Short Story: A Dark and Deadly Song

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A Dark and Deadly Song

by Amelia Robinson

March 24, 2013

Ball Challenge, Figment.com

Prompt: Write an opening scene for a novel. Your scene should begin in the middle of the action—and there should be an unanswered question. Why is your character being chased; crying hysterically; hiding in the bathroom? It’s up to you what the “ball” is—just make sure to hide it!

Word Limit: 500 or less

Description: A boy finds the victim of a vicious werewolf attack.

Her gasps were wet because half her throat was gone.

I took a cursory glance over the rest of her body because I knew Doctor Graham would want to know the details. It was the smell that kept my stomach in my mouth. Blood, human blood especially, brought on the swelling desire for the hunt, and when you went your entire life eating things well cooked, suddenly taking a fancy to raw meat came with some adjustment.

Though my wolf roused at the thought of soft flesh, I couldn’t do more than glance over the exposed innards of her belly.

I swallowed, then grimaced as the scent of death slid into my gut.

Just concentrate.

In addition to her belly, her sternum had been split open. It started at her left collarbone, drew across her chest, then tapered off after slicing through several ribs on her right side.

A hip bone poked out. So did a knee cap. A bit of her thigh muscle was gone on both sides, and both of her calves were broken.

I didn’t remember my attack being so vicious, but then again, I’d been a wuss. I’d lost consciousness soon after my attacker loped away.

The girl gurgled, like she was trying to speak.

I knew there was damage to her face. There was always damage to the face. I could see the stark contrast between the white sheet of her skin and the dark swath of blood in my peripheral vision, but I couldn’t… I swallowed death again, and wished fiercely that Steven were here to do the honorable thing: talk to her, smooth her hair off her forehead, and ease her passing.

I remembered my attack. That moment just before slipping into blackness when I was so sure – so sure – that I was dying, and being consumed by fear and pain because there was nothing I could do but die.

I’d be a real bastard if I couldn’t even bring myself to look at her as she died.

Her eyes were closed, gripped tight with agony, but it was as if she sensed my gaze because her eyes blinked open.

White bone flashed under the torrent of blood flowing from a gash to her forehead. It slipped over her face, pooling in the corner of one her eyes. Her eyelashes were wet and clumped.

Though her lip was split, the corners of her mouth jerked up briefly, shakily, bravely. Like she was glad I was there.

When she died, the blood flowed into the whites of her eyes, unchecked. I shifted away from her. My heels were sore from kneeling.

Then she gasped and her body arched. I fell away from her, catching myself on my hands.  Her eyes were wide, same as her mouth, as she yanked air into her lungs.

As her body began healing, I watched as her eyes glinted suddenly in the moonlight, and they were no longer blue, but gold.

The Change had taken hold of her.

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