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06 November 2011 @ 11:50 am
Here's the opening to my NaNoWriMo entitled, Apocalypse Nowish about three people who are charged with averting an apocalypse that isn't really on schedule.

This is the purest of rough drafts since yes, it is NaNo, so keep that in mind.


Fentress Taylor lived to be 104 years old and still had her wits about her. She lived through two world wars, traveled the whole wide world, wore exotic clothes (bright colors, loud and attention seeking), she spoke three languages and wore long purple scarves that matched her eyes. Finney remembered that the most, the deep color of violet staring at her from behind thick black eyelashes. She smelled like the ocean and always held Finney close.

“Big things in store for you,” Aunt Fentress would tell, reading the fine lines on Finney’s little hand.”


“Don’t worry, you have some time.” She folded Finney’s hand and put it back in her lap. She rook off her reading glasses and went about her business.

“What’s gonna happen?”

“Don’t you worry,” she repeated and combed through Finney’s hair. “You’ll be just fine.”

Finney was only seven when Great Aunt Fentress Taylor died, but she remembers every moment, every gesture and story. She told lots of stories, kind of scary. About ghosts and monsters and how to keep them all away. “Always carry some salt with you,” Aunt Fentress would say while she taught Finney how to bake cupcakes. “And holy water. If you throw holy water in anything’s face and it’s bad, you’ll know.”

“Okay.” Finney just kept stirring the bowl.

She spent a lot of time at Great Aunt Fentress’ towards the end. And the stories got more elaborate and once (and only once) she showed Finney the Beretta Laramie pistol (which she carried with her in her purse until the day she died), with the pearl handle and her initials carved in. “I want you to have this one day,” Aunt Fentress said. But she wouldn’t let Finney touch it, just showed her the silver bullets. “And always make sure you have these. Regular bullets don’t usually work.”

Finney’s parents, William and Helen (especially Helen) didn’t like all that talk, but no one told Fentress Taylor what to do or what to say. Whatever she said went, and everyone listened.

Fentress Bray, however, is fifteen and pretty sure that she is going crazy and dying. Fifteen is a long way from 104.
Current Location: the lair
Current Mood: awakeawake
Current Music: Somebody Told Me - The Killers