Mostly fantasy and sci-fi. I'm also working on a crime drama screenplay for a friend.
Stuff I shat out, of varying levels of embarrasingness, can be read at
http://drfeelbad.deviantart.com/ and
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cryingorc along with some other bullshit.
But since half of that sucks, here's an excerpt from something I'm working on:
Her sleep was broken by the distant ringing of the church bell, shouting, and cries of fear.
The darkness of her cramped bedroom was broken by the door swinging open to reveal her mother, still in her bedclothes, looking ragged and worried, carrying a flickering lantern that cast a twisting, amber light from the doorway. Shambling in, her mother knelt down and held her close.
“Anna.” She whispered in between heavy gasps for breath. “We’re going to go around to the cellar. Once we’re outside, I want you to shut your eyes, and don’t open them until I say it’s safe.”
The fear in her mother’s voice, and the urgent questions welling in her mind rose Anna from her drowsiness. Too stunned to speak, she simply nodded, and her mother led her outside.
As she stepped out, the bells, shouting, became clearer. There were women screaming for their children, children screaming for their mothers, and men screaming for all matter of things. Amidst the chaotic din, she could make out a few distinct cries.
“Get more water!”
“The east side is lost, everyone’s been massacred!”
“They’re inside the village!”
Suddenly, Anna felt her mother pull her backwards, before hearing a series of loud crashes, like several trees being felled at once, and being hit with a rush of hot air. Despite what her mother had told her, Anna couldn’t help but open her eyes, and found herself staring into a roaring fire.
Looking around, she realized they were standing at the ruins of the village blacksmith’s shop, which had been reduced to a mass of burning wood, and that several other homes were either engulfed in flame, or burned to the ground as smoke and hot ash blew about.
Chaos surrounded Anna and her mother, with all manner of people, from the village militia, to simple farmers armed with pitchforks and shovels scampering about, attempting in vain to control the fires, looking for their wives and children, and tending to wounded men. Glancing downward, she realized she realized a fallen horse lay next to her, its belly crudely ripped open, spilling blood and gore on the rough cobblestone. Quickly turning away from the gruesome sight, Anna spotted the familiar face of her father as he broke away from the confusion and limped toward her and her mother. As he drew near, Anna spotted, to her horror, a crimson trail originating from his crudely bandaged thigh descending down his white militia-issue trousers.
“Thank God you’re both alive.” He wheezed, nearly doubling over from exhaustion.
“The damned things are inside the village.” He said, holding Anna’s mother close. “Take our daughter, and run for the church as fast as you can.”
Glancing upward, Anna spotted dark shapes against the night sky, moving from rooftop to rooftop. Cursing under his breath, Anna’s father drew his falchion in one hand, and his hunting knife in another before rejoining the mayhem.
“Go!” He shouted as they lost sight of him.
