Authors, Writers, Publishers, and Book Readers
This is only the beginning to my prologue. I'm hoping for some constructive criticism, please, so don't be shy and tell me what you think. Thanks. =)
I saw him in a haze of white. It was almost like a dream --- so vague but so real. . . . I couldn't tell the difference between reality and imagination. Silver eyes had shone at me from behind a blur of snow, like fresh embers hot against burning coals. Odd, that those eyes were still piercing, even amongst the snow; I was drawn to them like a moth drawn to light.
I had been perched comfortably on the edge of my bed, a pen wedged between my fingers as I scrawled down the day's events. And then, ripping out from the harsh winds of the snowstorm, was a scream. At least, it sounded like it --- perhaps I had been mistaking it for the wind's howls, or the bare tree branches scraping against the bricks of my house. But it had sang wildly like sirens, ringing into my ears, echoing through my head. I froze, my eyes focusing on nothing in particular, motionless as I awaited another desperate cry.
It was silent for the next few minutes except for the weather's near-constant protesting. It didn't show any signs of stopping. When I'd looked out my window, my nose instantly chilled from the contact, the air was drowning in snow. I couldn't see past it; in fact, I'd been expecting a power outage to occur shortly after.
The book I'd been writing in was left open on the bed, but the pen was still gripped within my hand as I leaned against the windowsill on my elbows. My chin rested on my hands as I stared desolately out the glass, searching for . . . what? What could I even spot within this flurry of snow? Why was I expecting to see some form of evidence when really, all I could see was white?
Then I heard it.
Another shrill scream had penetrated through the winter air. That was it; I knew this time that my suspicions before had just been confirmed. I tossed the tangled blankets to the side and darted for the door, too reckless with adrenaline that I ended up stumbling over the clothes messily scattered across the carpet. I didn't care. I continued to rush downstairs, too anxious to consider my sleeping mother. Once I had my boots on, I whisked my coat from a nearby hook and threw myself out the door.
Almost instantly, my hair and unzipped coat were whipped vigorously around me. I trudged down the porch steps and was almost blown over by the winds; I stopped and squinted into the blustering snow, forcing my eyes to remain open. I could see the faint outlines of naked trees and bushes, the sky overwhelmed with blots of clouds and snow. My face was tingling, becoming numb with cold, my bare hands aching before I shoved them into my coat pockets. Snowflakes began to gather in my hair, drenching the brown strands in frost.
This scream came from in front of me, within the trees somewhere. It sounded amplified, so much louder than what I'd heard from inside. The desperate cry of a girl who'd just seen a spider, but so much louder. Like she'd screamed it into a microphone.
Hurriedly, I began to run toward the trees. I was almost being pummelled by the winds and snow, tripping over my own feet as I struggled to depict the right direction. Was I going the right way? I wasn't sure where I was, where the trees were, until I felt a sharp needle-like object pricking into my cheek. My eyes flashed open in pain, but before I could bring my hand up to see the damage, my gaze fell on someone else's.
He was standing, partially concealed by the layers of snow between us, still as a statue. His black jacket, ending in a sparrow's tail, whipped around him wildly, yet he didn't tremble once. His black hair was being tossed across his face too, and his lips were parted as if he was gasping for air. And then from behind his hair gleamed metallic blue eyes, which suddenly turned silver as he met my gaze.
How was it possible? I forced myself to stay upright as the winds picked at me, forced myself to stare into his eyes. They were silver. Before now, I would've thought the silver would be hidden behind the snow, but I could see them clearly, like a diamond glistening with the sun's reflections. I narrowed my eyes, as if that would make me see him clearer.
Had he been the one to scream? The cry hadn't sounded masculine, but he was the only person I could see within this bundle of trees. I began to reach for him as I called, "Hey! Are you all right?"
When there was no response, I continued to push myself forward on unbalanced feet, bringing a hand up to shield my face from the snow; my words must've been devoured by the winds. When my eyes could squint open, I saw that the boy was starting to reach for me too, a hand slightly outstretched. I was looking for any sign of injury on him, but noticed that no wounds or cuts had claimed him. He also walked lithely and gracefully, no limp slowing him down. He wasn't even cringing from the weather's blows. I thought it was an impossibility to not be buffetted by the storm or at least shivering from the cold, but he proved me wrong. He walked perfectly straight.
Something was wrong. Wrong about him. Those eyes were unnatural. Nobody's eyes were silver, or piercing enough that they would still be bold amongst the snow. As we approached each other, I slowed to a stop and gazed at him carefully, weighing my options. What if it was a trap? But no, it couldn't be. His mouth was still open as if he were trying to breathe, and I could almost see him tremble from the cold. But as hard as I thought about it, I knew I was only making excuses to ease my roiling suspicions.
I mentally slapped myself, overanalyzing the situation. I blinked and watched the boy before saying, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"