fight4whatisright wrote:As they say... good novels aren't written, they are re-written. So here goes nothing...
Chapter One
“`Cause nobody wants to do it on their own
And everyone wants to know they’re not alone
There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere
There’s gotta be somebody for me out there”
Gotta Be Somebody, Nickleback I like that you used this song. It was perfect for your chapter.
Where the black sky touched the white snow, there was movement. A wolf. He pushed through the snow wearily. His forever vigilant eyes scanned the hills for danger, but found he was alone.
I would start a new paragraph here and make the italics its own.Always alone….
New paragraph.Harsh winds blew from the north, sculpting the frozen tundra. All life here was waiting, holding its breath for spring to come, for longer days whose sunlight would coax forth new life.
The wolf was oblivious to its patience. Oblivious to the freezing snow that failed to penetrate his dense winter fur. Determination alone drove him forward, on and on through the snow. Determination to find what was missing from his life, to find his purpose. The Pull – the urge, the gut feeling to run - was leading him; it showed him the way.
Since the beginning the Pull had steered him through deserts, forests and countryside; up mountains, over rivers; through rain, shine or snow. He’d run until his legs gave out and fatigue got the better of him. He’d sleep through the better part of the day then wake up and dash off again, going in whatever direction the Pull hauled him, even if it led him to his death.
His life never used to be this way. His winters had never been this deadly, he used to spend them sitting in front of a blazing fire, surrounded by family and close friends. He would eat so much, till his shirt was bursting at the seams. That was back when he was just a normal kid. Now he was clenched in the jaws of loneliness, awaiting certain starvation. How had life changed so drastically? It had all begun three years ago... I would try having the question just be a statement (i.e. Life had changed so drastically)
Deep breaths... Come on, Dakota, you can make it through the last two minutes of class without throwing up. In... out... As Dakota concentrated on his breathing the four sickly yellow walls of the classroom pressed in on him. The sound of graphite scribbling on paper filled the room as the other students worked, but Dakota stared down at his trembling hands, unable to keep hold of his pencil. Why had he come to school today? His little sister had told him he looked like crap that morning; he should’ve listened and taken the day off.
The bell sounded out in the corridor, muffled through the wooden door. Eager to flee the stifling classroom so he could breathe, Dakota jumped to his feet. His chair tipped back, smacking loudly to the ground, and his vision shimmered in haze of dizziness. The other students filed out of the classroom, just a few worried faces looking back at Dakota and murmuring to each other. Sweat poured from Dakota’s brow, he closed his eyes, trying to regain himself.
“Dakota,” Mrs. Rush stepped out from behind her plastic desk, concern evident in her voice. “Are you feeling alright?”
Dakota fell forward onto the desk, static buzzing in his ears. Rip... tear... kill... devour... the static seemed to hiss. A guttural moan escaped him as his fingernails curled into claws, his teeth sharpening and reforming. The pale blonde hair covering his arms and legs darkened, growing thicker and longer and more... fur-like.
All at once his clothes ripped as his bones contorted and realigned into the sloped, broad-shouldered body of a wolf, his face tapered into a snout, and his hands and feet reformed into paws. It wasn’t painful; it was like unleashing a dark hidden power from deep within his soul. Suddenly he wasn’t him anymore; he was something better, more powerful.
Dakota’s wet, black nose crinkled and his lips pulled back in a snarl. Rip. Tear. Kill. Devour... the voice increased in tempo.
Mrs. Rush staggered back in alarm, hitting the whiteboard with an audible gasp. Before she could fill her lungs to scream, Dakota coiled back on his hind legs then lunged forward, sinking his teeth into his teacher’s throat. Rip, tear, Kill, Devour! Blood gushed into his mouth, oozing pleasantly between his teeth, down his throat... he longed for something meatier. Rip-tear-kill-devour! Holding her in his powerful jaw, he threw Mrs. Rush to the ground then bit into her thy.
She tried to scream, but only gurgling escaped her lips, accompanied by bubbling blood. She was choking on it, suffocating. The wolf stripped some muscle away from her leg bone and downed it all in one.
RipTearKillDevour- the chant broke off into silence, and Dakota was alone in his head. What am I doing? he thought, suddenly panicked. What am I? The overwhelming desire to kill he’d felt just seconds before was replaced with worry and confusion, and the want to throw up. He tore himself away from the mangled body of the teacher and crashed out of the classroom window and into the forest beyond.
He shook the memory from his mind. Stop dwelling on the past, he commanded himself, it’s been three years! But he could not escape the guilt. In a way, this lonely wandering was his punishment. In a completely different way, this was what he had to do, for reasons he could not explain.
There had to be something more than the mindless daily running. The magnetic force that pulled him across the country had to be guiding him somewhere. I will find it, whatever the Pull is leading me to, he vowed. I’ll find it or I’ll die trying.
The snowfield before him spread out endlessly like an ocean of white. Would the snow ever melt? Would the plains ever phase into forest? If so, when? How long could he go without food? Should he turn back, head for the forest from which he came, just to be safe? He looked back at the snowy ridge he’d just passed over and saw a white shape moving up there.
Food! Every instinct screamed at him to seize the moment, but he remained as frozen as the ground beneath him. Something held him back. The Pull. It didn’t want him to go that way. Stuff this, he thought angrily. I’m starving. Ice melted between his toes as he crunched back up the ridge, squinting his eyes against the sleet pounding in his face.
Whatever the shape had been, it was gone when he got there. However, dotting the ground ahead of him were paw prints leading back the way he’d came. He placed his own paw in one of them. Almost a perfect match. Whoever had been there, it had been someone like him. Someone neither wolf nor person. Maybe he wasn’t completely alone in this strange white world. How did he figure that the prints came from someone like him? Couldn't it have been just a regular wolf?
With nothing to lose, and so much to gain, he pushed onward.
Since the beginning the Pull had steered him through deserts, forests and countryside; up mountains, over rivers; through rain, shine or snow. He’d run until his legs gave out and fatigue got the better of him. He’d sleep through the better part of the day then wake up and dash off again, going in whatever direction the Pull hauled him, even if it led him to his death.
His life never used to be this way. His winters had never been this deadly, he used to spend them sitting in front of a blazing fire, surrounded by family and close friends.
He would eat so much, till his shirt was bursting at the seams.
Rip. Tear. Kill. Devour... the voice increased in tempo.
The Pull. It didn’t want him to go that way.
The plot very slightly reminded me of a series of books by Maggie Stiefvater. Have you read them? I just see similarities where your MC doesn't know why they turned into a wolf like those in her books.
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