I have just started a writing a short story for an anthology that I and a group of other fantastic authors are putting together in order to raise money for a little girl, Kayla, who has CHARGE Syndrome. Now I had never in my life heard of this illness. Click here for more information on CHARGE Syndrome.
I'm not sure when the anthology will be ready but here is a sneak peak at what I have started. The story is currently unedited and has no name.
Dr. Meg Mercer a woman of average height, bearing a little extra baby weight, which she had not been able to lose since giving birth to her daughter, four year old Amy, walked out of the hospital’s double glass doors into the sultry evening. The air around her still and muggy, sweat beading on her forehead. The only thought on her mind getting home to spend an hour with Amy before bed. Within a few paces of her Mercedes she felt the air slice above her head and a chill slink down her spine as talon-like fingers wrapped firmly onto her shoulders. The blade of each talon gripped her securely under her arm pits. She felt her body lift off the ground and was soon high in the air. Her car becoming smaller as she drifted into upwards. She fought with all the might she could muster but the strength of the beast’s grasp far outweighed her meager efforts.
Amy was all she had after the mysterious disappearance of her husband only months after her birth. He was an esteemed psychologist who had served as an expert witness in a case involving several vicious murders by the hands of a sociopath. The bodies had been exsanguinated. Their bloodless shells found dumped among the tree clutter of the woods. Their bodies ripped to pieces by wild animals. The sociopath found dead in his jail cell the same night Meg’s husband disappeared. The only damage to his body was a small hole bore directly into his heart carrying an unknown toxic venom. Meg couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Amy’s contagious smile, curly dark ringlets of hair, and pudgy little baby fingers. Tears escaped her eyes freezing to her face upon contact with the high altitude frigid air. Her own death she felt was imminent as the beast carried her higher into the clouds. The houses and buildings of the city appearing as tiny Lego homes beneath her.
I don't think it's possible for creativity to be a negative thing.