Instead of a "regular" post this week about writing, here's some actual writing. The beginning for a story idea that came to me a few days ago about a spitfire pixie named Marisa who just wanted to have her story told. Enjoy!
And his eyes glowed with unholy flames.
Marisa Clements could picture the dark stranger as clearly as if he were a real being standing before her. What do you mean 'if I was real'? She shivered with anticipation as she typed on her beloved laptop madly. This would be her best story yet. To hell with all her so-called friends who kept telling her to get a real job. This was a real job... It paid the bills after all. Sort of. It paid the minimum balance on her credit card. What was so great about sitting at a desk torturing yourself over numbers all day long? Sitting at a desk writing was completely different. No boss, no stress... No money if she didn't get her head out of the clouds and back to her latest vamp. He didn't have a name yet, but he had a face. A dark, mysterious face with a century's worth of secrets. Secrets he would tell her, only her. If only she would listen.
"I'm here," she whispered with her eyes closed.
A cool breeze shifted her hair and her eyes popped open.
The room was silent and still. She was alone in her apartment and getting paranoid from writing too many vampire stories. She must've left a window open. Or something. Turning back to her laptop, she stared at the last words she'd written.
She didn't remember typing that.
"Corgan Halton," she said the name slowly. "I like that." She'd written a dozen vampire stories and this was her best name yet. It had a old-worldly feel to it. Like it was a real name. She'd better google it to make sure it wasn't a real name. The last thing she needed was a lawsuit. Was there such a thing as name infringement?
"Okay, Corgan Halton. Are you real?" She typed the name into google search.
"As real as you are."
The destinctive male voice resonated in the otherwise quiet room.
Marisa froze. She didn't dare turn around. It was her imagination. There was no one there. Unless... One of her friends was playing a sick joke on her.
"Not a joke, Marisa."
Gasping, she stood up and spun around toward the sound of his voice.
He was dressed in black, looking dark and intimidating standing in her living room.
He smiled at her and she felt a chill in the air.
"Who are you?"
"Corgan Halton." He gave a courtly bow. "At your service."
No... She stared at him in shocked silence. It wasn't possible.
"I assure you, my dear, it's entirely possible."
"Do you read minds too?" she asked quietly.
"You tell me. You're the vampire expert."
Vampire? The blood drained from her face as she promptly hit the floor.