Short Excerpt

 

Here is a short excerpt from my book. It's not fully edited yet...so expect some hitches with the style and so on. Please DON'T copy! I'm very particular about that. But anyway, I just wanted to give you a little sample of my work so you could see the style the book is written in. There again, however, don't judge the WHOLE book by this. As I said before...it still needs editing with the style.

 

Leave me a comment and let me know what you think! Don't worry about offending me...I've got a thick skin with these things! :D So please, relax, read and enjoy!

 

Characters in this Segment:

 

Hanna: Main character, story is told from her view

Linnet: Hanna's best friend

Marcus: Hanna's cousin

Caleb: Random boy they have just met.

 

Setting:

 

They are on a train heading away from home to a very important event.

 

I’m drawn out of my thoughts as a strange sound suddenly bursts out from the seat across from Linnet. It’s Caleb, and he’s snoring. I’m shocked that anyone can sleep today, but I suppose the big meal is what did him in. I’ve heard you get sleepy after eating a lot—I guess it was true because there Caleb sits: his head slumped back against the silver paneling of his seat.

Marcus’s dull gaze suddenly breaks and a look of complete annoyance appears. He crosses his arms defiantly and tries for a second or two to block out the noise. His efforts are in vain, of course, and within a minute he stands abruptly and groans out a very angry,

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom”

After that, Marcus storms down the isle and out of sight.

I remain in my seat and do my best to ignore Caleb. Snoring doesn’t bother me, save when I’m trying to sleep—and since there’s no danger of me going to sleep, the snoring simply passes out of all recognition. Or, at least, it does until suddenly Linnet—who has been silent this whole time—whispers,

“He really snores…doesn’t he?”

“Yep” I reply. “Sounds like an industrial saw mill”

Linnet emits a small smile at my remark.

We sit in silence a while longer before finally she says something else.

“What do I have to do?” Her eyes search my face.

“What do you mean?”  

“I mean…what’s going to happen once we reach the center?” She asks, putting special emphasis on the words: the center.

I shrug. “They’re going to prick your finger—just to makes sure you are who you say you are.” I'm about to continue but Linnet cuts me off.

“Prick my finger with a needle?” She asks, her eyes wide.

“Yea, what else would they stick it with?” I ask blatantly.

Linnet’s quiet, but she rubs her arm rigorously. I look down at her and through the occasionally gap in her fingers I see a large, lumpy, bruised mass jutting out from her arm, just at the joint.

A small part of my throat tightens.

She’s been injected.