5/17/11 - Teaser Tuesday

Hello there! It's Tuesday again ... and I haven't posted a teaser in quite a while.
So, here's a bit more of Rage, since it's really the only thing I've been writing lately. Enjoy! ;)

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I couldn't bring myself to believe that Neal would follow me all the way here, into the forest.

But there he was, walking toward me, and coming to a stop only a few feet away. It was then that I saw, he was carrying his crossbow in one hand, wearing the familiar quiver of arrows on his back.

“Back to your old ways, I see,” I said, since he didn't bother to greet me.

He shrugged. “Looks like it.”

“What do you think you're doing here? You shouldn't be here.”

“Neither should you.”

“What are you talking about? I'm the Sacrifice!” It was the first time I'd said it out loud. I'm the Sacrifice. The words nearly made me cringe, made my blood go as cold as winter.

“You know what I mean. No one should be here,” Neal said. “And that's why I need to put an end to it.”

I finally lowered my knife. “You can't be serious.”

“I'm going with you. I've always said I would kill the Monster, and now is my chance. Our chance.”

“You're not bringing me into this … this plan of yours.”

“You can't go through the forest alone.”

“I have to!” I burst, silencing him. “This is the way things are, Neal. I was chosen as the Sacrifice, and now I have to make this journey by myself.”

“How do we even know the Monster is there?” Neal shot back. “Everyone who's gone into the forest––everyone who's not a Sacrifice, that is––supposedly gets killed by demons. How do we know the Sacrifices are any different? What if they never reach the Monster at all? You used to say these things yourself, Natasha …”

“And what? I don't say those things anymore? I'm not myself?” I said. He was silent. “What right do you have, to tell me who I am?”

Neal sighed, shaking his head. “I've known you a long time, you know. You don't know how much I notice. In fact, you think I'm an idiot.”

“What does that have to do with anything? No matter how observant you are, you don't know anything about me. I'm not the same person I was three years ago.”

“I know,” Neal said, with a quietness that surprised me. “You really went into the forest that night, didn't you? That's what changed you.”

I couldn't see his face clearly in the dark, so I couldn't guess how serious he was being. “You didn't believe me,” was all I could manage to say.

“I don't think I ever said that,” Neal said. “I didn't know whether to believe you or not. But you were … different, after that. And I started to believe it was true.”

“Then why did you stop talking to me?” I demanded. “Why did you keep treating me like you thought I was crazy?”

I saw Neal turn his head away, although I still couldn't read the expression on his face. “I … don't know. It's so complicated. I was still trying to decide why you'd told me, of all the people you could have told.”

“I told Brandon,” I said. I didn't mention telling Mother Dearest; something about saying it felt wrong.

“But not your mother?” said Neal. “Not Michelle? Not anyone?”

“I didn't think you would believe me.”

“But I do.”

I sighed, wondering how much time I could afford to waste. I wondered if the Monster was waiting for me, whether he'd kill me if I didn't come at the expected time. At the thought, an invisible tight fist seemed to clench around my heart.

“Well,” I said, “if you believed me then, then believe this now––I know things about the forest, things I can't explain. Ever since I came out of it alive, I haven't been able to get rid of all these … these strange feelings. The forest does things to us, to our minds. It's dangerous, and it's unpredictable, and it has a certain … balance. And I'm afraid that if that balance is disturbed, it could mean terrible danger for the Village. Whether that's the Monster's doing or not, I don't know.”

“But what you're saying is …”

“We shouldn't break his rules,” I finished Neal's sentence for him. “No one ever has, and we don't know what the consequences are.”

“What if there are no consequences? What if, all along, we've had a chance to defeat him, but we're too afraid to try?”

Even though I wanted to cry, I could feel a bitter smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You know, you're the only Villager I've met who would dare to say such things.”

“I could say the same about you,” he admitted.

I swallowed. “But I still believe there's a reason for the Sacrifices, and I'm going to find out what it is.”

“On your own.”

“That's the way it has to be. Trust me, you should stay here. You're more needed in the Village than out here. Someday, your dreams about killing the Monster will seem like … like silly fantasies, to you. You're not thinking this through.”

“But I've been thinking, since the moment you were chosen for the sacrifice, and I …” He trailed off, sighing. “No. All along, I knew you were going to react like this.”

“What? React like––”

“Let me finish. I figured it couldn't hurt to try, but I had a feeling you'd say no. You wouldn't want me to go with you. But as much as I hate to admit it to myself … and I hate saying it now … I also knew, all along, that you're probably better off alone. And I––I don't mean that the way it sounds. I guess what I'm saying is … I trust you, Natasha. I trust to to take care of yourself, to survive.”

“And if I don't?”

“You will. If anyone can defeat the Monster, it's you.”

Tuesday's Coming! Did you bring your coat?!

Ah-hem. It's Tuesday! (The title of this post is a reference to Rejected Cartoons––which you shouldn't watch if you are easily disturbed O_o)

So now it's time for a Tuesday Teaser! Lately I've been working on Rage more than anything else, so I guess that is what I will post for today. Enjoy!

“Natasha, dear. You're shaking. What's wrong?”

I bowed my head. “Mother Dearest, I … I don't know if you'll forgive me for what I did.”

“I'll always forgive you, dear.” She placed one of her hands over mine. “Now tell me, what is it?”

“I went into the forest.” I said it before I could stop myself. I dared to look up, and saw Mother Dearest's gray eyes grow wide.

“Do you mean … ?”

“Yes. I went … far into the forest. It––It was a demon that attacked me.”

A moment ago, Mother Dearest's hand had been gentle and comforting, but now she gripped my wrist with surprising strength and hissed, “What were you thinking?”

I'd never seen her like this––her eyes blazing, her whole body trembling. It took me a moment to get over my surprise and find my voice again.

“I don't know,” I answered hoarsely. “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” Mother Dearest repeated the word like it carried a fatal disease. “You could have disrupted the entire balance …” She trailed off, sinking back into her chair again and letting go of me.

I rubbed at my throbbing wrist, my head reeling.

“I'm sorry,” Mother Dearest sighed, but I could see that she was still shaking.

“No, I … You have a right to be angry,” I said. “And I know I should never have gone into the forest. But, listen to me. I––I need to tell you what I saw.”

Mother Dearest didn't protest, but she didn't urge me to keep speaking, either. She only looked at me, her face draining of color until it was nearly white. Although I'd always known she was old, I'd always thought of her as being eternally young and strong. Now, for once, her age showed in every line on her skin. She appeared so small, so frail. I was almost afraid my words would break her apart … yet, I had to tell her. She was the only one who would be able to do something, if anyone could.

“I think … I think maybe the Sacrifices are still alive,” I said.

Mother Dearest still didn't answer. She only gazed at me, the fire flickering in her eyes.

“I met someone in the forest,” I went on, my voice lowering until it was almost a whisper. “It was dark and I couldn't see, but … I'm pretty sure he was a human being. And he knew Caroline. He thought I was her.”

Mother Dearest looked away, holding tightly to the armrest on her chair. The only sound in the room was the fire crackling.

“Please,” I said, at last. “You have to believe me. There was someone in that forest, and … and my sister could be out there, too.”

“I believe you,” Mother Dearest answered, her voice empty of emotion. She slowly rose to her feet, and stood before the fire with her back facing me. “Who else have you told?”

“What?”

“Did you tell anyone else about what you saw?”

“No, I … only Brandon.”

Mother Dearest turned toward me, half of her face illuminated in the fire's orange glow, and the other half in shadow. “And what did he say?”

“He said not to tell anyone. But, I felt like I had to tell you. I thought you'd know what to do.”

“Hmm,” Mother Dearest murmured. She strolled away from the fireplace, walking along the wall and trailing a hand over her books. “Natasha, you would be wise to listen to your older brother.”

Almost involuntarily, I jumped to my feet. “What?”

“I don't want you telling anyone else about this.” Mother Dearest pulled a book from place and opened it, leafing through its pages.

“But––But I know what I saw!” I burst, unable to contain myself anymore. “I'm not insane. Don't you understand? We need to do something!”

“Like what?” Mother Dearest snapped, slamming her book shut. “Send everyone into the forest with their weapons, only to be slaughtered by demons?”

“But––”

“Our population is dwindling, Natasha. We can't afford that.”

“But what about the Sacrifices? What about Caroline?” A lump swelled in my throat, choking my words. “We need to try …”

“No.” Mother Dearest turned around briskly, pushing the book back into its place on the shelf. “I don't want to hear another word about this. I don't want you spreading this story of yours throughout the Village, either. I want you to pretend like this never happened, do you understand?”

No. No, it wasn't supposed to happen like this. Mother Dearest was supposed to make everything all right. She was supposed to see that this was our opportunity to go into the forest, to save the Sacrifices, to kill the Monster.

“I'm the only person who's ever made it out of the forest alive!” I cried. “How can you tell me to forget what I saw?”

“Because you were never supposed to see it,” Mother Dearest said. “And your story will only endanger the other Villagers. Please, Natasha. Stay away from the forest, and never tell anyone what you saw there.”

“I …”

“Promise me.” Mother Dearest's eyes flashed, like a pair of gray storm clouds flickering with lightning.

I looked down, noticing how my dirty old shoes appeared out-of-place in the middle of the intricately designed carpet.

“Yes, Mother Dearest,” I whispered. “I promise.”

It's Tuesday. You know the drill.

Hello, people out there! Wow ... does this blog really have more than 5000 views? That's pretty awesome. :)

I'm not really writing anything currently, but I'm giving Walking Shadow another edit. (Still need to cut out about 30,000 words. GRRR!) So, I figured I'd post another teaser from it today. I think I've only posted one teaser from it before, anyway.

Now I need to finish writing a poem for Writing class. (What else rhymes with "grow"? *chews end of pencil*)

Enjoy this (very short) teaser, in which Cassandra has creepy dreams and such. Oh, and the "eyes on the walls" refer to the paintings she's done all over her room. So yeah. HERE IT IS!

Tonight, I dream of a place I've never seen. A layer of snow glitters on the ground, but the air isn't cold. The sky is a pale shade of pink. The strangest thing is, there are roses growing everywhere––their vibrant, blood-red petals standing out against the starry whiteness.

My footsteps whisper against the snow. I gaze around in wonder, as an unfamiliar tingling feeling rushes through me. Whatever it is, it makes me turn around … and that's when I see him.

He kneels on the ground, his dark clothes standing out in the bright landscape. A rose pokes out of the snow near to him, and he reaches for it. His fingers curl around the stem, and he plucks the flower from the ground. A thorn pricks his skin, and drops of blood stain the snow red.

The edges of the petals fade from red to ashy gray. The darkness spreads like a burn, all the way down the shriveling stem. He lets the crumpled flower fall, where it lies in the bloodstained snow. He looks up, and I feel the electric shock of recognition when I meet his eyes, so dark that they're almost black. There's desperation in them, like he wants to tell me something.

But he doesn't have a chance to say it, because everything is already gone.

*

My heart beats violently, like it's trying to break out of my ribcage. I rub at the goose bumps on my arms, blurring the drawings on my skin. This is the time when I'd normally reach for my pen, but I've turned to stone. I close my eyes and I can see it still, painted on the backs of my eyelids. The white snow, the roses, drops of blood falling, the flower shriveling and dying, his dark eyes looking up into mine––questioning, pleading.

Restlessness overtakes my mind, dragging me out of bed. As I pace around my room, the eyes on the walls watch my every step.

I've never seen that part of the Otherworld. And he wasn't like the Othersouls that I'm used to encountering. He seemed more human.

More alive.

It's Tuesday. I did NOT forget this time!

I know, I know. I have been a bad little blogger. I have skipped two Tuesday Teasers in a row, and I've barely posted anything else. But today that will change! Today I did not forget that it's Tuesday, so I will post something! I will! I'm simultaneously working on two other posts at the same time, so those should be coming up this week, too. I have a four-day weekend coming up so I should have plenty of time to get blogging again …

Well, I guess since my last teaser was from Edge, I will now post a snippet from its sequel, Jump. It might not make perfect sense in context, but I think you'll get the gist. As always, if there are any questions about it you can ask in the comments. :) And just to clarify (since no one seemed to understand this from the Edge excerpt) the main character, Max, IS A BOY. I guess I'm just not very good at being boy-ish? Or everyone assumed that I only write from female point of views? Well, I don't know. But here it is! Enjoy! :D

“Max,” Lacey said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I answered, but I couldn't look up at her. For some reason, I didn't want to see the sympathy on her face. “Why?”

“I don't know. Something seems … off.”

“Yeah, well … Everything is pretty screwed up right now.”

Lacey was quiet, like she didn't know how to respond. Finally she said, “I'm sorry about, you know, your portal thing.”

I didn't answer.

“What are you going to do?”

I sighed, feeling the headache pound deep in my skull again. “I don't know. I'll have to find another way back.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lacey fiddling with her hands, knotting her fingers together and releasing them again. “How soon will you have to go back?”

Oh, no. This was what I had been dreading. I finally looked in her direction, but now she was the one who refused to make eye contact.

I took a deep breath. “Soon,” I said. “I––I don't know when. But soon.”

Lacey continued to stare down at her lap. Her voice became even softer, almost a whisper. “Do you really have to go, Max?”

I tried not to wince. “I'm sorry. I mean, I wish I could stay longer. But, there are so many things I have to do, people I left behind. This is just … a transition, sort of. You're …” I stopped, feeling like I wanted to punch myself in the face. “This is coming out all wrong.”

“It's okay,” Lacey said, before I could continue. “Really. I get it.”

“You do?”

She finally looked up at me, and I couldn't deny that there was a wounded expression in her eyes––something so deep and so sad that it almost physically hurt just to see it. Yet, she was still trying to smile.

“I do,” she said. “I mean, I've known all along that you weren't going to stay forever. Of course I know that. It's just …” She trailed off, blinking, like she was trying not to cry.

“It's just … what?”

“Forget it,” Lacey said, looking across the water again. “It's nothing. I'm being dumb.”

“No, you're not.”

“Max, you don't even know what I was going to say.” There was an edge to her voice now, almost like a threat. Then she sighed, like she could hear the hostility and was trying to make it go away. She laughed, but there was nothing happy in it. “Even I don't know what I'm saying.”

“You can tell me,” I said, without thinking. As soon as the words came out, they just hung there, waiting to be acknowledged.

Lacey ran a hand through her hair, only glancing at me briefly. “I …” She spoke the one word and then stopped, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. “I don't know. I'm just really confused, right now.”

Well, that made two of us.

“I know I complain way too much,” Lacey went on. “I mean, compared to most people in the world, my life really isn't all that hard. But it's just been … empty, you know? It's like, I feel like I've worked so hard for everything I have, but what I have is still … nothing. I've always wanted something out of life. I've always wanted to find some kind of happiness, and I just can't.”

She fell silent again. I kept watching her, waiting for her to continue. I didn't know what else to do, whether to say something, whether to try to comfort her. I felt like it wasn't the time for me to talk yet. She still had more to say.

“I really thought I'd found something,” Lacey whispered, “with Garrett.”

I stiffened upon hearing the name. “Garrett?”

“I know. It's stupid. But I thought that would be the turning point, that I'd actually found that joy I'd been searching for. I mean, he was nice at first, but when he got more serious …” She swallowed, closed her eyes. “You know, I––I lied to you about it, about how bad it was. He wasn't just pushy or anything. He was … cruel.”

Lacey bent over, covering her face with her hands like remembering it was suddenly too much. Silently, I put an arm around her, and she leaned against me.

“I've never told anyone this, how bad it really was.” Her voice was shaking. “He talked down to me, made me feel like dirt. He got drunk. He'd … He'd hit me. More than once, he tried to …” She stopped, as if choking on the words.

It was at least a minute before she continued. I waited patiently, just holding her, watching the calm water in front of us.

“Every day, it was like a nightmare,” Lacey said at last. She seemed to have collected herself a little more, her voice steadier. “I was always terrified, not knowing what he was going to do next.” She paused, took a deep breath. “And yet, I stayed with him. I thought maybe it was my fault, for not loving him enough or something. I just had to try harder. I really thought I could change him. But, it's like I said before … People don't change.”

The words still scared me a little, but I nodded.

“Once I realized that,” Lacey went on, “it was like I … I sort of lost hope for the world. It was the point where I thought nothing was ever going to get better. I've spent so long, thinking that way.” She lifted her head again, pulling away from me and still avoiding eye contact.

I looked at her, and it was like I was seeing her for the first time, for who she really was. She'd always worn such a brave face, but especially after what she'd just told me, it was becoming clearer to me that she wasn't as confident as she appeared. She was beaten, she was scarred … in places that couldn't heal, that couldn't fade with time. There was no way I could imagine what it was like, to go through the things she'd endured, but in that moment I felt as if I carried all her pain. I felt the enormous, overwhelming weight of it all, and I knew I didn't have the power to lift it.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

Lacey finally looked at me, probably out of surprise. “For what?”

“I––I don't know. For everything. For how hard it must be … And the way Garrett treated you …” I couldn't even think of words to express the rage I felt. I'd hated Garrett to begin with, and this just made it worse. Why had I ever felt guilty about beating up that guy?

“Max, you don't have to apologize,” Lacey said, taking hold of my hand. “That's what I'm trying to say. I'm saying that you … you're different.”

“Different?” It was the only thing I could say.

Lacey smiled. “Not in a bad way. And I don't mean just all the superpowers and whatever. I mean you, as a person.” She shook her head, her face becoming serious again. “I know, this is all pretty ridiculous. It's like you said before … I don't even know you, not really. Or, not in the way you normally know people. But somehow, I feel like I––like I'm actually worth something. And no one has made me feel that way since … ever.”

She let go of my hand, touched my shoulder. A strange feeling seemed to pour through me, tingling inside my veins, and I wasn't sure whether it was a good feeling or not. It was just unexpected. I stared at Lacey, surprised, and I found that I couldn't look away from her. It was something about her eyes, how they held a world of feelings, of so many things that I wondered how she could contain it all. And, I realized, she was saying that she felt all these things … because of me?

“I know it can never happen,” Lacey said quietly. “But I just don't want it to end. I don't want you to go away.”

Her hand slid up to rest against the side of my face. I didn't move, didn't react, even though there was a storm of clashing emotions inside me. I suddenly didn't know what I wanted or what I'd expected. The panic started to settle in. What could I do? I tried to say something, anything. But I couldn't find the words, because I didn't even know what I was thinking or what I was feeling.

“Max,” Lacey said. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I can't … I can't lose that.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead against mine, and I stiffened. I could feel her hand shaking. “Please,” she whispered. “Stay.”

9/14 It's teaser time again!

*Yawns* Brigid is tired. And choosing to talk in the third person.

Sorry I haven't really been posting anything besides teasers lately. I think my next non-teaser post will be about clichés. Hopefully that will magically appear in the next few days.

Since lately I've been depressing you to death with my teasers, here's something from Edge. I've probably brought it up before, but it's a sci-fi I wrote … ehhh … a year and a half ago? And I just finished writing Jump (the sequel) not that long ago––like, two months ago or something. So here's a fun little part from the beginning-ish of Edge. I need to edit it, sooo I know it's not perfect. But ahh well. For the record, Max is my favorite character. Like, ever. (Of my own characters, that is)

By now, the sunlight had diffused through the sky, bleaching it with pale gold. The city almost looked beautiful – in a sad, disturbing kind of way.

I walked the deserted streets, without knowing where I was going. But at the same time, I didn’t feel lost. In fact, I felt confident that I was going in the right direction. That didn’t mean I wasn’t still afraid and bewildered; I still felt like I was striding through some unreal, nightmarish world. It simply meant that I had a feeling that I was doing what I was supposed to be doing – or what the voice wanted me to do, anyway. It seemed to have some kind of power over me; that is, it could not only speak into my head, but it could also control my physical actions, to a certain extent.

I hoped that it was trustworthy.

Everything was still, making prickles go up and down my spine. I kept expecting someone to jump out and attack me, kept hearing the voice’s ominous words: “Most of the ones left are your enemies.”

Speaking of which, the voice hadn’t said anything for a while. In a weird way, I sort of wanted it to come back. It was the only company I had, the only thing I could depend upon.

“Still there?” I tried, cautiously.

“We’re always here.”

“Right,” I croaked, and then didn’t know what else to say. “Um … So, I’m guessing you’re not going to tell me who you are?”

“We can’t do that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t think so.”

“But you can trust us.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve already told me that.”

The voice fell silent, and I actually started to feel bad that I had gotten so impatient. Of course, it’s not like it wasn’t expected that I felt impatient. Anyone would have been, if they’d found themselves in my unimaginable position: wandering through some post-apocalyptic world, without a clue as to who I was or what I was doing, with no company but the voice inside my head that wouldn’t answer any of my questions. It was a little frustrating. Just a little.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I sputtered, “but you’re kind of driving me crazy. You keep saying that you can’t tell me anything, that I’ll find out all the answers soon, but I need some answers now. Why can’t you give me one hint?”

“What sort of hint did you have in mind?” the voice asked, surprising me.

I frowned. “I – I don’t know. About anything. About who you are, about who I am, about what my purpose is.”

“You may want to be more specific,” the voice advised. “And start with something simple.”

I breathed out a long sigh, and tried to keep my patience. “Okay … How old am I?”

“You are eighteen years old.”

Okay, so I had guessed correctly on that one. “So, how old was I when I … fell asleep?”

“You were seventeen. It was about half a year ago.”

Half a year. That wasn’t so bad, I told myself. It could have been worse.

But why did I even care? It’s not like I could remember what I had left behind in that time. It’s not like I had anything or anyone to worry about, except for myself. So what did it matter? I could have been asleep for a century, and it wouldn’t have made a difference.

The thought irritated me, for some reason, filling me with bitterness. I kicked a piece of broken brick as I walked, watching it skip ahead of me on the littered pavement, over and over again. It was like my mind, my memories: right there, right in my reach, and yet always getting away from me, always a step ahead.

“Okay,” I said again, realizing that I hadn’t spoken for a whole minute. “So, you keep telling me that I have some special ‘destiny’ or whatever, all this save-the-world crap. Right? So, I assume, then, that I have some sort of … abilities, to help me with that.”

“Clarify,” the voice instructed.

“Fine, fine,” I exclaimed. “I know this is a stupid question. But I guess what I’m trying to ask is: Do I have superpowers?”

The voice paused. “Something like that.”

“Yay,” I said, with no enthusiasm. “What can I do, then? Can I fly?”

“No.”

“Read minds?”

“No.”

“Shoot lasers from my eyes?”

“No.”

“Uh … Do I have telekinesis?”

“No.”

Darn. Telekinesis would’ve been cool.

“Can I turn invisible?”

“No.”

I was running out of ideas. “Can I drink an entire gallon of milk without puking?”
The voice’s tone remained serious, impassive. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I wouldn’t!” I exclaimed. “But you’re not really helping me out, here. Are you going to tell me what I can do or what?”

Right then, I got that feeling again: the feeling like I was losing control of myself. I stopped, suddenly, and looked at the ground. I saw the piece of brick that I had been kicking, and felt compelled to pick it up, which I did. I felt its rough edges, its coarse texture, its weight in the palm of my hand.

Then my fingers curled around it, lightly at first. I narrowed my eyes, and a strange, blank emotion washed over my thoughts. At the same time, an irresistible adrenaline shot through my veins, tingling at my fingertips. My fist grew tighter and tighter, closing around the solid object I was holding.

In the back of my mind, I wondered what I was doing. I wondered what I expected to happen, or what the voice expected to happen. Nothing was supposed to happen … Right? I was squeezing a piece of rock – or whatever brick was made out of. Big deal.

Only, instead of resisting, the piece of brick gave way. When I should have stopped, unable to close my fingers any more, they kept going, closing, crushing.

Then the only thing left in my hand was a crumbled mess, a dull red gravel that slipped through my fingers and fell to the ground.

I stared and stared, coming back to my senses with a jolt. “Oh,” I said.