Rough Like Sandpaper

[ursula]

In which I attempt to write an action scene.


The ferryman was so thin that he almost looked young again. His boat was the same dusty brown color that he was; its slats gaped open wide in spots, revealing the oily water.

“Fare?” he demanded.

“You could just let us across.” Theo smiled wide and stepped past him, into the boat. It sank low under the weight.

“You can’t do that! It’s illegal!”

Prue followed Theo onto the boat. Black fluid slopped in through one of the cracks.

“Stop that! Get out!”

They ignored him. Prue toyed with her knife.

“Living people aren’t allowed across. You’ll sink the boat.”

Theo grinned with all her teeth. “I suppose you had better go quickly.”

The ghosts rustled like leaves as the boat left the shore.

***

The gates of Hell were unimposing: a wooden door, latched with iron, human-scale. Between their gravelly landing-place and the gate, however, there stood a monster. It looked like a prehistoric attempt at wolfness: something evolved for mammoth-killing, giant, painted in gray-brown oils so that all its joints sat in unexpected places and the very angular wrongness seemed more threatening than the size or the teeth. There were many teeth, of course. There were also three heads.

It was strange how long the heads took to register. The size of the paws were a distraction, and so was the way the creature’s long necks moved more like snakes than anything on a mammal ought to; but that was no excuse for ignoring the snouts, or the tongues cut into three again and panting out slobber and black blood.

“I wonder how the ghosts get past,” said Theo.

“I don’t know. Shall we kill it?”

Theo shut her eyes. There was a creaking sound, and the earth shook, and shook again. Up on earth there would have been thunder, and the sky would have darkened, and rain would have balanced in the air. Here there was no rain, and the sky was always black. Theo seemed very small. The monster swung its heads about wildly.

Prue jumped. She landed astride the first neck and reached up, slamming the pommel of her knife into the back of the first head. It drooped, dazed, but the second mouth was already twisting to tear at her side. As its teeth caught her shirt, a handful of dirt hit the yellow eyes. The whole head arched up, howling. Prue slipped down, rolled, came up with her knife ready to slash at another throat. The dark blood burned her skin, and here was the first head, recovered and snapping at her again. Prue dropped close to the earth, twitching away from the monster’s huge claws. Its head followed her down, the mouth open, triple tongue flicking out to taste her face—but then the whole ground shuddered and rose, and the jaws closed on dirt. The earth pushed Prue toward the last head, the one she’d already wounded, and she thrust her knife deep into its throat. Blood spilled down. The blind head howled.

“Come on!” yelled Theo, unlatching the door.

“It’s not dead yet!”

“Later. Come on!”

Prue shrugged, wiped her knife on her pants leg, and ran through the door.

Comments

[eva-c.livejournal.com]

Your style is a little strange for what you're writing. Some places it seems very sparse, elsewhere, the sentences are very long and full of commas. (like my normal writing...) Action scene was good; very vivid but perhaps splitting it up would help. :)

Also, would love to scene to more of that demon humor. ;)

[ursula]

You don't think Cerberus is sufficiently demonic?

The confusion in style results from my confused attempt to write an omniscient narrator. The general life plan is to draft this story in all of its inconsistencies, submit it to nobu who, although she doesn't know it yet, is the best representative of my target audience, and then find various editors and revise. A lot.