Writing Prompt: My Time of Day

I found a blog posting all these writing prompts, so I picked one out to play with. Here’s the result, for better or for worse:

Between day and night was the jagged seam of dusk, a time for children to scramble home in the iron grips of their panicked mothers, for the swaggering dealers to saunter out of their hiding holes to do business in the open. Dusk was a magical time in the most ominous sense, a time of mysterious accidents and disappearances, of gunshots ringing in ears.

Darian was always on edge during this time, in transition from the common street urchin of day to elusive prey at night. And at night, he threw off his façade of innocence. He looked younger than his fifteen years, but the scars on his wrists and bloodshot eyes and revolver gripped tightly in one trembling hand belonged to an older person inside him. At night, he was a shadow. At dusk, a ghost. Nothing was certain at this time of not-day.

Friendships were formed and shattered and children saved and killed. The sickly sweet stench of garbage mingled with smoke and iron and death and fear. Scars hidden in the forgiving daylight were thrown into sharp relief for a short time before swallowed again by night. People were not human; they were closer to monsters. Looking one in the eyes could bring death upon the viewer.

Death grew restless in wait for new blood to be spilled to quench its undying thirst. It thirsted for Darian every sunset. Every shadow was a monster, the orange light a beacon. Darian preferred the shadows, for they were indiscriminating in whom they shielded. The predators were cocky and stupid, knowing night would soon bring them a cloak of darkness in which to hunt their victims with ease.

The monster was twice Darian’s size, blinking dumbly in the fading light. Darian crouched in his bed of shadows, waiting for an excuse. Any excuse. He did not attack the innocent, but hesitating too long would kill him.

The monster made the move Darian was waiting for, slipping a butterfly knife out of his pocket, opening it with an airy snick. The sounds of children laughing filtered into the street. The monster turned his head toward the noise, a sick smile stretching his lips. His grip tightened on the knife. That was all Darian needed.

He raised his revolver, supporting his hand with the other. His back found the wall, stabilizing him. The gunshot shuddered in Darian’s grip and the monster fell, painting his grimy singlet with a single trail of crimson. Darian’s hands did not shake. He was through with being a victim.

As night rolled across the street, suffocating the light, Darian embraced the shadows, letting them wrap him in a chilled embrace. He was both there and not there, blood singing with thrill of the kill, but he was empty. If he did not escape this city, he feared, he would become a monster like the rest.

My NaNoWriMo is Over

As of about quarter past one this morning, Australian Daylight Saving Time, I completed my novel of 90,635 words. This is the fastest draft I have ever written, which isn’t saying much since my first took me two years exactly, and also the shortest. In my case, that’s a good thing because I tend to write too much. NaNoWriMo has been perfect for me, pushing me to write as much as I can. While I did tire myself out mid-month, I was able to find my second wind and… well, you can see the result.

God, I’m so happy with myself right now. I’m so happy with this book. I’m so happy I have more time to set it aside and let myself gain some objectivity before I plunge into edits and I’m happy I have plenty to work on in the meantime. Whatever happens now, the pressure is off. I have now completed two first drafts in my whole life. That’s progress for a small fry like me. I have a third in the works and ideas brewing in my head for a sequel to my NaNovel. In short, there are a lot of crazy thoughts racing in my head like those dodgem cars I suck at driving.

In celebration, I’m going to post three excerpts from the novel. I’m not going to stick to limits on where these sections come from, because I don’t really have the patience for that after typing and typing and typing for many collective hours. However, you might notice I’ve stuck to a particular theme with the characters involved here. So let’s go

Excerpt One:

“Shut. Up.” I so wanted to punch him right then. “I feel like my goddamn heart’s been ripped out of my chest. Do you know how much I’d love to know if my best friend in the whole world was alive, even if she, for some reason, sided with Dragan? Aren’t you relieved Sara’s alive, at least?”

“I am. But she was—”

“Your friend. I know.” Oh, God, my throat was doing that funny tight thing it did when I was about to cry. I could not do that in front of Caleb again. Once was bad enough. “I don’t even know where my friend is. I gave myself up to Dragan so this would stop. And it hasn’t.”

“I know, Gwen.” Caleb grabbed my wrists like he had at Tibia’s. “I know. I’m not like you. I don’t do stuff like give myself up to killers to save the people I love, because I’m just not brave enough. Is that what you want from me? To admit you’re braver than I am? Done.”

“That’s not what I… I don’t even know what I want.” I pulled my hands away. “I just lost it, okay? I’m sorry. I keep doing it. I even did it to Alistair yesterday.”

Caleb stood up, right in my personal space. I didn’t step away; he was not going to win the space invasion game here. He combed his fingers through my hair. I knew what he was doing; the bastard was trying to calm me down, make me all reasonable again.

“Gwen,” he whispered, turning my name into something intimate. Even in private, I felt embarrassed hearing it like that. His face came closer. I felt myself be drawn closer, as if we were opposite magnets. Our faces were an inch apart, when I backed away.

“Not now,” I said.

“Why not?” Caleb tried to step closer, but I put my hands on his chest. I tried not to think about the muscle I could feel under his shirt.

“Because you’re upset about Sara and I’m a raging howler monkey. Not. Now.”

“Does that mean you’ll say yes another time?” he asked, smirking.

“Maybe. Now get out of my room before people think we’re having sex in here.”

Excerpt Two:

Both of Caleb’s arms were around me now. He was murmuring things in my ear that I couldn’t quite understand. It sort of sounded like a song. Soft. Comforting. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t understand the language. It didn’t matter I didn’t even know what language it was, or how Caleb knew it. All that mattered was the knots I’d tied inside myself were slowly unraveling.

Caleb’s fingers brushed against my cheekbone. I wasn’t angry or scared anymore. It was like magic. Of course it was. Music and magic were intertwined in this place. It was so easy to get lost in it. And this time, I wanted it.

I snuggled into Caleb’s chest, feeling the gentle vibrations as he kept singing that murmur song. For the first time since waking on that cold stone table, I felt warm again. Free.

Caleb’s skin smelled like these sandalwood. I liked it. I also liked his hand in my hair.

I pulled away slightly so I could look at him, at the tiny upward curve of his lips as his magic took hold of me. He didn’t need to sing anymore—I was calm—but he continued anyway. Well, I didn’t want to make any extra work for him…

I pounced, crushing my lips to his. His hands flew around my waist immediately. I had to get closer to him, even as I reveled, eyes closed, in the softness of his lips. I was in his lap. We pressed our bodies together as tight as we could. We weren’t human anymore; there was no need to breathe. The musical magic continued even after I had silenced him, tying us together, body, soul, mind, heart.

He was a part of me, and I a part of him. In that moment, nothing else mattered but me and him, mouth to mouth, chest to chest. We could have continued all night.

Eventually, Caleb loosened his hold on me and I pulled back. He had the biggest, goofiest grin I had even seen on a boy. I curled up in his arms and he started stroking my hair again, singing a new song. A lullaby.

I was asleep in moments.

Excerpt Three:

I silenced him with a kiss. He tasted salty, like tears. He never tasted quite the same. Caleb’s arms were around me while I held on tight to his head so he wouldn’t pull away from me and finish his sentence. I was on my toes, although I didn’t really need to be. He wasn’t that much taller than I was.

Time stopped. Everything stopped. It was just me and him, locked together in an eternal moment. Maybe I loved him. I’d never felt like this before, and the absence of normal human reactions made it hard for me to gauge my own feelings. All I knew what that I didn’t want him to ever let go, that I wanted to be even closer, even though we were already crushed together like two berries squashed between someone’s hands.

Caleb repeated my name in my mouth, more sensation than sound between our tongues. He pulled his head back despite my gripping hands. His eyes were like a driftwood fire. He slowly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I will not lose you,” he murmured, all husky from both emotion and the kiss.

“You might not have to,” I replied, my voice just as weak. “You stay alive, I stay alive. Deal?”

Caleb didn’t smile. “Deal,” he said, leaning in to kiss me again. One of his hands found the hem of my shirt and darted beneath it. I was crushed against the wall again, feet slightly off the ground, supported by Caleb’s body. This felt different, somehow. His mouth was hot on mine, hungry, wanting. I was suddenly all the more aware of every place our bodies were connected. We were charged, electric, hot, and more human than ever.

Caleb nipped at my neck, shooting more electricity through me. I was so alive. My clothes felt cumbersome and too hot. Caleb nipped my bottom lip. I was losing my grip on everything. Everything but him.

“I think,” he whispered, “we should go somewhere more private.” There was no hesitation, none of his earlier embarrassment. He was as resolved as I was.

If you got to this point, obviously I haven’t scared you off with my first drafts and I applaud you for your strength. Hopefully I’ll get my brain together soon and write some blog posts that are actually useful to people.

Look What I’ve Got

I’m rereading the first two books of Maggie Stiefvater’s YA paranormal romance trilogy, ”Wolves of Mercy Falls”, so I’ll get the full effect of this one. For those unfamiliar with the storyline of the first book, “Shiver”, Grace is watched by a wolf with brilliant yellow eyes, Sam, who is a werewolf who wears his human skin in the summer and becomes a wolf in the winter against his own will. When they finally meet while Sam is human, they fall in love but as winter approaches, they must face Sam’s increasingly fragile humanity.

For the record, I am a major Maggie Stiefvater fan.

Writing Love Scenes

I’ve been working on my first love scene in the sequel to Coldfire, and have needed to consider a few things such as what is appropriate for a Young Adult novel and what is not. Many YA novels I’ve read have used the “fade to black” technique where, while it is clear the characters have sex, none of it is shown and time generally skips forward to the next morning. I tried this at first, but it didn’t work for me. Instead I’ve adopted a non-explicit approach that focuses more on the emotions than the physical act itself. So far, I’ve been happy with the result. Here’s a quick snippet from the first draft:

The world had reshaped itself again, as it often did around Valora, to encompass the two lovers and their bed, the covers kicked to the edge where Darian’s toes could barely reach. Valora’s skin was smooth  and strangely powerful under Darian’s hands, her Amazonian form barely illuminated by the single streak of light escaping through the curtains.

She was beautiful and otherworldly in this moment. Darian told her he loved her over and over again, using air he didn’t have to spare, until she gently shushed him, brushing a finger against his lips.

“I know, baby,” she whispered, caressing his cheek, his throat, his chest. “I love you too.”

I wrote this last night, so it’s very new, and I’ll probably end up rewriting as I always do. However, for now, I am satisfied with what I’ve written.

Rewritten Chapter 1 (Again)

Every time I do a rewrite of Coldfire, the first chapter changes in some way. I’ve done it again. This time, however, the change was bigger than most times. Like most of the previous chapters, it starts at the train station before the main character boards, and he also gets beaten up by a gang like every other time. The circumstances have changed a little. Basically everything after this excerpt I’m about to post has also altered drastically. I’m still not sure if I’ve shortened or lengthened the beginning overall.

Edit: I should point out this is only part of chapter one.

Edit again: This chapter is already obsolete. I have recently rewritten it, but I’ll keep this version here anyway.

Coldfire

Chapter 1: Coalsmoke and Flame (excerpt)

The platform stank of exhaust and urine. In the dark corners of the station, shabby people exchanged cash and packets of pills. A teenage boy, the smallest of the lot, sat on the edge of a frozen bench, rubbing his numb hands together. He would have preferred to stay away from the drug dealings, but a gang stood on the other side of the platform, ignoring the yellow safety line and high-fiving someone who had brought back some white pills.

One of the drug dealers sat on the other end of the bench. “Fancy seeing you here, Darian.”

Darian gave the man a withering look through his mop of black hair, wrapping his patched coat tighter around his body. “I’m not interested.”

“You will be.” The dealer slid a small metal box along the bench, eyes darting around suspiciously. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“I said I’m not interested.”

“And I said you will be.”

“I don’t do that anymore.” Darian would have liked to scoot away, but he couldn’t risk looking weak. The appearance of weakness got people killed almost as quickly as overconfidence.

The dealer snorted. “That’s what they all say.”

“I mean it.” Darian adjusted the straps on his backpack. “I’ve been clean since October last year.”

The dealer scowled and snatched up the box. “Fine. Have it your way.” He pocketed the box and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, boys!” The gang looked over. “Fresh meat.”

“Shit.” Darian sprang to his feet. The dealer cackled, revealing his missing front teeth, as he pulled out a gun. Darian kicked it from his hand before dashing around the toilet block. A boy was already there, waiting for him. Darian skidded to a halt and glanced back. The other gang members had arrived.

The first boy flicked the hood of his sweatshirt off his face, revealing a criss-cross of raised, pinkish scars. “Thought you’d escaped, did you, kid?” Darian remembered the boy’s face. He’d cut him with a knife the last time he’d been cornered, giving him those scars. Darian kept his mouth shut.

“Kid doesn’t talk much, does he?” said one another boy. The leader pushed Darian at him. The boy held Darian still, arms behind his back. Darian clenched his jaw and stayed silent. Anything he said could result in an even worse beating than the one he knew was coming.

The leader kicked him in the stomach. “Where’s your mummy, little boy?” Darian gasped for air.

“Hey, guys…” one of the boys near the back said. “Leave the kid alone. How do you know it’s the same guy?”

“Go back to your knitting, Billy,” said the boy with the drugs. He punched the side of Darian’s head. Darian saw white lights. The leader took another turn and knocked the air out of him again. The drug boy opened Darian’s backpack and emptied its contents onto the bitumen. Mostly books and nonperishable food.

The leader smirked. “You think you’re so smart.” He kicked Darian in the groin. “You’re in our world, little boy. Kids like you get eaten for breakfast.” Darian landed face first on the floor with a grunt. The gang laughed and wandered off, high-fiving. Darian lifted himself up onto all-fours, arms shaking.

“Bastards,” he muttered. “Got no backbone, have you? I’ve seen five-year-old girls with bigger balls.” He knew the boys wouldn’t hear him, and that’s the way he liked it. Like always, voicing his thoughts helped keep his focus away from the pain. After a few minutes, Darian was able to collect his belongings and stuff them back into his bag. He used the wall to support himself as he stood back up and limped away. This wouldn’t have happened if the train had been on time for once. Canberra trains were always late.

Darian slumped over a fence, his breath misting in front of him. He just wanted to leave behind Canberra and all the gangs, murder and corruption that its name was synonymous with. Darian’s stomach and groin ached. If he was a powerful Gaius Magicker like his Instructor, Raoul, this wouldn’t have happened. He could have harnessed the power of the Earth to strangle the gang with vines before they’d even laid a finger on him. He contemplated returning to the Gaius Temple, where he learned to use his magic with little success, but decided against it. He’d been lucky no one had tried to kill him on the way to the station.

In the distance, Darian could hear the labouring engine of an ancient train. He straightened, refusing to give into the pain. As coalsmoke tainted the air, he shouldered his backpack, struggled to his feet and waited.

Trepidation

I’m on the verge of a major edit that will require changing almost every word up until the final showdown. It will change the relationship between my main character, Darian, and the love interest, Valora, even more than I already have. I spent most of yesterday procrastinating because I knew it’d be big, and only managed to write down a summary of the beginning of the change.

These past few chapters have had a lot changed because I’m removing a certain part of Darian and Valora’s relationship that puts them at the point where the only things separating them are Darian’s increasingly flimsy reasons, which didn’t ring true for me at all. So now, rather than a whole ‘I don’t want to be in a relationship with you because I think everyone close to me dies’ it is ‘I don’t believe my friend who says Valora likes me’.

But even removing that, and shifting the full moon to before they end up where they are due to a change in travel times (so they’re more realistic), is nothing compared to what’s coming up. The characters’ escape from the two main bad guys requires using magic that is not mentioned before (also due to another edit: removing some magic-sharing, which didn’t work all that much anyway) and that Darian, with his inexperience, is unlikely to be aware of anyway.

So instead Valora will engage the bad guys, being the most experienced with offensive magic, allowing the others to escape. Then they have to work out how to save her, hoping that the main bad guys will lock her up somewhere and leave so the good guys can get her without getting themselves killed.

Even after I’ve managed that, and returned to the main storyline, Valora will be traumatized by her time in the governmental outpost she is taken to. One of the major bad guys is at fault for this. And then I have to get them back home… well, in their home country anyway, and onto the next stage of their journey. This time the journey itself will have more to it, rather than a short chapter depicting the institutionalised feel of the military vessel, the bad food, and a storm that make one of Darian’s seasick friend extremely… well, sick.

Now it will have Darian dealing with Valora’s promiscuity and, after a discussion with one of her close friends, attributing it to what happened to her when she was imprisoned. Darian will also have more a struggle to not hate her for her behaviour, whereas in earlier drafts his irritation barely garnered a mention.

So, yeah, I’ve got a fair bit to do, and I’m freaking out just a little because I know the new sections are going to need plenty more editing once they’re written. My crap-filter doesn’t work too well when I’m writing new stuff. Well, better get to it…

I Love It When Characters Have Personality

I was doing a little cleanup of my novel today when I came across a section I’d drastically rewritten. Obviously opinions are subjective, but I love this scene because it involves my main character, Darian, showing his personality even though he’s delivering a fair amount of backstory. I’ll probably look at it later and cringe, as I tend to do, but for now I’m in a good mood. Here:

“It seemed too good to be true.” Cassandra’s expression soured and she unsuccessfully tried to kick up the wet sand. “You’re right. This is trivial. We just killed a bunch of people!”

Darian squeezed her shoulder. “We didn’t have a choice. Kill or be killed.” That was Darian’s mantra.

“I know we didn’t.” Cassandra shuddered. “I’ve just never had to do that before. We’ve always managed to knock them out or scare them off. And Allan and ‘Lora don’t look bothered at all! Allan hates killing. He’s a Healer. It’s ingrained in him to save lives, not destroy them.”

“We all do things we don’t want to, Cassie.” Darian grabbed a piece of seaweed out of the water. “I guess they’ve had to do it before.” He twirled it around his finger, not meeting Cassandra’s eyes. “The first time’s the hardest.”

“’Lora said that, too.”

Darian sighed. “It’s true, though. I remember my first.”

“How old were you?” Cassandra asked.

Darian glanced up at her. “Eleven.”

“Holy hell.” Cassandra looked away for a moment. “How’d it happen?”

Darian walked into the water until he was ankle-deep. “You don’t need to hear it.” The cool seawater made a pleasant break from the oppressive heat. Rather than think about death, Darian focused on how the ripples bent his vision so his feet looked like they were detached from his legs. The calm and quiet seemed strangely at odds with the violent morning.

“How many people have you killed before today?” Cassandra asked.

Darian grimaced. “Too many. I’ve lost count.”

Cassandra sat on the wet sand, beckoning Darian to join her. “I want to hear about the first.” Darian rolled his eyes and sat by her side.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” Darian collected himself. “It happened on my first unaccompanied trip to the Gaius Temple from the warehouse. I was scared out of my damn mind.” He could almost perfectly recall the winter chill seeping through his too-big clothes, clinging to his skin like dirt. “A guy about twice my age tried to mug me.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why he bothered. I didn’t exactly look like I had a home to get money from.

“It didn’t matter in the end, I guess, since he didn’t realize I had a gun in my hand until he grabbed my arm.” Darian made a gun shape with his hand and made a soft ‘pow’ sound. “Back then, I was even more squeamish than I am now. I don’t know how I managed to get to the Temple. Once I was there I didn’t stop retching until Raoul called a Healer to sedate me.”

Cassandra gritted her teeth and shut her eyes. Darian tousled her hair.

“Next time, Cassie, trust my judgment when I tell you what you do and don’t need.”

Cassandra scowled at him. “Now you sound like Allan.”

“Oh, no,” Darian said in a monotone. “Whatever will I do?”

Cassandra chuckled. “Do you think about it a lot?”

Darian caught her meaning. “Not as much as I used to. I’m finally accepting that the world isn’t painted in black and white.”

So… yeah. I’m happy with this for now. It’s definitely an improvement on the earlier versions of this scene, even if some of the writing itself is still rough.

New Beginning 2.0

A little while ago I posted the new beginning of my novel. I’ve since completed that sweep of edits and have started the next. That beginning has been improved and hopefully is more readable now.

The platform stank of exhaust and urine. Behind the toilets, an adolescent boy exchanged a wad of cash for a packet of pills with a grizzled man in a tan trenchcoat. The teenager joined a gang on one end of the platform, ignoring the yellow safety line.

Another boy, Darian, sat huddled on a frozen bench and waited for the train to come. His breath misted in the air and his fingers ached. He hadn’t thought to ask his Instructor for gloves. Darian held out one hand and focused on it. Wispy threads of tree fibre wrapped around it, not enough to warm himself. He sighed and gave up.

Darian brushed some of his overlong, black hair out of his face. His fingers began to tingle, and it wasn’t pins and needles. They always tingled when danger was coming. He glanced at the gang. They watched him. He refused to make eye contact.

The train should have come by now. Darian wanted to leave Canberra and its corruption behind him as soon as possible. He flexed his fingers, still tingling, and contemplated returning to the Gaius Temple, which was where he learned to use his Earth magic. He decided against it. If he didn’t do this now, he wouldn’t have the courage to do this later.

Darian looked up and watched the gang swagger towards him. One of them had a knife. Another carried an ancient pistol. Darian was unarmed. He waved feebly at the approaching group, wary of doing anything they would consider disrespectful. A boy slightly ahead of the others, who appeared to be the leader of the saggy pants-wearing group, grabbed Darian by the collar and dragged him to his feet.

Comments appreciated. suggestions for improvement particularly so.

If You Want To Be Published, Do Not Write This

I recently entered a bad writing competition with a rather…um, disturbing piece. Those averse to vampires, nudity, badly-written sex and dismemberments should not read any further. It took me something like ten minutes to write, which, as one would expect, is less than if I was actually trying to write well.

Julian Wentsworth the Third Skipped Cheerfully Down The School Hallway in This Dreadful Story

Julian Wentsworth the Third skipped cheerfully down the school hallway, carrying a handful of wilted, blackened roses. He stepped into the sunlight and his foot caught on fire, the flames licking around his black boots like a fat man eating cake. Julian Wentsworth the Third swore pleasantly and put himself out. Being a vampire was such a drag.

A trio of girls came around the corner and burst into giggles when they saw Juliain Wentsworth the Third. They swooned all at once, like they were controlled by the one brain.

“He’s so dreamy…”

“Who are the roses for?”

“I’d do him.”

Julian Wentsworth the Third winked at the girls. “Come back to my place for dinner.” The girls giggled even more and agreed eagerly. Once they had staggered off, Julian Wentsworth the Third licked his lips, his skinny, snakelike, blue tongue anticipating the feast of blood that would await him at sundown. He imagined how he would cup each of their breasts in one hand and their necks in the other and drink. Then we went to jerk off in the janitor’s closet.

Julian Wentsworth the Third finished off the first girl with relish, licking the wound on her neck clean of all blood. The other two glanced excitedly at each other and bared their necks, snowy white. They shivered with anticipation.

“Take me next,” said the blonde, unbuttoning her blouse to reveal huge, round, jiggly boobies. The redhead didn’t want to be beaten by her so she stripped naked and lay down on the table for Julian Wentsworth the Third to take her. Julian Wentsworth the Third killed the blonde and drank her blood and then he had sex with the redhead and sucked her blood until she was near death and then he slit his wrist and dripped his own blood into her willing, waiting, perfect mouth. She drank and convulsed delightfully. Julian Wentsworth the Third had sex with her again.

The redhead woke up in the middle of it and fangs came out. She smirked vindictively and grabbed Julian Wentsworth the Third’s head and twisted it until his head came off. She laughed and kicked it across the room.

“And that’s how you get what you want,” the redhead said vindictively and had sex with Julian Wentsworth the Third’s headless body, his limbs flailing with pleasure. Then she took a stake to Julian Wentsworth the Third’s heart and he stopped moving.

The redhead stepped out naked into the sunlight, not realizing that the sun could kill her and she burst into flames and died.

I apologize profusely for subjecting you to that, but I just felt the urge to cause a reader’s eyes to bleed.

New Beginning

I’m in the midst of typing up my handwritten novel, which is incredibly time-consuming and bothering my temperamental wrists. I wrote a new beginning for this novel the page after I wrote ‘The End’ as the old one was bothering me. I had received a couple comments that indicated the start was too busy, with the fighting and conversing at the same time. As such, I decided to start my story earlier and may even forgo that particular fight altogether. Maybe make it more like a cat-and-mouse chase than an outright fight. I don’t think my protagonist would be prepared for a fight at that stage. Anyway, without further ado, here is my (rough) new beginning:

The platform smelled of exhaust and urine. A young, lanky man shiftily gave an older man with greying hair a wad of cash in exchange for a packet of pills. They walked off in opposite directions. The younger man joined a gang hanging around on one end of the platform, ignoring the yellow safety line.

Darian sat huddled on a bench and waited for the train to come. His breath misted in the air and the chill bit at his fingers. He hadn’t thought to ask his Instructor for gloves. Darian held out one hand and focused on it. Wispy threads of tree fibre wrapped around it, not enough to keep his hands warm. He sighed and gave up. Darian brushed some of his overlong, black hair out of his face. His fingers began to tingle, and it wasn’t pins and needles. He glanced at the gang. They were eying him. He refused to make eye contact.

***

That’s all I’ve got at the moment. I’m not sure if it’s any good yet. I’ll have to see how well it integrates with the story, which will have some major alterations anyway. Adieu!