Every Tuesday I take a small chunk of something Iâ€™m working on â€“ fantasy, mystery, mainstream, whateverâ€¦ and post it. Â No titles, no other info, utterly random.
Yâ€™all can give feedback or not, as you wish. Â Or even try to guess what itâ€™s from, if youâ€™re so inclined. Â There may or may not be a prize for getting it right.
There will be no prizes for nitpicking typos: all teases are from works in progress, which means typos are a natural side-effect of production.
â€œDid I do something wrong?â€ she asked out loud now, tired enough, dispirited enough to finally voice her fears.Â â€œDid I piss you off, orâ€¦.â€Â She couldnâ€™t think of what she might have done, something that might be different, wrong enough that he wouldnâ€™t come to her.
Finally accepting that she wasnâ€™t going to be able to sleep, Sophia got up and went to the liquor cabinet, pouring out a double-shot of Tequila and knocking it back.Â She drank beer when she was out in public: this was purely medicinal.
On the way back to bed, she detoured to grab an old teddy bear, battered and allegedly for sentimental display, off the bookcase.Â She lay in bed, her eyes dry,Â the stuffed animal secure in the crook of her arm, and finally fell asleep just before dawn.
She was dreaming of snow, walking through a snowfield, flakes falling all around her, barefoot and bare-armed but comfortably warm, the snow melting as it touched her skin, when the whisper snaked into the dream, a half-remembered voice asking a half-known question.
â€œWhat is the nature of fire?â€
â€œTo consume.â€Â Sophia answered automatically, aware that she was asleep even as her eyes opened, gritty and stuck together with crud. â€œNur.Â You came.â€