad’s body convulsed and shook violently with his wails, the tears running down his face like liquid rivers of pain. Those tears seemed to carve themselves into his very being, into the depths of his soul. My mother used to tell me stories. Stories about heaven, and how the angels waited on earth and in the sky to guide you home. Now, it felt like only the demons lay on earth, waiting to steal. Steal lives that were never theirs. I felt the wind pick up as the willows-branches became whips, violent and lively. I didn’t know at the time what the future held. All I knew, was without Mom, I will never heal. She had left a scar in me, a hole that seemed to deepen and hollow with every minute she was gone. And my eyes burned with unshed tears as the nightingale’s song became louder and the wind a jagged cold blade as the earth itself seemed to punish us for putting a body in the ground when it should have been lying in the heavens.
My body jerked awake as though some invisible force was tugging me to the door. The house was silent. The house was never silent. There were always the thuds from my father trying to exercise himself into exhaustion, the memories of my mother haunting him. They haunted me too. My hands glistened with blood that had poured from my cracked knuckles, my punching bag in the corner stained scarlet. What’s going on? I raced up the stairs into my father’s room, and froze, a fractured, overwhelming feeling sweeping in. The whole world seemed to slow down. There was no noise, no color, no anything. My eyes stayed focused on the white, bloody corpse that was my father. And I felt whatever remnant of a heart I had – bloody and bruised and broken – shatter. How dare he. After everything I had done, all I had suffered, he left me. Now I was here, and he was gone.
Just like her.
His body was twisted on the blanket, his eyes a cloudy white, gun in his left hand. His wrist was ravaged, scarred, and bloody. I put a trembling hand on his neck, searching almost maniacally for the remnant of a pulse. Proof that I wasn’t all alone, proof that I’m not the only broken thing left. Anything. I sat back on my heels, my heart seeming to speed up to a bursting point, my head growing woozy. Nothing. He was gone. As that thought set in, I keeled over, my legs numb, my heart shattered, the bloody pieces staining and cutting the inside of my chest like dark little daggers. They were gone. They were gone. Everything blurred with the bitter sting of tears, and I couldn’t draw in a breath. It felt like my heart refused to beat. I looked at my father’s cold body again and saw a hint of white peeking out from his right hand, that was curled into a fist. I gently pulled his fingers away to pick up the paper. A note.
My Annamaria,
My dearest daughter. I love you, and you are my gift. But your mother is calling me. Every night, I hear her voice, a whispering echo saying my name. Every night when I hear her, I feel like I’m fading. And every morning, I wake up, just to be killed in the night again. A man can break only so many times before he shatters, my sweet Maria. I love you. But I love your mother. I hope one day, you can find it in your heart, as great and beautiful as it is, to forgive a tired, desperate old man.
Love,
Father
I crumpled to the ground, still clutching the paper, the blood stains seeming to grow larger, the world blurrier. “He doesn’t love you”, the voice in my head taunted. Jeered. No. No. I bent forward, the weight of it all seeming to crush me, force me to the ground, the pain a searing fire, burning me, branding me. He doesn’t love me. He wouldn’t have left me, abandoned me, if he truly loved me. I’m not his Annamaria. Not anymore. And for the last time, I allowed myself to cry. Cry for what could have been, cry for what should have been. Cry all the tears that lay in my soul, so that when I finally rose from the ashes, every tear that fell was a promise of revenge. Finally, my tears seemed to end, my heart seemed to wither, to die. I pulled myself to my feet and, taking one last look at my father, pulled the gun from his cold fingers and left. I paused at the doorway, the hand that was holding the doorframe trembling. Then, I pushed away as I walked away from the place where everything was taken from me. My footsteps echoed in the cold, dark chill of midnight. The fog that had rolled in earlier seemed to thicken. I allowed one last tear to roll down my cheeks before I disappeared into the icy cold shadows of night.
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I hope you enjoyed the prologue to my story “A Tale of Murder and Lies”, and please comment if you have any helpful suggestions! Be prepared for Chapter One on April 5th, and keep on reading bookworms!
“All autobiographies are alibi-ographies.”
Clare Boothe Luce
Hey writers, readers! Summer is coming up, those beautiful months of sunshine and relaxation and long trips to the beach! But wait…. what about your writing? I know its hard to stay motivated to write in those long months, and you often question why you would want to stay inside for hours just writing a story, or poem, or essay? Well, I have 8 tips to help you want to write over these long months, so enjoy!
If you set yourself a goal, like you want to write 30 minutes a day, you might be more motivated to complete those 30 minutes, then just relax! If 30 minutes sounds like too much, or you don’t want to set a time goal, just promise yourself that you will write 250 words that day, or 100 words! Just know that you are going to write!
Maybe you might want to get in your writing minutes by being outside. Just explore your surroundings! Look around and see what you can find! Maybe your neighbors have a cat that likes to sneak away all day and only returns for mealtime! What does it do all day?…. Maybe its a superhero that has to battle evil bunnies, or maybe its reporting to its bosses about the whereabouts of humans for there cat takeover! There’s always inspiration, even in things that look boring! You just have to find it!
Maybe just sitting around and writing is getting boring, and you want a change of pace! You could go sit outside in a restaurant, or just sit down at Starbucks, and write! You don’t have to write the same thing all the time. Maybe this time, you could write about the barista who keeps checking her phone. She might be a billionaire in disguise, just having some fun pretending to be a barista while she waits for her old college friends to come visit! Or you could just write about your day, and the people around you! It doesn’t have to be wacky, or crazy, you just have to write!
Maybe you don’t want to come up with brand new content, or a brand new universe. If that’s the case, rewrite an old story! Rewriting old stories not only gives them room to improve, but it gives you a freedom to change old characters, and make new ones without having to come up with a brand new world and its rules first!
No, I’m not suggesting plagiarism! I mean, write the stories other people tell you, like your grandma gossiping about the people who live 3 houses down who just got a divorce. Write that down! You can give them backstories, and reasons that may or may not be true! Just have fun, and write!
Say you and your family are going on a road trip, and you see the most bizarre landmark! Write that down! Or, say your just driving past the most boring landscape EVER. No way you could write anything about that, right? WRONG! You could write a story about why it became like that! Maybe aliens tried to invade and the heat from their spaceships burned the ground so that it was impossible for anything to grow. Or maybe, if your flying past some forests, write about dryads that live in the trees and dance when the sun goes down! You can find something to write about anywhere!
If your on your vacation, most writer bring some of their favorite books! So why don’t you use them? Do you love the first line of one of your books? Is it dramatic, and bold, yet beautiful? Or is it boring, and drab? Pick the first line of one of your books and write a story or poem based on that first line! There are so many choices, there’s no way you could get bored!
Say your a writer, but reading isn’t something you enjoy that much. Take your favorite movie, and put yourself in it! Write about your experiences meeting all of these movie characters, and how do you change the plot? Did the main character meet you and fall in love with you instead of who he was supposed to fall in love with? Did the villain meet you and you decide to work for him, and you help him defeat the hero? Go crazy with it, and have fun! There is no pressure in writing! Just enjoy it.
Hey writers and readers! I hope you enjoyed my post “8 tips to stay motivated to write over the summer”, and please like and subscribe!
Please do not edit the jeopardy, it might give you the option to edit, but please do not. Enjoy the game!
Grief is the most powerful motivator. And when a boy is faced with a challenge beyond anything he could imagine, it takes family, hope, and bravery to face not only his worst enemy, but the grief within himself.
Sikander Aziz is a normal teen in New York. He works part time at his parent’s deli, he works hard in school, and has friends. But when his brother dies, everything changes. Suddenly, he has to be someone who people can rely on, someone who his family can lean on as they face the grief together. But when a break in at the deli changes his life yet again, Sikander must once again change, and find a way to save his family, and the only world he has ever known.
A beautiful novel that shows how grief can change people, and how we can change with the grief, it gives a stunning new light to the idea of change, and how grief isn’t the end, but a new beginning.
Loss changes people. This is the story of a girl, who has to learn not only to become the person she was always meant to be, but accept the past she hides from.
Pahua was never normal. She can see spirits. Household spirits, harmful spirits, and spirits of the dead. But when she approaches the wrong spirit, her life gets shattered. On a mad race to find a way to recapture her brother’s soul that the spirit stole, she has to learn not only to accept people for how they are, but to accept herself as well.
A novel as clever, and deep as it is funny, it shows that acceptance and love isn’t just something you just show to others, but to yourself as well, and if Pahua wants to get her brother back, she has to accept herself and her past.
This is the story of a boy. An outcast, a freak, and a demigod. This is the story of boy who has to learn and accept that his differences are what make him special.
Zane Obispo has always loved just hanging around his volcano and being with his dog Rosie than being with actual people. Because of his deformity, kids call him Sir Limps-a-lot, Uno, McGimpster. All because of his one good leg. But a run-in with a girl named Brooks changes everything. Now, he’s on the run from demons, and this evil god Ah-Puch, just trying to stay alive. A war, hero’s, demons and giants? It takes someone who is flexible in the possible, to believe the impossible.
Beautiful, and in depth, this book shows that the circumstances you were born into don’t define you, but who you grow up to be shows who you really are.
When you lose someone, you love, how does that change you? And if you find something that heals that hole in your heart, what will you do to help them?
Emily is an ordinary girl who has been through a lot. Her dad is an officer in the NYPD and her mother died a few months ago. Lonely, and quick-witted, Emily never fit in. But when Pegasus crashed down onto her apartment roof, her whole life is suddenly turned around. Caught in a world full of gods, evil creatures, and corruption, she has to delve deep into the world that has turned so murky to uncover corruption and deceit in the midst of the largest operation in the world.
Symbolic and cunning, this book forces you to look at the world around you in hopes of understanding how deep corruption is embedded into our own world and tests your own thoughts in how you see the world, and what you’re going to do about it.
Have you ever felt like you don’t really belong? Like a stranger in your own skin? Then you understand how Renata Santiago feels.
Rens always been different. She has her own blog about aliens, and she wishes she could get more respect for her blog. She wishes she was ordinary. But even among the special, she is special. She has more power than all of them, and her best friend is the god of death Ah- Puch. But when a new threat rises from the darkness and threatens to consume them all, none of Rens friends can help. So, with the help of teenage demon and a monster hunter, Ren has to face this new threat that lies not only in their present, but murkily in their past.
A book that lies as much in the past as the present, it challenges classic ideas of mystery, and shows how often, we have to understand our past, to ever move into the future.
Thank you for reading my post on Top 5 Go-To Mythological Books! Please like and subscribe!
In a book series as complex, as it is funny, Shannon Messenger challenges the very idea of what we consider to be perfection.
Sophie Foster is a 12-year-old genius. Offered a full scholarship at Yale, winning spelling bees at 5, Sophie was never what you would call average. But there was also something…….. different. Special. She could hear thoughts. When she is revealed to a world full of elves, beautiful and perfect, she thinks she finally belongs. But, even among the special, she is different. She has memories of things people want. Memories they would even kill for…….
A stunning novel, it challenges the idea of a perfect society, and how even a near-perfect world can have cracks. And how it takes special people to fix what seems unfixable.
What makes someone special? What makes someone lesser? And what makes someone a monster? The School Between Winter and Fairyland challenges these concepts we often don’t even bother to think of.
Autumn is a Speaker. She can speak and control monsters, her best friend is a boggart, and her twin brother is dead. That’s what everyone says anyway. But Autumn refuses to believe it. She’s going to find her brother if it kills her. When Cai Morrigan, the Chosen One, seeks her help, she knows what she’s going to do. She’ll help Cai on one condition……he helps her find her brother, Winter. But when they begin to delve into Winter’s disappearance, everything becomes murky. Who can be trusted? Who is the murderer? And…..what is Cai? Human, or monster?
This book is a beautiful representation of how the circumstances of how you were raised do not always define you. Your choices do. Your actions. Not the family, or status you were born to.
We often don’t think about things that seem normal to us but might not be to another. This book challenges you to look around at the world around you and wonder.
Brystal Evergreen is the daughter of a Justice in the Southern Kingdom, one of the most oppressive kingdoms of the Land of Stories. Brystal has always been different. She doesn’t want to wear fancy dresses and go to balls. She wants to read. But in the southern kingdom, if a woman tries to read, it’s considered an act punishable by law. When Brystal is caught reading and performing the worst act a person could do – perform magic- she is arrested and thrown into a compound for magical girls. Rescued by the kind Madame Weatherberry, she is taken, along with 3 others, to learn magic. But when an evil force threatens to tear the world apart, Brystal must learn sacrifice to save the only home she ever had.
Who is a monster? What makes someone a monster? In this stunning novel by Gordon Korman, he challenges the concept of monsters, and forces us to question, what makes someone evil?
Five children, trapped. Trapped in a web of deceit and lies. Unknowingly cloned from the worst villains alive, these kids are an experiment. But what happens when your experiments turn against you? On the run from the people who want to trap them back into their “perfect town”, Serenity may seem perfect, but underneath is an ocean of deceit, hate, and illegality. Amber, Malik, Tori, and Eli are just kids. But what will happen when they find the people they are cloned from? And what happens when their perfect town falls apart? How far will these mad scientists go to get back their experiments?
This book shows that evil is not something your born with. It forces you to question what makes a person evil, and what can we do to save people from becoming evil?
Thank you for reading my post on 4 Must- Read Middle Grade Fiction Novels, and please like and subscribe!
#1- Dont Write the Parts Readers will Skip Anyway!
Many readers skip over the long paragraphs to get to the “good stuff”, and often don’t like long paragraphs full of description. Most beginner writers make the mistake of writing too much about things the reader will skip anyway.
#1- Write with Whatever time you have!
You often like to imagine that authors spend their whole day sitting in their chairs, typing paragraph after paragraph, but most writers can’t work like that. We all have responsibilities, like work, school, or family, and often, we just have to write in whatever spare time we have.
#1- You have to be prepared for failure
It took Shannon Messenger over 15 drafts of her book and years of work before she published it, and she was constantly building on the world she created in later books, so you have to be prepared for rejection, or failure, because writing is hard and not for the easily discouraged.
#1- “This is how you do it: you sit down at the keyboard and you put one word after another until it’s done. It’s that easy, and that hard.”
Neil Gaiman’s advice for writing just goes one step in front of the other till it’s done! You have to just start and write and write and write till you reach the end, then, go back and fix what you think needs fixing till its done.
#1-“If you’re using dialogue, say it aloud as you write it. Only then will it have the sound of speech.”
John Steinbeck has written various award winners, and his advice is that you write, and then later, read it aloud to make sure everything flows together, and ensure the dialogue sounds realistic.
Thanks for reading my post on Great Writing advice from 5 authors! Please like and Subscribe!
What if you could make someone do anything without knowing how you’re doing it? What if, no matter how hard you tried to get rid of your ability, and become an average person, you couldn’t? Jackson Opus has that problem. He’s a Hypnotist.
Jax Opus was always a little different. He has these…. visions. It was as though he could see himself from another person’s eyes. And when these visions happen, Jax can make them do anything. He did not know what was wrong with him. Till a seventh-grade field trip changed everything.
Accepted into a prestigious academy of hypnosis, Jax is armed with the knowledge he is more than different, he’s special. Jax can do incredible things. But when something’s incredible, people want to use that power. Whether the cause is just is the question. Because sometimes, being special is the most dangerous thing of all.
In the thrilling first book of the Hypnotists series, Gordon Korman tries to understand the lengths some people will go to gain power, and the danger they create. A perfect 5/5 stars, I recommend this book to anyone who wants to laugh, cry and feel everything in between.
Literary World 