Post by sascrotch on Dec 18, 2009 22:56:29 GMT -5
A book I'm helping Christine's little brother, Dillon, with. He basically writes a rough outline, the 'skeleton' of the story if you will, and I flesh it out. here's my first draft of the first page or so.
Now this was my kind of night. A bitter breeze splashed a fine mist of rain across my skin, and my breath turned to vapor before me. The moon crept out from behind a sea of menacing clouds, shining red through the toxic smog that hung over this decrepit city.
Another normal night in America.
Not to mention the hunger that growls within me. Not to mention the blood that still drips from my weathered palms and icy lips. My last victim had only been an appetizer, enough to tickle my taste buds and leave me craving the main course. Such is the life of a vampire; always wanting more, always in search for your next fix.
It would be simple if being of the undead was the least of my worries, but S.R. made sure long ago that I was something more than a beast; I was a weapon. The company called Soul Reaver - S.R. to the rest of us - began as a search for immortality. Scientists were convinced that if they could tie the soul to the flesh that man would be able to live forever. They began their twisted experiments on the elderly, literally ripping their souls out and attempting to ‘stitch’ them back in. The results were often tragic and soaked in the blood of their test subjects.
After eleven long years of secretive research, the drug known simply as Stitch was seemingly perfected. It as heralded as the “Dawning of Angels” , a new era for all of mankind, free from the worry of death. It became a living hell. The drug had a slow-developing side effect, one that decayed the soul of the recipient until the flesh was left an empty husk; soulless, undying, and with a thirst for human blood. In essence, S.R. had engineered vampirism.
Luckily, the affliction wasn’t contagious, but the public soon turned against S.R., mobbing their research labs and acting out their own sick justice on the scientists within. The leaders of S.R. retreated, and disappeared from the public eye.
Now this was my kind of night. A bitter breeze splashed a fine mist of rain across my skin, and my breath turned to vapor before me. The moon crept out from behind a sea of menacing clouds, shining red through the toxic smog that hung over this decrepit city.
Another normal night in America.
Not to mention the hunger that growls within me. Not to mention the blood that still drips from my weathered palms and icy lips. My last victim had only been an appetizer, enough to tickle my taste buds and leave me craving the main course. Such is the life of a vampire; always wanting more, always in search for your next fix.
It would be simple if being of the undead was the least of my worries, but S.R. made sure long ago that I was something more than a beast; I was a weapon. The company called Soul Reaver - S.R. to the rest of us - began as a search for immortality. Scientists were convinced that if they could tie the soul to the flesh that man would be able to live forever. They began their twisted experiments on the elderly, literally ripping their souls out and attempting to ‘stitch’ them back in. The results were often tragic and soaked in the blood of their test subjects.
After eleven long years of secretive research, the drug known simply as Stitch was seemingly perfected. It as heralded as the “Dawning of Angels” , a new era for all of mankind, free from the worry of death. It became a living hell. The drug had a slow-developing side effect, one that decayed the soul of the recipient until the flesh was left an empty husk; soulless, undying, and with a thirst for human blood. In essence, S.R. had engineered vampirism.
Luckily, the affliction wasn’t contagious, but the public soon turned against S.R., mobbing their research labs and acting out their own sick justice on the scientists within. The leaders of S.R. retreated, and disappeared from the public eye.
