Monday, October 25, 2010

Never Ending Scene Blogfest Entry

Thank you to Brenda Drake for hosting this blogfest. Please visit her page to get a list of the other entries. We were all charged with writing a scene with a cliffhanger of sorts. A scene that you would rather stab your eye out then stop reading. Hopefully my scene has done that.

My selection is from a short story in which I re-wrote a popular fairytale. I wrote it under a pen name because the entire work as pretty *romantic* we'll say. Again, hopefully the selection will leave you... hungry for more.
     “Thanks for the concern,” she casts a sarcastic glance up toward her strapping savior. “But, maybe I want a little danger in my life.”
     Scarlet pulls her hood down, allowing a wider range for her peripheral vision, and then sets off again. After several steps, her cloak sweeps up and her fiery tresses rustle as a sudden gust whips through the trees. Wrapping her cloak tighter around her shoulders, she strides on with purpose. Determined. Her feet crunch the goldenrod, crimson, and rusty sienna bed beneath her slippered feet, a rhythmic cadence pacing the cricket’s delightful chorus as she travels deeper into the darkness.
     Her eyes adjust to the unlit path, treetops shunning the moon’s attempts to light Scarlet’s journey. A sharp whistle sails past her ears. Tickling. Unnerving.
     A howl pierces the night’s crisp air, ripping through Scarlet’s consciousness. Faint footfalls gnaw at her soul. Beginning as a well-spaced, monotonous drone, the rate of them increases the faster Scarlet’s own feet move.
     Suddenly, they stop. Everything stops. Eerie silence cocoons her. Deafening. She looks cautiously. Nerves fraying. C’mon, girl! Get a grip!
     She steps forward again, feeling eyes on her skin. Their heat primal… inhuman. Her pale skin prickles beneath her cloak, goose bumps rising, hair standing on her neck. She rubs her arms as chills thread through her arteries, icing her blood. Her eyes dart from side to side. Searching. Combing the spaces between cold shafts of moonlight suddenly permitted to stream through the dense canopy of treetops.
     From the darkness appears a single pair of foreign eyes. Glowing. Sinister. A low growl reverbs. Scarlet’s heart rises into her throat, pulse racing madly as a huge, bristly wolf prowls from the abyss onto the path, blocking her advance.
     Snarling. Hissing, it speaks, “Grrrl, it’s a bit late for dinner. Evening snack, are you?”
     Scarlet stares into the teeth of the beast, into the heat of the slivered, lupine eyes, unable to break its gaze. Captive. She curses her folly in not taking the roundabout way. Her red lips purse tightly. She grips her basket tighter, pale, boney knuckles protruding to sharp points.
     “Did you not hear me, grrrl?” the wolf snarls. “Did no one warn you of me? Surely they must’ve.”
     “Your speech is rather proper for a w-w-wolf.”
     “The better to ease your fears, my dear, and lower your defenses…”
     Scarlet’s heart hammers in her chest. Her pulse drums in her ears. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Her free hand twitches as she searches desperately for a witty remark to divert the wolf’s mind from devouring her.
     “What’s in the basket?” The wolf snarls, raising his eyebrows, drawing closer. “You smell, I mean, it smells… delicious.”