Started writing fiction today...
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
In my latest article, I asked if people would like to read some fiction that I could write. And, after a little bit of thought, and some writting, I've come up with a first chapter. Let me know what you think!
Peace,
Beebes
The Books of Magic: Chapter I: The Beginning
A winding road, a twisted dream......
Wake up..... Wake up and scream.....
I feel my heart racing. I hear the low thud of the blood pumping behind my ears. Faster, then slower. Faster again, and then slower. I slowly lift my head from my old feather pillow. No sound, no light reaches me. Seeing that everything looks ok, I slowly sit up on my bed, and swing my feet over one side. I step into a pair of sandals, and walk out of my room and into the kitchen/dinning room/family room area of my crowded apartment. My eyes scan over it with disgust. Newspapers litter the floor, and an empty can of spaghetti-os sits on the card table set up near my decrepit computer. Two longnecks lay on the ground near my gray plastic trash can, and the slight smell of rotten garbage reminds me I haven’t taken the trash out this week. “Everything looks ok in here.” I say to myself. A roach skitters across the floor.
I walk to the front door that leads to my hall. The sandals I’m wearing squeak on the cheesy linoleum flooring. “Flower print... what bullshit.” I say again, to myself. I put my eye to the peep hole that’s been drilled into the door. No-one is out there. I look to the left, and see my neighbor’s room number, a rusty #103 nailed into the trim above his door. Smoke drifts out from the crack in the door, and I guess that he’s probably on his fourth or fifth joint by now, seeing as it’s.... 12:11AM.
Looking right, I see the numbers 1 and 0 apparently glued to the door next to my pot smoking neighbor. The number 5 is on the ground, laying right where it fell two weeks ago. “Nobody lives in that dump.” I say, my voice muffled by the wooden door and peeling white paint. In a moment of truth, and probably just plain irritation at being woken up so early, I unbolt the door and open it a crack. The outside of the door bumps up against something hard, and heavy.
Oh shit. It’s someone who’s going to spin around and slit my throat. I duck quickly, and wait. Five seconds pass. Ten seconds. 12 seconds. 24 seconds. After half of a minute, I slowly stand back up. I open the door a little more, and the object on the other side moves with my push. Knowing I’m probably going to get capped as soon as I stick my head out of the door, I experiment and put out one of my hands. Better to have 1 hand then no head, I figure. No shooting, Nothing happens. I peak out over the side of the door both ways and see nothing. Finally, I step outside of my room.
Sitting in front of my room is a huge-tastic red book. Not just any big red Bible or some kind of strange picture album. This beast is thick, wide, and long. I bend down to look at it. Faded gold lettering shows on the front, but it’s unreadable. I reach down to lift it up. As soon as I put my hands on it, dust shoots off, then settles on the floor. I brush it off a bit, and look at it again. The Gold type looks better, but it’s still unreadable. I’m guessing it’s pretty heavy, and I’ll probably have to use both hands to lift it. “I think I’ll get this thing into my room. No sense opening it out here where I could be shot.” I say. Suddenly, I hear a twisted, evil laugh. I freak out.
I spin around and look in both ways. Again the laugh echoes through the halls, and it chills me to the bone. Then, to my embarrassment, I realize that this evil laugh is actually my high neighbor watching.... Bonanza? Or Looney Tunes. Maybe both. I sheepishly grin, bend down, pick up the book, and slowly walk inside of my apartment. After I’m inside, I set down the book on my pathetic card table, and shut and bolt the door.
I flip one of my light switches up, and a light flickers on from a hanging fixture above the table. The red of the book contrasts with the nasty peach and green card table. I look at the book again, and flip it over to it’s backside. Besides the red back cover, there isn’t anything extraordinary about the back except all the dust on it. I pick up a crumpled napkin and wipe off the back, the spine, and, after flipping it over again, the front. By the time I’m done, the napkin is coated in thick brown dust. I toss the used napkin into my overflowing trash can.
I look back down at the front cover. The gold print, once unrecognizable, is now quite readable. I slowly read the title to myself. “The Book of Magic: Volume 1.” What the hell? “This is as stupid as my druggie neighbor!” I say out loud. Well, the title is goofy as heck, but maybe the story is ok. I mean, honestly, if someone is going to throw a book at my front door at midnight, it better be a good one, especially if I had to go out into the hallway after dark. I open the front cover to the front page.
The front page is... amazing. The title is embossed in what looks like a Gothic print at the top of the page, with small embellishments running down both sides of the old, yellowed paper. Strange illustrations cover the page, depicting what look to be wizards casting spells, deadly dragons breathing fire, ice, and lightning, witches stewing the unknown contents of a simmering cauldron. As I turn the page, I look back at my door. No-one is there. I hear the crinkle of the aging paper, and as soon as I look down on the second page a bright light flashes in front of my eyes, blinding me. I shout as I cover my eyes with my left hand and, and grope about with my right. My head is swimming. Lights blink on and off in a maddeningly endless display behind my eyelids. I feel weak.
I fall backwards onto the ground. I’m tired, I feel so helpless. As the world fades to nothingness, I once again hear twisted laughter. This time, it’s not my neighbor.
Peace,
Beebes
The Books of Magic: Chapter I: The Beginning
A winding road, a twisted dream......
Wake up..... Wake up and scream.....
I feel my heart racing. I hear the low thud of the blood pumping behind my ears. Faster, then slower. Faster again, and then slower. I slowly lift my head from my old feather pillow. No sound, no light reaches me. Seeing that everything looks ok, I slowly sit up on my bed, and swing my feet over one side. I step into a pair of sandals, and walk out of my room and into the kitchen/dinning room/family room area of my crowded apartment. My eyes scan over it with disgust. Newspapers litter the floor, and an empty can of spaghetti-os sits on the card table set up near my decrepit computer. Two longnecks lay on the ground near my gray plastic trash can, and the slight smell of rotten garbage reminds me I haven’t taken the trash out this week. “Everything looks ok in here.” I say to myself. A roach skitters across the floor.
I walk to the front door that leads to my hall. The sandals I’m wearing squeak on the cheesy linoleum flooring. “Flower print... what bullshit.” I say again, to myself. I put my eye to the peep hole that’s been drilled into the door. No-one is out there. I look to the left, and see my neighbor’s room number, a rusty #103 nailed into the trim above his door. Smoke drifts out from the crack in the door, and I guess that he’s probably on his fourth or fifth joint by now, seeing as it’s.... 12:11AM.
Looking right, I see the numbers 1 and 0 apparently glued to the door next to my pot smoking neighbor. The number 5 is on the ground, laying right where it fell two weeks ago. “Nobody lives in that dump.” I say, my voice muffled by the wooden door and peeling white paint. In a moment of truth, and probably just plain irritation at being woken up so early, I unbolt the door and open it a crack. The outside of the door bumps up against something hard, and heavy.
Oh shit. It’s someone who’s going to spin around and slit my throat. I duck quickly, and wait. Five seconds pass. Ten seconds. 12 seconds. 24 seconds. After half of a minute, I slowly stand back up. I open the door a little more, and the object on the other side moves with my push. Knowing I’m probably going to get capped as soon as I stick my head out of the door, I experiment and put out one of my hands. Better to have 1 hand then no head, I figure. No shooting, Nothing happens. I peak out over the side of the door both ways and see nothing. Finally, I step outside of my room.
Sitting in front of my room is a huge-tastic red book. Not just any big red Bible or some kind of strange picture album. This beast is thick, wide, and long. I bend down to look at it. Faded gold lettering shows on the front, but it’s unreadable. I reach down to lift it up. As soon as I put my hands on it, dust shoots off, then settles on the floor. I brush it off a bit, and look at it again. The Gold type looks better, but it’s still unreadable. I’m guessing it’s pretty heavy, and I’ll probably have to use both hands to lift it. “I think I’ll get this thing into my room. No sense opening it out here where I could be shot.” I say. Suddenly, I hear a twisted, evil laugh. I freak out.
I spin around and look in both ways. Again the laugh echoes through the halls, and it chills me to the bone. Then, to my embarrassment, I realize that this evil laugh is actually my high neighbor watching.... Bonanza? Or Looney Tunes. Maybe both. I sheepishly grin, bend down, pick up the book, and slowly walk inside of my apartment. After I’m inside, I set down the book on my pathetic card table, and shut and bolt the door.
I flip one of my light switches up, and a light flickers on from a hanging fixture above the table. The red of the book contrasts with the nasty peach and green card table. I look at the book again, and flip it over to it’s backside. Besides the red back cover, there isn’t anything extraordinary about the back except all the dust on it. I pick up a crumpled napkin and wipe off the back, the spine, and, after flipping it over again, the front. By the time I’m done, the napkin is coated in thick brown dust. I toss the used napkin into my overflowing trash can.
I look back down at the front cover. The gold print, once unrecognizable, is now quite readable. I slowly read the title to myself. “The Book of Magic: Volume 1.” What the hell? “This is as stupid as my druggie neighbor!” I say out loud. Well, the title is goofy as heck, but maybe the story is ok. I mean, honestly, if someone is going to throw a book at my front door at midnight, it better be a good one, especially if I had to go out into the hallway after dark. I open the front cover to the front page.
The front page is... amazing. The title is embossed in what looks like a Gothic print at the top of the page, with small embellishments running down both sides of the old, yellowed paper. Strange illustrations cover the page, depicting what look to be wizards casting spells, deadly dragons breathing fire, ice, and lightning, witches stewing the unknown contents of a simmering cauldron. As I turn the page, I look back at my door. No-one is there. I hear the crinkle of the aging paper, and as soon as I look down on the second page a bright light flashes in front of my eyes, blinding me. I shout as I cover my eyes with my left hand and, and grope about with my right. My head is swimming. Lights blink on and off in a maddeningly endless display behind my eyelids. I feel weak.
I fall backwards onto the ground. I’m tired, I feel so helpless. As the world fades to nothingness, I once again hear twisted laughter. This time, it’s not my neighbor.
