First chapter of a book in progress

[Kaimani]

“Do you know who I am?” The boy looked at the man he had come to kill. The man could see nothing in the boy’s eyes. They had nothing behind them. No rage, no anger, not even any fear. Nothing to work with. You can approach a man in anger if you see the same in him, or a position of power if there is fear in his eyes, But how do you deal with someone whose eyes are at empty? If the eyes are supposed to be windows to the soul and you see no soul through them, is it the windows that are defective or the soul that is missing? As he looked into those unflinching, unblinking and unrelenting eyes he had the sense that someone had lived in them once. Ate, slept, cried and was happy there. But they had packed in a hurry and left the lights on so you could see there was no one home.

There was something else about the boy that didn’t sit right with the man. It wasn’t his size. Even at seven feet nine and near enough five hundred pounds the boy couldn’t take ten men all on his own. It wasn’t even that the tribal marks on the boy’s face reminded the man of his time before all the court cases, the publicity and the bribes. He’d seen many faces with more or less the same dots and slashes. He’d seen many alive. He’d seen many dead. He’d seen many dying.

“McAllan sent you?” The soon to be dearly departed man’s smile was one of those almost-things that, because they lack the main ingredient of what makes them what they are, become much more than they are meant to be. He threw his words with the confident indifference of a man who had been in a thousand similar situations and fully expected to be in a thousand similar situations more. Nature of things- the extraordinary happens enough times it begins to feel mundane. A barefoot man in nothing but a full body wet suit challenging you and ten of your best bodyguards to a fight, it seems, was just another day at the office.

“Wrath sent me. Vengeance sent me. Balance sent me. Do you know who I am?” the boy made it a point to look each and every one of the man’s bodyguards in the eye as they spread in a circle around him.

“the swimming pool is that way” the man’s voice sounded too something besides nervous, afraid or worried to give it the necessary whatever it would have needed to raise a few smiles.

“I don’t mind blood on my hands, but it’s a pain to wash anywhere else.” The boy adjusted the crotch of his wetsuit and tied his hair back. “My people have a saying, ‘today is a good day to die’. It means live everyday right. Eat, sleep, love, fight, speak and, above all, die right that you may have no regrets. Is today a good day for you to die?” Something was shifting in the boy. A version of the same thing shifted within the man. And the circle. They had passed the point at which any one of them could have walked away untouched. The man grinned. He couldn’t do anything else. The boy lit a cigarette and took a long drag, “Tell you what, if you’re still standing when I have to blow this out I might let you live.” No smoke came out.

there was a hope in every blow exchanged. Every punch, possibility that someone would give him release. Every stabbing, a way to the elusive end. An artery might be severed. His spine broken, lung punctured... so many ways out but never a sign saying ‘way out’ So he never ducked, never moved out of the way, Never flinched...Never died.

The man was not on his feet when the boy had to blow out. Only the boy was on their feet when the boy had to exhale.

The man had seen it. He had seen a man plunge a knife into the boy’s shoulder. He had seen the boy pull the knife out, throw it away and knock the man out with a punch to the throat. He had seen it, two men, at the same time, taser the boy. He’d seen the boy jerk back just slightly before he got his footing back. He had seen the boy, thousands of volts causing through him, grab the two men and, through his own body, electrocute the men. All this he had seen. So he had to believe that, as the boy smashed his head into the last man standing and turn to face him, it all had really happened.

The boy leaned over the man and exhaled. Grey dull smoke floated into the night air. The man almost laughed. But he didn’t, instead he almost cried. But he didn’t. Thought to reach for the gun in his holster. But he didn’t. Never the gunslinger or bone breaker the man had never shot a gun. He never had to. But many dollars had sent many bullets into heads, torsos and knees from his wallet.

“How much do you want?” the man tried to crawl back as the boy loomed nearer to him.

“Is today a good day for you to die?” the boy spoke as if he’d just woken up or was bored by where he found himself. He flicked some dirt from the man’s lapel.

“How much do you want, for god’s sake?” the man’s anger was so self conscious it came out as the cold terror of realisation. “We did your people a lot of good! Wasn’t our fault you all killed each other!” his anger was more formed this time, bolstered by a conviction of some sense of truth. “We had to protect our interests. The international court found us not guilty!” He swallowed. “Tell me, how much you want; I’ll give you twice whatever you’re being paid!”

The boy took out a small electronic tablet from his inside his wet suit and added more zeroes to the number then handed the tablet to the man. “For the No-child-left behind Foundation. Your account number and security code, please, sir.”

The man went a brilliant shade of red that lasted for no more than the blink of an eye then began sweating. The sweat evaporated as soon as it formed beads on his brow and upper lip. He typed in his security codes, watched the numbers on the screen rise. ‘Transaction complete’. ‘Thank you’. He handed the tablet back.

“The children thank you.”

It’s not very hard if you know what to do. Thumb, middle finger and the right amount of pressure in the right spots you can break someone’s voice box. Very simple really. It took three seconds. Three. The man made some guttural sounds and wild gestures but otherwise didn’t seem able, or willing, to do more.

The boy closed his eyes and placed his hand on the man’s head. You would have thought it was some kind of religious blessing giving ceremony. It wasn’t. There was strange sound-a mixture of water falling, whispers and wind rushing through a small tunnel-but only the boy heard it. The Man couldn’t be sure whether it was his forehead or the boy’s hand sweating. He couldn’t be sure if it was him or the boy’s hand shaking.

The boy opened his eyes and tightened his grip around the man’s head. The man died just as his brain was beginning to tell him his skull was being crushed.

[Becky86]

Very well written, I really liked it and wanted to read on! However there is just one thing, I was just a little confused with which character was speaking etc, for you as the writer it may seem obvious because it's coming from you and you have the story in your head, but for an unknowing reader I think you may need a little clarity, maybe names? It's just that I couldn't identify where some of the dialect was coming from. Other than that though I loved it, very gripping.

[Amaranthus]

You have some interesting ideas there, only maybe you could break it up a little just so it's easier to read; it's quite a large chunk of continuous writing. Possibly something like this;

 

“I don’t mind blood on my hands, but it’s a pain to wash anywhere else.” The boy adjusted the crotch of his wetsuit and tied his hair back. “My people have a saying, ‘today is a good day to die’. It means live everyday right. Eat, sleep, love, fight, speak and, above all, die right that you may have no regrets. Is today a good day for you to die?”

 

Something was shifting in the boy. A version of the same thing shifted within the man. And the circle. They had passed the point at which any one of them could have walked away untouched. The man grinned. He couldn’t do anything else.

 

The boy lit a cigarette and took a long drag, “Tell you what, if you’re still standing when I have to blow this out I might let you live.” No smoke came out.

 

There was a hope in every blow exchanged. Every punch, possibility that someone would give him release. Every stabbing, a way to the elusive end. An artery might be severed. His spine broken, lung punctured... so many ways out but never a sign saying ‘way out’ So he never ducked, never moved out of the way, Never flinched...Never died.

 

And here

“How much do you want?” the man tried to crawl back as the boy loomed nearer to him.

“Is today a good day for you to die?” the boy spoke as if he’d just woken up or was bored by where he found himself. He flicked some dirt from the man’s lapel.

“How much do you want, for god’s sake?” the man’s anger was so self conscious it came out as the cold terror of realisation. “We did your people a lot of good! Wasn’t our fault you all killed each other!” his anger was more formed this time, bolstered by a conviction of some sense of truth. “We had to protect our interests. The international court found us not guilty!” He swallowed. “Tell me, how much you want; I’ll give you twice whatever you’re being paid!”

 

The boy took out a small electronic tablet from his inside his wet suit and added more zeroes to the number then handed the tablet to the man.

 

“For the No-child-left behind Foundation. Your account number and security code, please, sir.”

 

The man went a brilliant shade of red that lasted for no more than the blink of an eye then began sweating. The sweat evaporated as soon as it formed beads on his brow and upper lip. He typed in his security codes, watched the numbers on the screen rise.

 

‘Transaction complete’. ‘Thank you’. He handed the tablet back.

 

“The children thank you.”

 

Just a suggestion and a personal preference; I find it easier to read books that have been broken down. I'm not an expert though so take everything I say with a pinch of salt.

[Ron Blanco]

Hello Kaimani.

 

This is enjoyable to read, even in this raw form. The opening grabbed me immediately, something that I haven't seen in a book since I read "The Personal History of Rachel DuPree" by Ann Weisgarber. I wanted the tension to last even longer than it did. Your narrative is unconventional and I would be interested to see how that works for an entire novel. Exciting stuff.

[Kaimani]

thanks rob. slaving away at it. hope it doesn't turn out to be just 'all action' and whatnot without saying much. i have had to tweak it a few times seeings as, though we write, first, for ourselves, it needed to draw people in and keep'em in.

shaz, you make a good point. that's another thing i need to keep an eye on. i tend to get carried away.

becky, will work on that. trying to work on dialogue without saying 'he said', 'she shreaked', 'they splattered' etc. but i guess this takes a lot of excersise.

ps, i've worked out how to uplaod properly so will do that next time.

 

will read some of your guys' work and comment. hadn't worked out the new password system( i know, please don't ask me, or yourself, how anyone can possibly not get the instructions!)

[coyleys]

Not forgot you Kaimani, I have printed it off, and will take it to work to read.

[Tallyman]

Kaimani

 

A good piece, this - I enjoyed reading it. I also agree with points already made by Becky, Ron and Shaz, in that physically separating the paragraphs would help make it smoother to read. I realise that if you were laying it out in book form, there would be indented paragraphs instead, but when working within the limitations of a forum posting a space would help.

 

I also became confused from time to time with who was speaking. I appreciate you're trying to reduce the number of "he said"s, and you go a long way towards that. My feeling is that if you establish a conversation between two characters, you can go for a while without a 'he said' if the dialogue alternates strictly between the two. But when a third party comes in, or there's a break for some description, I think you need to re-orientate the reader.

 

I think perhaps we should know that there are bodyguards a little earlier. If I could describe it in visual terms, you start with a close-up moving to a very tight two shot of the man and boy. Nice opening, but then I think we need to set it in context, see the wide shot, reveal that they are not alone, that in fact the balance is heavily in the man's favour, that the boy is up against some considerable odds.

 

This is not a duel, but a challenge for a boy with odds stacked against him. If the boy is so tall and seemingly so strong, we need to see heavier odds, some possibility of failure, to make the success more valuable and make sure our sympathies are with him. I know you say that even this boy couldn't take them all on at once, but perhaps this needs to be a bit more strongly stated.

 

I also wonder if there could have been a trigger for the fighting to start, and whether things could be reordered: You've had the boy lighting a cigarette, taking a long drag, then saying that he might let the man live if he was still standing when he exhaled. Immediately after that, we're into the fight sequence.

 

Unfortunately, when I used to smoke (many years ago), I never mastered the art of inhaling and then speaking without any smoke coming out! I'm sure it's possible, but I never got past O-Level smoking. In the light of that, is it possible to re-order the sequence to include a 'trigger' for the fight:

 

The boy put a cigarette to his lips and flicked a lighter. "Tell you what," he said, "If you're still standing by the time I exhale, I might just let you live."

 

He took a long drag, and held it. For a second, the man's eyes met his, then flicked to one side. A signal.

 

Not brilliant, but hopefully explaining what I mean!

 

Why's he in a wet suit? Had he arrived by stealthy means? If so, he's done a great job of keeping not only his cigarettes and lighter dry, but the all-important electronic pad as well! It's a really trivial and silly point, but perhaps some sort of waterproof pouch is in order? I'm sorry, I don't mean to be flippant, but the real question still holds - why the wetsuit? Perhaps some explanation is needed to stop the reader asking the same question.

 

Very nice stuff, Kaimani. As mentioned elsewhere, you do have knack for painting a good emotional picture