For over two years I have had a story in my head that came to me one night in a dream.
I know how lame that sounds but it is true. Now the story has changed aspects, details, and what have you BUT the overall story line, characters, etc. have stayed the same.
I am here to announce that I have finally gotten off my lazy ass and written the first 400 words of my novel. Now, this is not edited and it won’t be until I finish it, because that’s how it works.
I want to give you the first chapter of my novel that way I have to continue. I have to push myself to continue this story and get it out of my head.
I hope you like it.
The smell of coffee wafted through the air as the rain poured down, striking the pavement all around the corpse. I walked cautiously through the sparse crowd trying to make my way to get a closer look at the dead body. People had crowded around the area, pointing, exclaiming, making gestures in regards to the scene that displayed before them. They didn’t seem to believe the sight that was before them. I heard several say how they couldn’t believe it, how could this have happened right outside their doorstep. I wish I had an answer for them.
I got the call from Detective Judge to come as quickly as I could to the scene. Crime never seemed to care if it occurred in the middle of the night. Criminals enjoy committing the majority of their crimes at night while the rest of the world is trying to get some rest. The Detective wanted me on the scene to help identify what would cause a person to commit the crime that they had. He seemed to think that I would have some kind of insight. I don’t think he understands what journalism really entails. Regardless, here I was, standing in the rain surrounded by a crowd of confused bystanders, getting soaked. That’s what every girl dreams about when she is called by her boyfriend in the middle of the night.
Emerging from the crowd, that continued to get larger, I finally got my first look at the corpse. My first glance stunned me, my feet locked up in horror as my eyes took it all in. It was a young woman, not much older than I am. She had been beautiful. Porcelain skin, long dark hair, and a good sense in fashion. She had been someone who had lived her life in confidence. The body looked completely untouched aside from a gash about two inches long vertical on each of her wrists-she had bled out. But that isn’t what stood out to me. No, not her beauty, not her clothes, not the obvious way that she died… She was strung up to the light pole by her right ankle and left there for any spectator walking in the street. Hung up like clothes left to dry on the line. Whoever had done this wanted to display his handiwork.
We were dealing with a sociopath.