Ricky is writing a book! You WOULDN'T BELIEVE what it's about!

Okay. I know. I started this blog out to be my creative blog where I posted random creative stuff, and so far there's been none of that. So sue me.

Actually please don't, I need that money for Ramen...

Anyway, my assertive creative side finally decided to put an end to that, and I can now present to you the first chapter of a novel I'm working on. If you want to skip the next little bit and just start reading, scroll until you see a bold "Chapter 1." For those of you sticking it out with me, I'll give you some back-story and summaries.

 "Step aside, boys. I got this one."

The book is still unfinished, untitled, unedited, and altogether undone, so as you read feel free to laugh at any misspelled words, stupid phrasing, and otherwise, and please call me out on it. I want this to be as good as possible. I have thick skin. I'll be okay, I promise.

Tentatively titled "The Reaper Saga," with a placeholder name for part 1 called "Deals," my book is the about a boy named Alex who has had a less than perfect life. And it's about to get a whole lot worse. Here's the official-unofficial dust jacket synopsis I wrote for it back when it was my NaNoWriMo project.

"Death can come in many ways. For Alex Jensen, it was a brutal car crash that sent him flying headfirst into cold asphalt. He was dead, or at least, he should have been. When he wakes up from his coffin in the local mortuary, all Hell breaks loose. Demons and spirits torment him as he tries to find out why he's alive, and what the price was that he paid for it. Now Alex must put aside his troubled past and decide who he can trust as he tries to change the future, and ultimately, save his own life."

I started writing this over 6 years ago, after a dream I had where I woke up in a mortuary only to find out that I had died the day before. I'll spare you the details, mostly because chapters one and two give them all fairly accurately, but the dream has stuck with me over the years. It replayed in my head until it became a cohesive story. And then I began to write. And draft. And rewrite. And outline. And rewrite again. Pretty soon I had filled up entire notebooks with paragraphs of character information, subtleties, plot points, twists, ideas, crap things that I dropped, and even more insane twists and dark ideas that I honestly couldn't believe came from my own mind. After juggling all that for a long time, I finally came up with the story I wanted. All I have to do now is finish writing it.

Problem is, I'm not the best wordsmith in the world, so that's where you come in. Go ahead and tear into me after you read this. I won't mind. In fact, I'll be grateful you did! And if you like it, and want more, let me know! I need an extra push to write, and a bit of positive peer pressure can go far. 

Everyone else is doing it....

So, without further delay nor ado, I present to you the first chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

            Blood surged through my veins. I felt my heart pulsing against my chest steadily, almost obnoxiously. It only took a few seconds for the rush of warmth to current through my entire body. Every pulse felt uncomfortable, painful even. Blood isn't a normal thing to be aware of - unless of course it’s spilling out of your body - yet I was feeling it pump through every inch of my insides.

            My eyes still shut, I laid still and attempted to gather my scattered thoughts. Alex. My name is Alex Jensen. I’m seventeen years old. At least I could remember that much.

Fighting a throbbing headache, I strained as I tried to think of what I had been doing or where I was. Wherever it was the place smelled familiar, though it wasn’t a welcome scent. Death. My mind managed to come up with that one word. I took a deep breath of the rank air and winced as every cramped muscle in my body stretched. It felt as if I hadn’t moved in days.

My vision blurred violently as I opened my eyes to a sheer whiteness. I instinctively blinked and felt my eyelashes brush against a thin white sheet that covered my head. With an incredibly sore arm I pulled the white sheet off of myself and tried to sit up. After something of a struggle with my complaining muscles I reached a sitting position, but what I saw almost made me fall right back down.

I sat in the center of a rectangular room. The walls and ceiling were painted a pure white that made the beige carpet look dirty. In the walls to the left and right of me were cut four shelves, each one adorned with its own elaborate flower arrangement. In front of me the room opened up into an expansive area littered with chairs and tables. Above me a very dusty, very old crystal chandelier shone its murky light into the silent room. Below me was a raised platform, almost like an altar, covered in even more flowers. On top of that I sat inside of a dark brown wooden coffin. The coffin was closed over my feet, but the part that would cover my head was opened. I remembered back to my father’s viewing before his funeral – the coffin was in the same position.

It was a brief memory, but it was something I would never be able to forget. I was five years old, too young to understand the gravity of my situation, but old enough to realize that I was now utterly alone. My mother had run off when I was two, and I had been raised by my father. Now my father was gone. The night before, he had left the house, I don’t know why or where he went, but he promised he’d be back soon. Now he lied in a coffin with three bullet holes in his chest. I remembered looking up at the wooden box – I was too short to see inside – when a stranger approached me from behind and lifted me by the armpits so I could see my dad one last time. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I stared at his lifeless face – the only emotion I could feel was emptiness – until the stranger spoke. “I’m sorry Alexander,” he droned, although nothing about his voice sounded apologetic, “but your father was a criminal and met a criminal’s end.” The stranger then lowered me to the ground. The emptiness inside me was replaced by helpless anger as he looked me in the eye and said, “I won’t let you grow up to be like him.”

Formaldehyde. That was the smell. I was in a mortuary.

I couldn’t make sense of it. How did I mysteriously wake up in a coffin at the mortuary? It had to be a prank.

A disgusting, rude prank.

Shaking off the shock, I hoisted my body out of the casket only to fall to the ground when my numb legs gave out beneath me. I lifted myself up, annoyed at my sudden weakness, when I noticed something even more strange. I was dressed in a suit and tie.

I tried to push out the thought of how I had gotten so eloquently dressed – I had never even owned, let alone thought about wearing a suit – and worked up the strength to take a few steps. I hobbled awkwardly out of the room and glanced behind me.

My mouth fell open in surprise. Sitting behind the coffin were six stands. Four bearing wreathes and flower arrangements. The other two held large framed pictures of my face.

The pictures were old and a little blurry from being enlarged, but my thin frame, brown hair, and light brown eyes were still recognizable. I hadn’t had a decent picture of myself taken in years. The photos on the stand showed a soft faced, fourteen year old boy, quite the contrast from the more matured person that I was now.

If this is one of Cole’s pranks, I thought, he sure didn’t hold back. It was normal for Cole to pull stupid pranks on me, but this seemed like too much. I had known Cole for more than five years. I was only twelve when the rugged, black haired sixteen year old first crossed my path and, although I had never completely trusted him, we had been friends ever since.

I turned back and continued into the next room. Tables and chairs were neatly set up all around. It was obvious that they hadn’t been used yet. To my right were a pair of double doors marked with a green “EXIT” sign and, with my strength slowly returning, I made my way through the maze of tables toward them.

I pulled the doors open and walked into a smaller room where a young receptionist sat at a desk reading a thick novel. My entrance was immediately met by the girl’s annoyed glare. Her perturbed expression quickly changed to shock however as I looked back at her, a confused half-smile on my face.

 “Is this some kind of joke?” she said, her voice quavering. She dropped her book on the desk and recoiled slightly.

“As if you don’t know.” I meant for it to sound accusing, but I could sense the nervousness in my own voice. I coughed to try to hide it. She must have been in on the prank and I didn’t plan on entertaining Cole’s joke any longer.

“I’m… I’m calling the cops!” the girl squeaked. I shook my head and did my best to act disinterested as I reached the glass front doors of the mortuary.

“Yeah, whatever.” I murmured, trying to convince myself now more than anyone else that this was all just a joke.

The cold of the metal door handle sent a chill up my back. I pulled the door open and felt the cool autumn air on my face, smelled the scent of fresh cut grass, heard the strange silence of distant traffic. I stopped in the doorway for a moment, shocked at the sudden realization of things I should be used to, but as fast as the feeling came it was gone again.

Ignoring the “please keep off the grass” signs, I walked across the lawn in front of a larger sign that bore the building’s name.

Welcome to

PARADISE MORTUARY

697 Main Street, Paradise, Vermont

I remembered passing that sign almost every day just a few years ago on my way to and from Paradise Middle School. I had always gotten a laugh with my friends at the irony of the city mortuary’s name. Now however, I didn’t see any humor in it.

The receptionist continued to stare at me through the glass front doors as I turned toward mine and Cole’s apartment. Although I technically lived with my Aunt Eveline and Uncle Scott Harris, I never went to their house. I had actually officially run away the week before and Uncle Scott got so mad that he told me he’d shoot me if I ever came back. All that that house really was to me was a place to be legally registered while I live with Cole in the apartment. It was probably better that way too. I was sure that my uncle hated me and my aunt – my father’s sister – was never too keen of me anyway. It was a wonder that that woman was related to my father, with all their blatant differences.

As I walked my mind began to wander, searching almost desperately for an explanation to what was going on. Once again my memory failed me, but I shrugged it off. My apartment was only three blocks away now and once I got there I’d grill Cole for information.

Small stores were on either side of me as I walked down Main Street. I tried to keep my hands from shaking and sweat from beading up on my forehead. My eyes darted around as I went, the feeling of someone watching me weighing down my already confused mind. The almost empty street seemed to glare back at me. The fact that I was dressed in a full suit only made the feeling worse. I tried to calm myself down as I crossed an empty intersection, the hum of a hushed crowd catching my attention and making me look up. Just across the street was an electronics store with a television display in the window showing the five o’clock news. The display had drawn a small group of spectators and, curious to see what was going on, I crossed the street to join them.

“…Fatal car crash near Paradise this morning at about 4:00 AM” I could barely hear the voice of the female newscaster over the mumbling of the crowd, but something about what I heard made my heart race. “Authorities are not yet sure of the cause, but suspect that the driver of the yellow Hummer H3 was asleep at the wheel. Officers also suspect that the driver of the black Jeep Wrangler may have been under the influence of alchohol…”

Car crash. Yellow Hummer. Black Jeep Wrangler.

I tried to swallow the knot in my throat.

“Three victims of the crash were pronounced dead at the scene, with a fourth in critical condition.”

Dead. Last night. 4:00 AM.

“Victims were identified as seventeen year old…” I felt my legs get weak as my face appeared on all five screens in the window. I stumbled to the wall of the store as a cold sweat dampened my face. In seconds the horrifying memories of the night before rushed back to me.

I could feel the pulse in my neck pounding as I whispered two impossible words.

“I died.”