Please read below for a short excerpt from a story I have started writing. It is aimed at teens and young adults who enjoy Science-Fiction.
I am a little unsure whether I should continue with this story or whether it's any good. PLEASE give an honest review and consider donating a little bit; every bit counts. Thanks:
Rory-the little shit- hadn't changed much in the last ten years.
Obsessive, obnoxious and still completely oblivious as to the workings of the real world, he still expected great things for himself...somehow believing and expecting the world to present Him with that Special Something only He deserved. Perhaps this was the normal way of an immature twenty two year old; to be like this? Perhaps it was his God- given right to mete out a suitable punishment to this little scumbag that DARED to even consider attempting to pick his pocket.
Rory had just left his suppliers pad and he always felt a bit twitchy when carrying a few too many bags of outlawed narcotics. He was jumpy at the best of times…and certainly , coming out of that dingy little shithole his Man called "an apartment" into the open , his nerves were taught and jittery. His adrenaline was flowing along quite smoothly, thank you very much , and when he sensed that something wasn't quite right and whirled around to find this little bastard's hand (up to the elbow) digging around in the backpack he wore; something inside Rory took over. He spun around violently and grabbed Junior by his arm , with the intent of staring him down into submission…but the little bastard had already pulled a razor-sharp paring knife and although he was visibly shaken , Rory knew that the kid would have no qualms about actually using it.
In less time than it would have taken to smack the little guy upside the head (Shouldn't the little rascal still be waiting to get fetched from school by his mummy?) , Rory had put in a few well timed and aimed punches - two to the gut and one capsizing blow to the left side of Juniors face.
Junior collapsed on the spot, gasping for air, rubbing his face and trying to apologize all at the same time.
The thing that took over Rory wasn't abating , In fact - it seemed to be consuming him almost like that first hit of good Wheiden he had this morning - as though the darkness was closing in around his peripheral vision.
He felt his anger unbridled and it startled and puzzled him more than a little.
He began to put the boot in and the cowering kid began screaming in terror as Rory's size nine-and-a -half combat boots showed the youngster a whole new world of pain.
The screams cut through whatever was enveloping Rory and for a second(no more ; no less) he felt a twinge of remorse.
Then He knelt down on his left knee and grabbed a fist-full of Juniors matted, dirty hair, twisted his head and glared straight into his petrified eyes.
"You picked the wrong Guy , Buddy!", He shouted insanely and then he raised and smashed the youngster's face in on the pavement...
"I'm the one who runs the show around here" He spat , "This is MY turf , Who do you think You are ,eh?"
Rory’s anger had quickly escalated into something far more incomprehensible and dangerous.
Rage created an almost visible aura about him.
The gentle sobbing and groaning from the youngsters' bloodied lips seem to have a startling, sobering effect on him...
Rory goes limp at first, then pale and he begins to laugh - His own personal by-product of a moment of guilt.
Sorrow as he's never known begins to seep over him and he shakes and begins to laugh more uncontrollably.......and then , just as suddenly , his green eyes turn to stone -the twisted smile slides down his face and his corneas turn to pitch-black.
Suddenly he appears not to have shaved for a few days-or bathed for that matter-and his once light brown hair seems greasy and patchy, his very skin seems to have a grey morgue-like pallor to it.
All about his person, he radiates a warmish, sticky attraction.
The bloodied kid-as badly beaten as he is-recoils in sheer brain- melting-terror
All kicks and screams….
Moreover, as if he is not unlucky enough as it is, slips in the wetness of his own blood and from his semi-crouching position loses what little grip (he thinks) he had on the situation.Rory, momentarily bereft of his senses,lunging and kicking at the now bloodied face,somehow manages to snare an artery in the poor kid’s face.
For the kid,there is no pain at all, just a sudden jolt that happens when a life threatening impact jarres the human body.
At first, the youth doesn't realize what has just happened to him and merely clutches his face and neck as though a monstrous bluebottle has wrapped its stinging tentacles around his throat and has begun pumping its fiery venom into his exposed flesh.
Then as the warm sticky blood instantly envelopes his grasping hand, and the thin squirting pulse of crimson starts to blur his vision , he looks up in confusion at his attacker, sees him for what he is…and begins to regret even more that he chose this …"thing" to try and pickpocket.
Kane…you’ve REALLY gone and done it this time was his last coherent thought - even as he lost control over his bowels. He could not comprehend what he was seeing right before his blood splattered face…something that defied belief and turned mortal blood to stone.
Rory seemed to hear something…a voice…from INSIDE his head, but it disappeared almost before it was there. There seemed to be some sort of 'meaning' in that short thought he just had.
A message?
He paused for a second, unsure what to do next, as by now a crowd was beginning to mill around and secretive whispers were being passively voiced.
He felt a bit of a bastard for beating up on that poor kid, but shit; the little bastard deserved it – every bruise and cut!
"What was it that he - the kid - had actually done to piss me off?" Rory wondered to himself for a moment.
He couldn't even recall what it was that had sparked the violent outburst.
It seemed that He was just SO on-edge lately.
'Must be the drugs' He muttered to himself, and he was beginning to feel like the center of attention there on the sidewalk.
He shrugged a bit sheepishly and turned to leave, only to step back into what seemed to be a doorway-sized sheet of clear aqua-blue water. The water seemed to be completely ignoring the laws of gravity, as it was not flowing or falling to the blood-splattered pavement.
It was just …'there', rippling gently , Rory could actually hear the soft lapping of the tiny swells as they flowed over and around the inch proud frame and formed a sort of horizontal waterfall that fell away from him into God knew what.
He had already stuck half his left leg into whatever this thing was in his haste to leave the 'crime scene'.
Rory felt a wave of panic wash over him.
What the hell is this?
The crowd had grown considerably by now and Rory was REALLY beginning to feel uncomfortable.
He could feel that the wetness had already soaked through his denim longs and his blood flecked boots were filled with a warm liquid that for all the Entire World, really DID feel like water.
He heard a blood-curdling scream and spun around to see what the commotion was all about.
There was a large woman with one of those damnable little ankle biters attached to a leash that was in turn attached to her fat wrist. She was as white as a sheet and hyperventilating and looked as though she was going to simply pass out right there where she stood.
She was still screaming hysterically and gesturing towards what was now behind Rory – the 'water doorway'.
Rory turned back, slowly – half in terror – his face was so close – TOO CLOSE to the surface of the vertical water…a pair of powerful arms from the distant blackness behind the water grabbed him roughly around his throat and yanked him through into the terrifying unknown.