Welcome to the Weekend Writing Warriors post.
The idea is to sign up on their site and share 8 sentences of your writing, published or unpublished, to go live between midday Saturday and 9am Sunday. Then anyone can comment (critiques welcome!) on the section posted.
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My sentences today, again, come from the first draft of Seven Sisters, Chapter Three. They follow the scene I shared last week, and I will admit, are actually 12 sentences in order to make sense. By this point, Rogan has murdered the main character’s mother.
Rogan sat in the lounge of the airport, his right ankle resting upon his left knee and a paper in his hands; mimicking the actions of hundreds of passengers. It was important to blend in here. Out of politeness, he smiled at the man next to him, who looked to be in his late sixties.
Scanning the crowds, Rogan found the worry in those around him to be exhausting. Had they forgotten their swimming costume; had they given their relatives the right numbers in case of emergency; would they get mugged or killed while in their country of choice; did they have enough time to make their change in flights and were they even heading for the right aeroplane, going in the right direction?
What had once been a prestigious airport was now a large room with a single runway outside. Its main business ran from the stable block for the dragons and winged-horses, well out of sight of mortal’s view. He saw Kayla through the crowd and stood, grabbing his bag. He kept his eyes on those around him; his ears alert for sounds of distress or useful information, and his senses open to any with the gift of magic.
“Are we really going to fly one?” Kayla’s excitement mirrored that of a small child. Rogan bit back a sarcastic comment. Not everyone flew on a winged-horse, even in this job.
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Did you miss last week’s entry? Check out the excerpts page to see other examples of my work.
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