I’ve decided to knuckle down and work a little more on Harbinger while I wait to pick up Hayley from her galavanting cavorting down at the Ice Skating rink tonight.
Here’s a sample:
Unlike the stagnant air of the world above, here the atmosphere was cloying, a claustrophobic stench of unripe death allowed to fester in the putrid fluids syphoned from long-neglected sinkholes and drains.
Do think I’m trying to convey something here? Well, for the prose of staccato-sentence-Shane, this line is certainly a mouthful.
His rifle lay smashed in six pieces, arranged ritualistically around his body. Connecting the fragments were lines painted in his blood. These lines were concave, as concave as the sickening dent in the man’s back, bending toward the corpse and containing a crude network of other lines that disappeared beneath the body.
A blood-scrawled web.
Hmm… a blood-scrawled web… does it look anything like THIS perhaps…
Dammit, where are our heroes when you need them?
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