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Cook
03-01-2012, 04:59 PM
I'm getting very close to finally finishing Incubus, but here's an excerpt from the text, which I posted earlier.

Perhaps it was on the way home when Todd finally snapped. Elizabeth couldnít possibly love that other guy; no way. Maybe she was being forced into it. Maybe she didnít mean it; after all, Todd had some much more chemistry with her than she had with the other guy.
Yes, that was it; she was being held hostage. The other guy was desecrating her. The one thing Todd considered holy was being torn apart. The other guy was doing this to insult Todd. And after a life of being insulted, Todd wasnít going to stand for it any longer. It would end now.
Todd paced around the house in the dead of night, concealing himself in the shadows. Oddly enough, he felt safer in the darkness. He didnít know why. Maybe it was because nobody could see him; nobody could pick on him. Todd liked to stalk people. Well, no. Stalk was a bad word for it. Todd liked to watch people. Todd had always observed people, and regularly traced people for no other reason than simply knowing what they were like.
He never talked to them. He just kept a safe distance from them and studied their character. Oddly enough, he probably knew more about his targets than their best friends did. Perhaps it was sadistic, that Todd could read someone so well. Sometimes, he would hate people. It would be a simple action, a simple word that they would utter that would inflame Todd, but he never took action on these emotions.
But this was different. He had been defeated. Todd approached his bed and fell on it. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, and then closed his eyes.

Damian opened his bloodshot eyes and stared at the city burn on the other side of the riverbank. Enemy airships floated above the buildings, pillars of fire erupting from cannons mounted on the ships. The lances of fire pierced the skyscrapers, collapsing the structures as if they were houses of cards. Damian watched, emotionlessly, as civilians tried to salvage what they could and tried to set sail across the river. Some even swam in the frigid water, ignoring the snow coating both sides of the water.
But there was no point. The airships spotted the vessels and fired upon them, evaporating water and flesh alike.
Damian looked at his hand and opened it. A folded-up paper rested in his palm. Damian sighed as soldiers shoved past him and ran away from the flashing remnants of the city.

Todd could feel himself rise, but did nothing to stop it.

Damian looked up. This wasnít his fault. The war had been an even one. The enemy didnít cheat; they didnít release some sort of super weapon on the Americans. It was a balanced fight. The only reason Damian had lost was because, well, they were simply better men. Both had sides had fought their hardest for control of New York, both factions had put everything aside for their goal.
But for there to be a winner, there has to be a loser. Damian knew that he had already lost. Talks of a counter-attack were beginning, but Damian knew that he had already lost.
Maybe that was Godís fault. Maybe Damian wasnít supposed to win. Damian couldnít think of anything he had done wrong, any tactical mistakes that had led him to this defeat. No, nothing. Damian had done everything right.

Todd walked into the living room. He was half awake, perhaps even fully awake, but he wasnít in control of his body. Todd felt like the passenger on a train; he wasnít in control of the vehicle, but he didnít want to disembark either.
Todd felt like the shell of a human; a ghoul. But as far as Todd cared, thatís all he wanted to be.
Thatís all he was good for.

Damian opened the paper, exposing a picture of Elizabeth. There was no grime or dirt on it, and the picture was only interrupted by the folds Damian had made. he sighed. The only thing that was wrong with the picture was what he had done to it. If he didnít fold up the picture in a vain attempt to keep it, it would be perfect.

Todd stared at the couches and tables arranged around the television, beams of moonlight slicing through the specks held in place by the light. At least they seemed that way.
Todd was the only thing that was out of place. He didnít fit here. And where he thought he finally could, it turned out that he didnít fit there either. Elizabeth was his last resort.

Damian let go of the picture, watching it sway in the wind as artillery resonated in the horizon. Beneath the pounding of the artillery there rested a layer of rapid tapping; the gunfire of the stranded. Damian frowned as the picture hit the ground.
This wasnít my fault.

Todd knew that Elizabeth was meant to be his own. Life wasnít meant to be easy, and she was the princess that needed to be saved.

I did everything right. I made all the right decisions. I made all the right calls.

Todd strode into his fatherís bedroom and felt his way under the bed. He reached as far as his slender arms would go and grasped a box.

I didnít lose. I did everything right. I did everything perfectly.

Todd, kneeling at the foot of the bed, pulled the box in between his knees. A single ray of moonlight shone through the curtains and onto the box as Todd flicked the locks open.

Iím not giving up. This isnít where I die.

Todd opened the box and grinned. It was a gun.

This isnít the end.

It was a gun.

feel free to compliment me on being a much better author that Defagour.

Fusion
03-01-2012, 07:39 PM
Eww, romantic drama. It ruins every good story.