Posted by: victanguera | July 10, 2009

Day #15 Exercise

A day behind again. Eep, doing things after work with friends on weeknights really affects my writing time. I need to find a more effective way to balance a personal life with a creative life. This weekend looks to be insane too. My son is moving back home, so I need to prepare a room for him. This means packing up boxes of books and the computer. Aak. And I still want to write every day. Someone tell me I can do it.

Here is yesterday/today’s exercise (and this might just wind up included in my WIP):

The SUV responded to the extra exertion of my foot against the gas pedal, surging around the corner. Trees huddled close to the road on my right, almost brushing against the car. Water dripped steadily from the mist drifting off the cliff on my left. The only sound was the swish of my car tires on pavement.

A piercing siren wrenched my thoughts off Drew and his delicious neck. I did not need company right now. And especially not human company.

Easing off the gas, I pulled over. Fingers curled tightly around my steering wheel, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe. I hadn’t remembered to take in any air since running out on Drew, leaving his bleeding body behind. Appearing human right now wouldn’t be easy.

Powering down the window, I stared at the lean form of the officer striding toward my vehicle. I toyed with the idea of sliding out of my vehicle and forcing him to run. Rubbing at my face, I once again tried to force oxygen into my lungs and convince my chest to pump with a semblance of life. Shuddering gasps racketed through me.

“License, please.” He stood with legs splayed, one thumb hooked casually through a front belt-loop, a vision of masculine power and strength. My canines itched with the need to consume blood, and my neck muscles twitched in anticipation.

How fast can you run, I thought. Loosening my death grip on the steering wheel, I pulled my license out of my pocket and flicked it through the window at him. If I made eye contact with him, it would be over before it began. And he wouldn’t have a chance at survival.

His blunt fingers caught my license in a deft move. He glanced at my photograph and stared at me comparing the image to the reality. Resisting the urge to lick my lips, I stared rigidly at the road ahead, my hands once again gripping the wheel.

“Registration. Going a bit fast, don’t you think,” he said as I handed them to him. “This is a dangerous section of road, especially in this fog.”

“Yes.” Just give me the damn ticket and get out of here. While you can. If I used any additional force to encourage him to leave, the touch of his mind would be enough to drive me over the edge.

“Is there a reason for the rush?” He tapped the edge of my license against the envelope holding my registration. The thwap of plastic against plastic shivered along my nerve endings.

“No.” I shook my head in a single sharp gesture. Almost unconciously, my nostrils flared, drinking in his musky aroma. It would smell so much sharper if he ran. Pungent, tangy. Delicious. “I just didn’t realize.”

“Wait here, please.” He turned abruptly, headed back for the cruiser. The wait stretched out interminably, allowing my mind to turn over fresh images of Drew, the red blood running down the front of his shirt, gave me time to savour the memory of the fear in his eyes.

Time to think of what that lean officer’s body would look like sprinting down the road in front of me.

“All right. You can go.” He handed me back my documents, slapped the palm of his hand against the roof of my car and disappeared back into the night.

Just in time too.

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Responses

  1. You can do it! You can handle anything and everything. Without challenges, we wouldn’t thrive as writers.

    • Thanks Mercedes. I missed yesterday too. Aak, hate that.


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