This is just a little inside look at my imagination. It's only the first page of 5 that I wrote last night. It drops right into the middle of the story, I know. I might work on some exposition later, but for now, this is a typical day in my head.
As I sat on the floor, book in hand, I watched the flame of my candle flicker. I had only lit it and set it on my desk a few minutes ago. Now, I couldn't imagine what made it shudder so violently. The only source of moving air was a small heater next to me, and it was facing the opposite direction.
I watched the candle wink at me as it danced to a fast beat I couldn't hear. Its sporadic bursts of light reflected of the white walls behind it, tinting the bare surface pale orange. For a second, I expected the candle to go out.
If only it had.
In one glorious moment the flame sprung up six feet and retreated back to its typical size. Where the great ball of fire had just been, a man now floated in the air. He stepped down onto the table and brushed himself off. Not a crease showed on his black suit, and his shoes gleamed in the steady candlelight. Everything about him was sharp, from his attire to his hair to the features on his face, and even the look in his eyes.
I knew him. But this wasn't the same person. It was like this man had taken the image of my friend and distorted his features till they were ice cold. This man was a stranger to me.
He did not waste time searching for me. Instead, he looked straight to the corner where I had curled up. He stepped off my desk gracefully and walked toward me like a great cat, ready to pounce. I watched him stalk over with cautious eyes.
"You," he said, jabbing the word at me like a sword.
I continued to stare at him cautiously.
"I know what you want," he said.
I narrowed my eyes. How could he know that? He couldn't. He didn't know.
"Yes, I do know."
Could he read minds?
"Make a deal with me," he said. "I can make it happen."
