I have an issue with writing hundreds of first chapters for this novel, this is my latest attempt. A little flowery but I think its okay.
It was dark, the night, cold, bitter and unforgiving. A man stood alone, his silhouette burning a hole in the night sky. He looked up into the moon, a silver galleon raising though a stormy silver sea, a bad omen? Prehaps...
A car pulled up into the abandoned gravel road. I could see him approach, the hood of his jacket pulled down over dark hair and an even darker frown.
I stood hidden from sight, drifting amongst the trees, feeling the night wind ripple though my hair. The man stood as sharp as flint by the car, strong hands gripping a long oak staff. There where voices, muffled by the sharp wind, an exchange of information though a half rolled car window. Money and angry voices, men yelling obscenities, mysterious white packages slotted though car windows.
I stood waiting, as patient as I could be but the cold was beginning to bite into my face, nibbling though my gloves into my soft flesh like vivacious little piranhas. My task was to be silent, to stay out of the picture, I was never very good at staying silent. I heard the sound of an engine roaring, tires pulling back on the gravel, headlight beams fading into the distance. I slid out of the shadows into the moonlight and moved closer.
He stood there. I could feel the air grow icy as I moved closer. My breath turned to frost before me, the pale white slithering into the darkness. My whole body shook, my heart beating against my cheast like sneakers in a tumble drier.
"Wolfie..." I muttered, frost spewing out of my mouth.
"I thought I ordered you to stay back," he snarled rabidly, staring intently into the distance. I stepped back, my shoes sliding over the gravel. I could hear his feet move. Feel his hand grab by thin shoulder gripping me tight, pulling me back towards the trees. I heard the rustle of keys in a crowded pocket. The *blink* of a motor bike alarm, the orange flash of lights issuing from the motorbike, hidden under the trees.
“Move it," he hissed, pushing me harder, his strong vice grip crushing my thin shoulders. I groaned, nearly tripping over my own feet. He drove me forward, shoving a large heavy helmet violently on my head.
"I said move it! We have to get out of here fast!"
"But why? You said you where just meeting with an old friend."
"Ugh, just shut up and get on the bike, the sound of your voice makes me want to shoot myself in the head," he snarled, I felt hands reach for my waist, gripping so tight I couldm’t breath. He lifted me up, placing me, like a broken rag doll onto the back of the sleek black Harvey Davison. I squirmed, sick. I could feel his cool breath brush against the nape of my neck, like tiny little spiders crawling up into my mind sending chills down my spine,
"Let mee go..."
" SHUT UP!"
His body froze with anger, so tense that he could explode any second. I stopped moving, letting him place me on the bike. Silent seconds past, before he began to breathe again, slinging long legs over the shining metal frame. I heard the engine growl under me, vibrating with rage, a cadged beast ready to kill. I gripped his torso and prepared my self for a wild, wild ride.
The engine roared, gravel flying into the air. I felt the acceleration pull my body forwards, my heart lurching as the whole world began to blur. His large hands gripped the throttle. I gagged as we launched forward, dirty flying into my face. The trees leaned forward, branches like disemboweled limbs moving closer as we hurtled past. We hit the bitumen with a thump, my body shaking. I saw the speedometer flicker, going higher, higher and higher. Sharp wind like syringes blew against my hands. Soon the trees thinned segueing to form tattered homesteads. The glowing cat’s-eyes became one endless bright line as the beams from the head lights hit their reflective surfaces.
Wolfie had ridden out far. He didn't want his 'friend' to know where we lived, the place we called home. Soon enough the began homesteads became warehouses and the road segued into a highway.
I turned my head, looking back into the street light distance. A black car, sleek and fast, prowled out from a corner. I felt cold. I whispered his name and held on tighter.
He turned his head back
"Get ready to fight," he growled as we spun to a stop. I could feel my dinner sloshing around my stomach. A staff appeared materialized in his hands. I screamed, as he charged.
