Prologue

 Prologue

 

        The clock is broken, Dan repeated quietly, as if to convince himself that that was the reason they were late. He ran his hands through his cropped black hair continuously and shifted positions in his folding chair. His muscles screamed for action, to just take those three short strides to the door and wrench it open. The waning light of the moon seeping in through the perishing roof glinted eerily off of the abandoned steel cots and trays bearing empty syringes. Cabinets hung lopsided, their desperate doors connected by rusting screws that threatened to let go. The heavy, foreboding silence filling the empty infirmary pressed upon Dan’s nerves. Of all the places that would fall beneath the shadow of the Suits, Dan was particularly glad that this infirmary was to be destroyed. He closed his eyes and listened to the nervous tapping of his foot match the steady click of the precise gears of the clock. Tap. Tap. Click. Click. In his mind he went over the plan carefully, recalling his friends' serious faces in the candlelit meeting they held only hours before.

        "Dan, I need you to find a way to get in the kitchen after hours and get that key," echoed Martin's deep voice, "Lie low at the old infirmary near the east gate. We'll meet you there once we start the diversion." 

        Dan opened his eyes, staring hard at the device hanging crookedly on the cracking wall. Before, the minutes seemed to fly by as he waited anxiously, counting the number of cold white tiles blanketing the dim room. But now, each minute that passed by brought more anxiety and persisting worst-case scenario thoughts. Dan had read about time warps in the books he used to sneak into his room. Perhaps he was in one. Perhaps all time stopped at 11:34 p.m. and he would forever sit there in that small room, waiting for something that might never come.

        Dan let out a slow and measured sigh, struggling to keep the what-ifs at bay. He wrung his clammy hands together, touching the square outline of the plastic card key in his pocket every so often to reassure himself that it was there. What if they didn’t succeed? What if someone betrayed them to the Suits? What if someone forgot something and the plan backfired? What if they didn’t have enough guns? What if they were already discovered and killed and he was here like a sitting duck, so to speak? Before he could utilize his reasoning and logic, Dan decided to go find out what happened to the group. He gratefully stood up and walked to the door.

 

        Alarms shrieked.

 

        Dan jumped, unused to anything louder than his own thoughts. He dashed to a boarded-up window and peered between the decaying wood boards. He held his breath. Dust clung to the sweat on his brow. Lights flashed on, illuminating the streets. Dan could see silhouettes peering out of doorways. Several Suits and even some citizens dashed northward. Shouts echoed in the humid night air.

 

        Then, gunshots exploded.

 

        His heart plummeted. Something was not right.

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Jean P. Prudhomme]

Baudelaire said it best: " Always be a poet, even in prose. " Novelist aren't the most adept at keeping with musical timing and rhythms. Words are notes. Take one out and you f**k up the whole song. I liked this.

[hvysmker]


�The clock is broken, Dan repeated quietly, as if to convince himself that that was the reason they were late.
*** One "that" would be sufficient.

He ran his hands through his cropped black hair continuously and shifted positions in his folding chair. His muscles screamed for action, to just take those three short strides to the door and wrench it open.
*** A lot of "his"s. Maybe "nervous hands," or "Tense muscles," to get rid of at least one of them? As the first paragraph readers see, it should have as much impact as possible, in order to draw them in. It's known as a "hook."

The waning light of the moon seeping in through the perishing roof glinted eerily off of the abandoned steel cots and trays bearing empty syringes.
*** Same as above, but with "the." I'd use something like: "Waning moonlight swept in through cracks in a rotting roof, glinting eerily off abandoned and rusting steel cots. A table bore empty syringes, needles poised in evil repose." See what I mean, giving a picture to lure the reader in. His and the are invisible words, no action implied.

Cabinets hung lopsided, their desperate doors connected by rusting screws that threatened to let go.
*** There. Action. This sentence forms a mental picture. Something a visitor would see as he steps in the door.

The heavy, foreboding silence filling the empty infirmary pressed upon Dan's nerves.
*** Another useless "the"

I think you should work on this section. It's an all-important one, the one needed to lure readers into reading the rest of a novel. In my opinion, you have too many "his"s and "the"s. Most of the latter can simply be deleted. Even an "a" would be better than others. My personal rule-of-thumb is to us "a" the first time I name an object, then "the" for the next time. I open a door, and close the door I've opened.

Extra "his"s can be easily worked around, substituting action verbs and adverbs. You should strive to form mental pictures, not simply descriptions. What would a reader sense, with feel, sight, hearing, smell, etc.? You could add the odor of mildew, the smell of a dead animal, somewhere in the room. The reader could sense an evil presence, unseen in a shadowy corner. A squeaking door hinge could startle him as the door swings closed behind him.

Charlie -- hvysmker