Long story short, last night my husband and I were up until one in the morning playing Cards Against Humanity with a really fun crowd. We woke up late this morning and now we need to spend the day getting our backyard ready for our chickens to come home.
Oh yeah. Remember my chickens? They’ve been living with my mother-in-law for a while, since she has a coop and we don’t. They outgrew the bucket we had them in and needed room to spread their little wings. Today, my husband and I are building the coop area up as well as shopping for much-needed chicken-protection (don’t want my babies getting eaten by wild skunks!).
That being said, I don’t have a whole lot of time to write up a new blog post, so you get to enjoy a sneak peek at what I was working on yesterday–the first chapter of Martyrs: Book Two!
Pieces of this text have been edited or removed to, you know, avoid spoiling the first book. Everything else that’s in here is pretty much safe and won’t give away anything important!
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A small metal slug dropped into the porcelain sink. Thick, red tendrils pooled around it, beneath it, and down the drain. Thorn Rose swore under her breath and pressed crimson-stained fingers against the gash in her side. The blood pumped slowly through them. Ba-bum. With each passing second, she could feel the flow slowing. Ba-bum. Fuck. She didn’t have time for this shit.
Another knock on the door. Jay Coons had been at it for thirty minutes now, rapping every so often and asking if he needed to call the police. No matter how many times she told him not to, he asked again. Thorn was losing her patience. Not that she had much to begin with.
“I’m fine,” she snarled. She felt him hesitate, like he was going to knock again but decided against it.
“You’re covered in blood.”
She didn’t answer that one.
Thorn was the only person in the women’s restroom at The Cross, which was fine and dandy for her. Anyone else would probably faint at the sight of her blood-soaked shirt discarded on the floor beside her. Or at the leaking hole between her ribs. Sparkie, Thorn’s blue-bodied, red-winged companion, lay curled on the back of the single toilet. He winced as she removed her hand and the blood began to flow openly again.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
“What did you say?” Jay called through the door again. Thorn reached up and grabbed a wad of paper towels from the dispenser beside the mirror. She caught a glimpse of herself–of the cut above her eye, dribbling blood along her nose, and the scarlet streaks across her bare torso–and she suppressed a bitter laugh.
How was she going to talk her way out of this one?
“Get me a cigarette,” she murmured to Sparkie. The lizard dove into her black satchel and emerged a moment later with a lighter and a Marlboro Red. Thorn held the paper towels tight against her side. Jay rapped at the door again.
“Who the hell are you talking to?”
“Don’t you have customers to serve?” Thorn spat as she propped the cigarette between her lips and lit the tip. Her lungs heaved a deep breath of nicotine. Pain shot through her side as her ribcage widened to make room for the tainted air. She ignored it. A small surge of blood soaked the towels. The bleeding was slowing down. Good. Then she could get her drink.
She fucking needed one, after the day she’d had.
“If you don’t open that door in half an hour, I’m calling an ambulance,” Jay finally said. Thorn took another long puff on her Marlboro as he walked down the hall and back into the crowded bar. She glanced to Sparkie, and the small lizard just tilted his head. Half an hour? She could be cleaned up in half an hour.