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Tag: Death By Recourse

Death By Recourse – Intro

by on Nov.04, 2009, under Writing

I’ll admit, I’m not writing at nearly the speed I was expecting to, but I’ve finally put this intro to bed, at 1277 words or so. From here on out I’m going to do everything I can to prevent myself from going backwards to wordsmith already authored material as that will put this novel for #NaNoWriMo to bed well before it reaches 50,000 words. But, by completing this intro I’ve actually had a discovery on where I’m going next so it was a necessary evil. Eventually the intro will meet up with what I’ve been writing over the last few days, and when that happens i’tll be posted here as well. I am also constantly motivated by Dustin Hansen’s progress over at http://www.dustinhansen.com and Ryan’s massive breadth over at http://www.finding-wayside.com But for now, Here is the Introduction to Death By Recourse.

The room appeared as it always had, that is to say, full of pomp and class. It’s scarlet curtains pulled back by course, flame licked and blackened ties the breadth of an infant’s arm. The tall crystalline windows with a criss-cross of iron rod, breathed in the darkness; the dust danced between moon-lit streams of light that billowed through the iron rod, a raucous affair between millions of tormented sprites disturbed by the exhale of a resting bovine. In the corner a casted sharp shadow of an instrument used to entertain a room full of guests, and often played by the owner’ students; a mismatch of poorly dressed and inadequately educated orphans from across the street. The ivories caught the moon-light and sparkled a silent tune as the reflected light waltzed along the ceiling and through the prism chandelier, companions to the tormented dust sprites.

In the center of the room lay a series of over-stuffed, tapestry covered sofas, who’s fabric bit back with earnest  to anyone that misread it’s pillowed, gluttonous appearance for comfort. It was here the room lost its composure. Where normally rested a mahogany tea table, ensconced with elaborately stitched and crocheted doilies alighted with porcelain saucers and cups, now rested (though resting is too calm a term) a portly woman. In the moonlight her body seemed to stretch into the shadows filling the expanse from her position as a footstool to the sofa, toward the double-wide doors leading to the foyer. The table which belonged where she now lay, was in ruin. Chunky shards of hardwood spread throughout the room with a sprinkle of china particles for good measure. And everything around the woman of considerable size, was shimmering, which was unusual given the woolen rugs that usually adorned the floor. In the darkness it appeared as black water, reflecting the moonlight that managed to crest the floor. The wetness covered everything for meters, soaking into and seeping through anything that would give, slowly expanding its mass by the minute.

The coagulating liquid stretched beneath the sofa and beaded up along the torso of another figure, this one of considerably less girth and substance. Tendrils of black, stringy hair collected the wetness, locking it tightly to the woolen carpet beneath. While the moonlight cast chiseled shadows across the whole of the entire room, the figure behind the couch, barely taller than a meter, was softly outlined and clearly did not belong. The now crimson tipped dress lay loosely on her frame, a series of gray and white pin-striped threads riding vertically to her neck, her chest rose and fell to the rhythm of the silent tune of reflected light and meandering particles. The dust sprites danced around the young girl’s nose, moving in and out with the tide of her breath, enveloped by the warmth of a living creature.

The girl breathed in a heavy sigh, inhaling the tormented dust sprites. With a cough and hack, she jerked upright, her matted hair coming loose from the woolen fibers of the floor with a loud tear, some of the curls remained behind in the congealed wetness where her head had rested. She regretted the sudden movement immediately as her skull began to coalesce a throbbing solid pain from behind the left eye straight down the collar of her dress. She screamed lightly as she grasped the side of her head feeling the area where hair should have been. Awake now and disoriented the girl felt around in the darkness to find something familiar, anything to remind her of where she was at. The hardened floor was certainly not the comforting down bed which she remembered falling asleep in, and the stickiness which she now felt on her thighs, between her fingers, and along her back was something she had never felt before, a gooey pungent mass of ick. She paused for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the moonlight, and took in the immediate area around her. She had never been here before, she was sure of that. Next to her left hand rested a knotted lamp, the bulb shattered and lamp shade missing, the cord coiled around the slim wooden frame. She lay with her back to the tall pillowed sofas, facing the iron rod windows, in a pool of liquid which stretched from where she now sat, to the far wall where the moonlight’s cold tendrils seeped in. The pool of liquid wasn’t deep, merely a thin slimy coating over everything, her clothes were stiff from the drying stuff.

Her first instinct was to cry, confused and disoriented she did nearly that. After a few pathetic whimpers she choked it off, and began investigating in earnest. She tried to stand up, but was unable to build the necessary friction with her feet, and instead slipped onto her belly, coating herself even more with the dreaded wetness. Reverting to instincts she began to crawl, slogging across the floor away from the safety of the moonlight to the other side of the couch, enveloping herself with the remains that now seeped into ever fiber of her clothing.

As she rounded the corner of the couch she didn’t immediately see the massive form of the other woman whom had it’s own horizon. It wasn’t until her hand slammed into a wall of flesh that she was able to identify the shadow as human. The woman, still surrounded by debris, wasn’t breathing. The girl reached for the old cow’s wrist and rolled it over to feel for any sign of life. The hand was cold, fingers locked in a rigid grip around a thin silver chain. There was nothing pulsing in the lifeless form laying in front of the girl.

A stream of light flickered on, casting the corpse’s right side in light. The buzz and hum of the electrical fixture could be heard faintly in the distance. The golden light, now seeping from under the foyer double-wide doors, cast a glow along the corpse’s face. The girl gasped as she caught a glimpse of the massive woman, immediately understanding who she was, and where she was.

Soft padded claps and thumps began to sound from outside the room’s double-wide doors, faint at first, then gradually growing in intensity. The sound reverberated from below traveling its way through the marble and wood veneered spiral staircase, through the pictured walls covered with portraits of the town’s nobility and well-to-dos, around a corner and under the double-wide doors of the music room directly into the soul of the little girl. Like a metronome, the pace of the devil’s footsteps was constant and relentless. With each tip and fall of the pendulum, the girl’s soul slowly lost it’s grasp with the body, gluing the youngling tightly to the slippery wetness below her. The footfalls were traveling closer, getting nearer by the beat, the piano began to resonate in unison with the insistent, plodding, companioned feet, the strings vibrating to the tune of the girl’s impending doom.

“I have to get out.” She thought to herself. She had to get out now, and not leave a trace that she had been here. She didn’t know what was going on or why she was in this room next to this corpse. But if she was found here, next to the old heifer, she would loose everything. And if she left a trace of her presence, they would find her and take everything from her.

While her body was still locked to the floor in terror, her mind began plotting her escape.

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