andreawriter

            Now it is ten-thirty-five, according to the clock which is the only thing in this blank, padded room that I can use to amuse myself. I try and think about people I know. What would Grandma be doing? I haven't seen her for a very long time, but I imagine Grandma walking around outside the nursing home with someone like you, a doctor or a nurse that expects us to tell you things. She is playing shuffleboard, and horseshoes, since she is old, but she is still strong and athletic. Or was, last I knew.

            What else would be going on?

            I hear a noise behind the mirror-window and expect that you will be coming into the room very soon.

What else would be going on? It’s not like a lot of things happen here for me to think about; might as well think about the world outside.

            Taylor would have just been passing the corner. In about…oh…five minutes…she would have stopped in front of my neighbor’s house, and then a few minutes later, she’d stop at mine. I’m going to tell you all about Taylor today. Taylor put me in this room. Taylor is what my “story” is about. I guess you could call it my “story”, since, before she came along, I was just a normal person, and only craz—people like me—have “stories.” Taylor is where my "story” starts. Taylor the cyclist. Taylor the bad influence. Taylor my best friend. Taylor who doesn’t exist.

Find out more about this story in the works by following the progress of The White Room here online!

Tyre sat long after everyone had dispersed from the courtyard, and the night grew steadily colder. Still he did not move, replaying visions of his best and only friend, his love even, being killed by an unstoppable force, and finally collapsing on a beach in a distant land…

            This must not happen, he thought. But there was nothing he could think of that could stop it. What can I do? He remained on the cold stone, and he heard the flapping of wings pass nearby: a bat, returning home after a good hunt, most likely. A strong wind blew, stirring the fallen leaves around him. He did not hear leaves skittering across the flagstone grounds, he heard a life being pulled and pushed away through time and forever.

            And then the next horrifying vision came.

            Another death was to come. Tomorrow.

For more of this story, check out my newest novel, Some Other Time!

The sun was setting straight ahead of us, sending a mosaic of reds, crimsons, and oranges splaying across the forest ahead, like a girl, bouncing and running as far as she could, and trying to reach her arms all the way across the sky in the last twenty minutes of the day. We watched as the red and orange beams faded away, and darker blue and black ones took their places. We watched the stars peek out from the curtain of black hung against the sky, and watched them get brighter as the city’s lights went out, and when a sliver of a moon that may once have been full lazily showed itself, we went to bed.

            I awoke in the middle of the night after a puzzling dream. I had been on a boat with Snail, sailing over a cold, black ocean. He turned to me, and he had grown and melded into a huge, blue dragon with black eyes. He grabbed me, and snarled in my face, “Do not go! Do not go! Turn back or lose your former life and love! Do not go...”

            What was that about? I thought after I was fully awake. Go where? Ilthen?

To order Some Other Time, please follow this link:

http://www.authorhouse.com/Bookstore/ItemDetail.aspx?bookid=58458

To order Until We Meet Again, please follow this link:

http://www.authorhouse.com/BookStore/ItemDetail.aspx?bookid=35336