Cheryl's mind turned like the vanes of a wind-powered turbine, chopping her sparrow-like thoughts into bloody pieces that fell onto a growing pile of forgotten memories.
Cheryl was a very forgetful sort of sparrow.
Credit for opening sentence goes to Sue Fondrie, a Bulwer-Lytton Prize winner
The piercing light faded before he could even squeeze his eyes open completely, ending so quickly that the small body wasn't even sure it had been there in the first place. The world he had been in for less than a minute suddenly dropped like a stone as his throat clamped shut on itself and the breath he was expected to take never passed stone cold lips.
As he was walking across his old home at the end of the lane, he heard a scream. He looked around the hallways but then he realized: It was just his mom.
He was pushed in to his nightmare, pushed towards the floor, and shoved towards the woman in front of them.
As he fought his captors, he was pushed towards the woman and as he saw the gaze of the woman of his nightmare, he realized where he was:
The Library.
I'm open to a lot of things, but my comfort zone usually involves medieval and modern settings, with varying degrees of realism and fantasy. I like to explore mature themes, not for the sake of sex, but just because I like it when a character has to actually stop and weigh their options.
Each sleep brings forth a nightmare, each nightmare fictional yet featuring familiar faces, each antagonist bearing a past trauma I long to rid from myself. People tell me I should learn to forgive, but I know not how to even forget.
In Bali, entire pieces of sidewalk are missing, car-sized lumps of concrete just gone, so you have to be aware of 5ft drops into holes filled with brown filthy water, tampons and glass.
In Bali (before someone took the wrong kind and spoiled it all for everyone) magic mushrooms were legal, some of the streets were poorly lit and the trees were way more interesting than the ground and, well....