(Here is the first Chapter from my new novel. I wrote this on Valentine’s Day, not sure if that made a difference)
I’m carrying her in my arms when the first blow lands. It catches me on the back of the head and I stumble forward almost dropping her. Almost. I manage to put her on her feet and spin around to face the attack.
The second blow lands and my neck snaps backwards as the force ricochets through me. There are two of them. This one came from a running punch. I keep her behind me. She is screaming.
Anger. Adrenaline. Pain. Fear. I lash out, catching both with fists, forearms, elbows. They struggle and groan. There is blood; mine, theirs. They are small but I am outnumbered. I can’t fight them both and hold her back at the same time.
She is shouting at one of them as the third blow lands. I’m dazed, distracted. My volley has done nothing to dissuade them. They come at me again. One of them is shouting. I still love you. I still love you. I still love you.
Stop. Stop it. One of them is on the ground. I broke my knuckle on his jaw bone. The other jumps on me. I wrestle with him, but now she has chance to get hold of him too. I try to hold her back, but she is clawing at him. I throw him to the ground. The first one is back to his feet now.
I’m trying to pull her away as the fourth blow lands. The fifth and sixth follow. I manage to pick her up and move her, placing myself between them and her. The blows are coming faster now. I dodge what I can, absorb the rest.
One of the blows catches my eye, another the bridge of my nose. I can’t see. The screams and shouts and cries are louder. I lash out but the momentum is theirs. We are close to the centre of town, but no-one is coming. No-one can hear.
I grab them both as they kick and punch. Run, I tell her. Run. She never did listen. She manages to grab hold of one of them again. Stop. Stop it. I let go of them and grab her, I pick her up and try to take her away from this.
I’m carrying her in my arms when I feel another blow to the back of the head. This is no fist. This is heavier, harder. I feel something else, something warm. Blood. Another blow and I stumble forward. I let her go and fall to my knees. She is screaming.
There is fear and blood as I turn and see the metal pole he is holding. I am scared as the next blow lands on the side of my head, knocking me to the tarmac. My face hits the floor hard. My skull is cracked. She is screaming louder now.
I am losing consciousness as I see the first blow land. He punches her in the stomach. She’s on the floor now. She’s lying close to me. She’s too far away. I can taste blood, tears, bone. He strikes her across the face. I can’t move.
I feel no pain as the metal pole breaks my ribs, my collarbone. The one she knows is holding her face. He is shouting. Don’t you understand. Don’t you understand. I still love you. She can’t talk back. He strikes her again but she doesn’t feel it. I feel it.
A boot to my face breaks more teeth. The metal pole is passed between them. I still love you. She is still, quiet, lifeless, like a doll. I still love you. I still love you. She’s had enough the other one says. Come on, she’s had enough. No. I still love her.
I can’t breathe as they finally stop and walk away. Shattered ribs, punctured lungs, broken heart. She isn’t moving. I’m dizzy, the world is blur. I hear them laugh in the distance. I try to move, but my body screams. I need to move.
We are lying together, but this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. We are too far away from the main road. No-one can see us. Nobody is coming to help. I’m looking at her, feeling myself slip in and out of consciousness. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
I can’t see the damage to my body, to my face, but I know it’s bad. The adrenaline is wearing off. The blood is flowing. I dig my fingernails into the ground, and I push. I push myself up. I’m standing, barely. I’m looking at her.
I’m screaming, crying, bleeding, as i pick her up. I stumble forward almost dropping her. Almost. I stumble, but I don’t fall. I see a bright glow, not the sunrise, just passing headlights. The main road. A car stops alongside us.
I’m carrying her in my arms as I feel the last blow. I hit the floor, falling backwards, cradling her. The last thing I feel is them taking her away from me, and the flashing lights become a sunset and then there is black.
“Writers tend to work early in the morning, or late at night, when brains are naturally able to focus deeply on one thought. In the middle of the day, distractions are unavoidable. I wonder if anything worthwhile has ever been written in the afternoon.”—
Probably not very interesting, but this is a blog about what I get up to, so it’s relevant in that way. I just had an email from my accountant confirming that CRASHBURN PRODUCTIONS has now evolved into CRASHBURN MEDIA LTD. At 26, I’m now a director of my own limited company.
This doesn’t by ANY…
I’d love to see the Funeral footage when it’s ready - point me in the right direction! Oh and good luck with the company, no one ever won the high jump by aiming low! :)