Novel Attempt (Avatar Inspired)

[Fwel Vitra]

I'm working on a novel that was somewhat inspired by Avatar, mainly the characters. In the infancy stages right now. I've got some rough stuff on my blogger account, if anyone is interested. Need feedback, though.

I'm worried that I'm getting close to writer's block. I ran into this with y last novel attempt. Hopefully, I can steer clear of it this time.

Feedback or suggestions are appreciated and welcome. I can't come up with an award-winning novel (} on my own, at least not now.

[Elyannia]

I'd like to read it. Can you link your blogger?

[Fwel Vitra]

Yeah. I thought I had a link in my profile. Turns out, I don't. Here's the link.

Random Insights of the frustrated Author

[Elyannia]

Awesome. I'll read it later tonight when I have time.

[Fwel Vitra]

working on more chapter pieces now. Got distracted by my iPad.

[Fwel Vitra]

I just came up with this a few days ago. It is something of a dissociation that I will probably use in my second chapter as a slight lead in to chapter three. I need some feedback. What do you think?

Smoke clouds my vision, thick, grey, and stifling, and all I am left with is shadows and outlines. I see the smoke, I feel the heat, but I can’t really be here, can I? Closing my eyes to attempt to clear my head, I concentrate on better times, brighter days, but I hear voices; voices that keep telling me something isn’t right, voices that were silenced way before their time, voices that should only be heard by those who can’t let go… I guess I fall into that category.

They say the dead can’t speak, well these sure are, all three of them. Opening my eyes, I see them, each one the way they looked before the hands of death claimed them. Dave and Jaiden, their bodies engulfed in red-orange flames, eternally screaming; the fire crawls all over them like some hungry beast. All I can understand is “run”, but the rest is a blur of swearwords and agonized screams. Seeing their faces as they fall, their bodies coming right at me, their expressions are ones of horror, their eyes either blackened or burned away. I feel their flailing limbs striking me, attacking me, but their bodies pass through, almost into me, as if I hold all that is left of their physical and spiritual beings. Then there’s her, Gina, the one I held onto for three weeks, the one I desperately tried to save. She speaks, but I can’t hear her. The screams of the others still fill my ears, along with another. A third voice is screaming, but I can’t identify it. Gina walks through the path of flames the other two created, placing a gentle, yet scalding hand on my shoulder. I hear her speak, but it is as if she is in my head. She says “Stop screaming. Your pain, as well as ours, is finally at an end.” I see them, all three of them, innocent soldiers, and I stop screaming. The pain fades to a dull ache. Two of them are reduced to ash and bone, while the last, Gina, though badly burned, extends her hand. I take it, walking through the flames, smoke, and heat as if they are nothing but an illusion. They are not.

Moving away from the others, I feel the ground tremble below. Looking up, I see the sky split apart as a black plume of ash and smoke rises, and the world goes dark, swallowing us both. Everything is black I am alone, but I hear more voices, different ones. I hear my mother. She sounds desperate, almost hysterical, according to her tone, but I don’t know why. I don’t know where she is or where I am. Her voice is too faint to understand the words, but I feel slightly comforted by them, knowing that she is here.

Feeling a strange uplifting or floating feeling, I try to open my eyes, wanting to see her, but I don’t. I see a dark hospital corridor, lit only by light coming through faux fogged up window panes in the doors lining either side of it. Trying the doors, I find that most of them are locked. One that is accessible is unoccupied. It looks like a morgue, empty, save for the covered gurney in the corner. I walk toward it, my footsteps echoing loudly in the silence, and slowly, I touch the corner of the white sheet, tinged blue, due to the fluorescent lighting. Lifting the sheet, I recognize the corpse. Gina Vasquez is staring up at me, her green eyes wide with fear. Releasing the sheet, I feel a need for air, air that isn’t polluted by death. Leaving the room, I see another door, a short way down that is ajar. I hear her again, my mother. Approaching the door, I hear another voice. Both of them are cursing, asking why “it” had to happen like this. Easing my way into the room, I recognize the other woman. She and my mother work together. I remember seeing her a few times before I left for my last tour of duty. I know this isn’t the time or place to think this, but seeing her like this, with her hair down, she looks pretty attractive. Her chestnut curls are a wreck, like she just took off her surgeon’s cap or something. Mom’s is the same way. They both look like they’re trying to compose themselves, each looking from the other, to the covered and bloodied gurney, and back, eyes still moist with tears. I don’t want to intrude, so I make to turn and leave. Seeing a mirror, I almost fall over. I haven’t got a reflection. I see right through where I am supposed to be standing; I see the gurney. I see my watch. Wordlessly, I cross the room. Approaching the body, I reach for the crimson-stained sheet. Pulling it back sharply, I see a bloody, bruised, and burned body. I see my name on a dead man’s wrist.

Feeling the floating feeling reverse, I am pulled down, dragged down into the blood, the burned skin, I am forced into this body… I am awake.