Wednesday, 26 May 2010

Taster of new book

The first little chunk of "New Book" It still needs a bit of an edit, but this a taster of what it's like. Wrote another 1000 words after yesterdays blog post. I hope to write more later today too.

They came in the middle of night, they always do.
Rob woke to the sound of next door’s dog barking. He should have realised why; it may have given him a few seconds. However, his sleep clouded brain didn’t connect the bark with anything sinister.
A few seconds wouldn’t have helped. Their entry was swift, noisy and at times too smoky. Rob never stood a chance.
Ten seconds after he heard the front door being smashed in, his bedroom door was flung open.
In those ten seconds, Rob had sat up in bed, yawned, scratched his ear and looked at the alarm clock.
The door flying open shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was. He had been more asleep than awake. Rob saw the black-uniformed, faceless men, enter his bedroom, the red laser dots of their assault rifles scanning the room.
There was no time to register the chill as the duvet was pulled off him. There was even less time to register the small shards of metal piercing his skin. But, the taser, that really registered.
An immense pain twisted his body, flung it in the air. He was helpless, couldn’t resist. His arms and legs flailed uncontrollably, the pain bolting through his head and heart unlike anything he’d ever felt. Trying to scream, no words came.
Then, the pain stopped.
Within seconds many hands covered his body, moved him roughly onto his back, twisted his arms around, something was placed over his head.
A bag? Is it a plastic bag? I’m gonna suffocate, can’t breathe, must breathe.
Cable ties cut into his arms and legs as they were forced together. Rob tried to breathe, sucked in air. Relieved he could, he smelt the plastic of the mask, imagined, but could not see, the holes that were letting him breathe in the mouth piece. His breathing and life now belonged to the hands of those tying him. Trust them, he did not.
They made no noise. It was too silent. They were well trained; their voices weren’t, and would never be, heard.
They picked him up; four sets of hands, one at each corner, carried him, tipped him as he went down the stairs. Then, out the front door. The cold winter night bit into him.
One thought in his mind, good job I’m wearing pyjamas.
The only sound, as they stopped carrying him, was a metal door opening. A van or lorry. It had to be a lorry. They always used lorries.
Then, floating.
Floating through the air, his hands and legs tied up and unable to break the fall he knew was coming. Rob knew it’d be a hard floor and braced himself as well as he could.
Landing head first, stars flickered in his eyes over the blackness of the hood before he drifted out of consciousness.

No pictures today. Oh go on then.