Evening... *tips hat*
Im not actually wearing a hat... but theres one near by, atop the head of a skeleton infact. and no, im not joking. he's also wearing a tie.
So yes, my plan is to update fortnightly, but it wont happen, you know this, i know this, the dapper skeleton knows this. its just one of those facts. i mean, discounting my portfolio, the last post of actual art before last week was in may. yes, may.
so my "fortnight" will almost certainly be monthly. but hey, its the though that counts?
in the meantime. heres a bit of book, its not much, but i dont wanna give it all away ;) you'll have to all wait till it (never) gets published.
This is the first page of chapter three (there are 5 more finished chapters at the moment)
Enjoy (if any one reads this)
Jonas’s head screamed out in protest at what ever at happened, mentally berating his subconscious and logging the instruction; never do that again! He experimented with opening his eyes and regretted it instantly; the world they tried (and failed) to focus on was golden yellow and spinning, like custard in a washing machine. Though it was hard to tell if this was a by-product of his psyche or not. Either way it made him feel incredibly sick so he shut his eyes and made another mental not to do that either.
He ached profusely, from his head to his toes there wasn’t a bit of him that didn’t hurt, and there were several places he didn’t know could hurt. He could feel something digging into his shoulder, and another into his left thigh. Groping blindly – his eyes still shut- his hands fell upon what felt like a boot and an elbow. He squeezed the latter making it twitch and shoved the boot away from his shoulder.
This minor physical effort seemed to drain him so he decided to refrain from further movement for the time being and instead tried to figure out what had happened.
It felt different now, warm, close and the air smelt musty, like a shed; earthy and natural- alive. The ground beneath him was gritty, small pebbles and sand sat atop rough stones. His hand brushed over a twig, dry and brittle. Had there been a cave in? Were these fragments of roof he could feel, roots, cracked stone.
Deciding that the mystery was great enough to warrant the pain involved, Jonas once again forced his eyes open a crack, they were greeted by light. There shouldn’t be light was the response his mind came up with, why is there light?
Ignoring the increasing protests his body made, he forced his eyes all the way open, and then once again very rapidly shut. The sky also shouldn’t be purple and yellow, his mind helpfully pointed out.
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