Thanks to Stacey Mitchell for tagging me in this meme, which requires me to go to my current WIG (work in progress for anyone who, like me, takes a while to fathom out abbreviations), find the word ‘look’ and post the surrounding paragraphs, and then tag 5 more people to do the same. Well, I am currently lucky if I can get five views on a post 😉 so I will not be tagging anyone, but if you read this and are interested, you’re tagged.
My current WIG is called ‘Where the Light Breaks’, the first draft of which I wrote during NaNoWriMo. The following excerpt is from the first chapter and the first time I used the word ‘look’ (I have used the word ‘look’ and its derivatives a total of 199 times; I am finding this strangely fascinating and wondering how I could go about getting a statistical breakdown of the words I have used… I am also totally loving that WordPress is snowing..).
She fell faster and faster, tumbling through the sky, only a blur of red in an already red dawn. It felt as though it would never end; that she was shooting through a tunnel of oblivion with no escape and no end. Already she was forgetting: where there should be noise there was nothing; where there should be lights, there was a kaleidoscope of scarlet and black; where there should be something to hold on to, there were only the teeniest particles of life.
And then, solid ground. Her head banged with pain. Her wrists buckled with her weight. Her knees grazed and burnt from the smouldering sand beneath her. She could hear her own heart, slow, too slow; and her breath, too fast. And a call in the night – ‘kraa kraa kraa’ – and she lifted her head, aching with pain.
The burning sand felt suddenly like ice and every part of her body froze, for circling above her was the biggest bird she had ever seen. Its black wings were stretched wide, the tips splayed like many fingers, beating slow and deliberately. Its tail was like a fan and its black feathers shone like the dead of the night, shimmering purple, green, silver.
It dived with no warning, its dead brown eyes fixed on her, and her alone, and she could see its smooth head and the bristle-like feathers around its nose and beak. Slowly, it opened its pointed black beak and she could see the emptiness inside, a dark vacuum that would swallow her – could probably swallow three of her – whole. She looked into those dead eyes again and saw loss and despair, a life of no meaning but to hunt and feed. She would not let those eyes be the last eyes she saw.
She squeezed her own grey eyes lightly shut and thought of the most beautiful eyes she could. Moss green, flecked with amber, brimming with stories and dreams, and a love that ran deeper than she could ever imagine.
The cold left her as quickly as it came and she was engulfed in a warm breeze that tickled away her aches and pains, erasing the burns and bruises. So this was it. The end. So maybe it wasn’t so bad things ending this way. Yet, the fear still kissed her skin gently and she couldn’t – wouldn’t – open her eyes.