(A snippet from the crappy novel I'm writing. Quality is NOT guaranteed.)
Natalie’s Blog Entry
Sunday, November 1, 2009
I’m not a liar. Those who don’t understand the difference between what I do, and the villainous acts of those chosen few, have never met me. But then, that’s my own fault, isn’t it?
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Chapter One
Thompson’s Side of the Story
Three years earlier
“Where the hell is she, Cooper?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know. I swear it.”
The battered copy of Don Quixote flew out of Thompson’s hand and across the room to neatly crease the drywall behind Cooper’s head. Thompson moved nearly as fast as the book, putting his hand on Cooper’s neck and willing the skin to part so he could grasp those fragile bones in his hands and crush them to dust. Of course, he didn’t have that power. He never had the power he wanted, when he wanted it.
Every muscle in Cooper’s body tightened, but he didn’t move.
Thompson put his forehead against Cooper’s. It was an intimidation technique his father told him they used in war. Get inside the enemy’s space. Unnerve them, throw them off-balance and you just might get your answers.
“I know you saw her. I know she was here. That’s her goddamn book, Cooper.
Cooper pulled back and smashed his head against Thompson, who lost his grip and fell backwards onto the white leather couch. A dark pool began to form, dripping from the jagged tear above Thompson’s eyebrow.
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