being, chapter one page three

being, chapter one page three, mechelle morrison

chapter  one page three

The air churns, swift as water around large stones.  For a second I think I hear a rushing jumble of words.  Then they’re gone.

My hair whips my face, stinging my skin, and I push it away with cold fingers.  The world lightens, but something dark crouches at the edge of my vision.

Fear shreds my chest.  “I can’t . . . see.”

A sharp thing pokes my forehead, digging into my flesh.  “You’re right here.”  Elly pokes again—her fingernail?—and I flinch. The wind sweeps between us like a curtain from a stage.  I see her now.  Cheeks blotched and bright red.  Huge pupils.

“Are you … okay?”

“I have no idea.  I mean, I feel seriously weird.”

“Why are you in my dream?”

She rolls her eyes.  “You’re not dreaming, idiot.”

But I’m not so sure.  I turn and face the thing behind us—scaffolding, maybe—it’s latticed with dozens of crossing rods.  Then just like that there are more of them: not scaffolding but four steel legs surrounding us in four-square formation.  The legs narrow as they rise, curving inward to connect to the corners of a common rail or walkway.  From there they telescope into the sky.

“Wha—what is that?”

“You don’t know?”  Elly’s furious.  Or maybe she’s going to cry.  I can never tell.

“All I know is we’re surrounded.”

She whirls around, her hair alive with wind and I swear, I swear, I hear whispering.  “Is someone there?” she asks.  “Do you see Dad?”

Check out these little lovelies

spring has sprung

Hola, all.

It's finally spring .... and warm enough that we only have to run the heater first thing in the morning.  This winter seemed particularly wretched.  It went on and on and on.  So I'm ready for flowers, birds, sunshine and the wearing of tee-shirts!

Tonight I'll post the third page from BEING, chapter one.  The story is awesome, and almost ready.  I'm expecting the galley proof to arrive next week.

June 13th is right around the corner and with it, the BEING cover reveal and Goodreads giveaway.

Cheers!
M

being, chapter one, page two

being . chapter one . page two . mechelle morrison

If you haven't read page one, go back one post and you will find it.  If you have read it, thank you!  And enjoy page two.  Being has finished its final edit (and since the book has taken ten years to write, you can imagine the edits are almost countless.)  Next week, the cover, the galley copy and then one more edit until it's published.  Look for it to launch on June 13th on Goodreads.  I love that community!

chapter  one page two

A girl says, “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

I jerk awake, sweating.

I wake up when she talks.  Always.  But this time it’s hard to breathe, like I’ve forgotten how to process air.  This time my heart throbs like pistons in my chest.  I stare into the darkness of my room, rationalizing my fear like I always do, and a raindrop—a real, wet raindrop—splatters onto my forehead.  I touch the water dribbling toward my ear.  Taste it, cold and metallic, on my finger.  Another drop hits my cheek.

“So . . . what is this place?”

I twist toward her voice and my vision swirls, black to gray.  But I can’t see the girl.  I can’t see anything.  Panic surges into every cell of my body.  “Who’s there?”  My voice cracks.

“It’s me, Shepherd.  Duh.  It’s Elly.”

“Elly?”  Another raindrop hits me, then another.  My nightmare has never been this crazy.  It’s never been this real.  And my kid sister has never, not once, been in it.

Footsteps, then Elly drops onto me.  She smells like I remember her, baby-clean, sweet.  My vision suddenly pops with pricks of light.  I breathe—in, out, in.  This doesn’t happen in my dream.

“Sorry,” Elly says.  “You know where we are, right?”

I reach out, find her shoulder, and pinch.

She punches my arm.  “Dork!”  Pain spreads into my muscle, wrapping my bone like ivy does a tree.  Her weight rolls off my legs.

But I can’t see her.  I still can’t see me.  I reach out again.  She slaps my hand.  “Knock it off.”

my husband's sister was a hippie

It's convenient, to have had a hippie in the family.  For one thing, I somehow ended up with this authentic, nineteen-sixties-double-knit go-go dress.  Scratchy stuff, but durable as hell.  And since tomorrow is retro day at my daughter's school, it's cool that the dress is a perfect fit [for her].

She'll have to go sans-patent-leather-boots, of course.  I mean, we can only take it so far.  It's too short to wear bare-legged, so she'll have to settle for stretchie crop tights underneath.  But the pattern is awesome!  I'm gonna have to check out Nancy Sinatra singing "these boots were made for walkin'" .....

being, chapter one, page one

being -- chapter one -- page one --mechelle morrison

chapter  one page one

Ask anyone.  I’m not a dreamy kind of guy.  I’m about math and hockey.  And science.  I’ll stop anywhere to watch a bug.  But dreamy?  Never.

Nightmares are a different story.  My worst nightmare, the one I’ve had since I was just a kid, starts with me lying spread-eagle on a slab of wet cement.  Bitter wind streams through me, whispering things I can’t quite hear.  If I could understand the words I could keep the wind from stripping out my soul.  But all I ever catch is my name—Shepherd.

I can’t scream as the wind guts me.  I can’t move—except my arm.  I lift it and flex my fingers in front of my face.  It’s too dark to see.

But my fingers tremble.

Rain falls.  Icy water puddles in my eyelids.  The rain turns to hail.  It cuts my clothing, my flesh.  Then one stabbing flash of lightning and everything stops, leaving me in dead quiet, panting and bleeding.  But not alone.