Book 2 Excerpt From a Lazy Writer

Okay, so I'm too lazy to come up with a blog post, so I'm going to post an excerpt from Book 2 of Korin's Journal instead.  Well, maybe it's not laziness, but the desire to get a bit more writing done tonight.  I had originally planned to knock out a good chunk of my current chapter and then work a little on a short story I'm toying with.  Alas, the chapter I'm working on has decided to be difficult(yes, I'm blaming the chapter instead of the person writing the chapter) and the short story must be put aside yet again and my planned blog post constrained to this paragraph and a small excerpt.  So, the following is from a dream sequence in the latter third of the book and the first line afterwards.  Enjoy. 

Brian Beam

Note: This has not been fully edited and a couple words have been changed to avoid spoilers.

The world was dead.  Blackened splinters, the sole remnants of trees, stabbed into the sky as ash descended from above.  The ground was charred black, fissures marring its surface in spider-webbed patterns as far as the eye could see.  From my vantage atop a bluff covered with deadened, brown grass that crunched under my feet, I felt an overwhelming sense of loss and dread.  In my heart, I knew that the state of the land was somehow my fault.

“Impressive, is it not?” a confident male voice announced from behind me.  

I turned my head, the background blurring nauseatingly as I did.  My eyes met those of my father.  He stood there in his regal robes, the crown on his head dull in the gloom of the darkened sky.  His mouth curved up in sinister satisfaction as he looked out over the ruined landscape, his usually blue eyes appearing a dull gray. 

“No, this is wrong,” I argued.  My mind could not make sense of why my father would appear so pleased about the dead land around us.  I started to accept that this was who my father truly was, not the benevolent man from my dreams. “Why would you want this?” 

With a condescending arch of an eyebrow, my father stepped towards me.  As he did, his face morphed for a split-second into someone else’s face, his crown suddenly rusted over and fitted with dull, cracked jewels.  As quickly as the change occurred, it vanished and left me with the recognizable image of my father, save the disturbing expression and gray eyes.

“You understand so little,” he accused, his voice different from my earlier dreams.  There was a malicious quality in its tone, though it held the same strong confidence.  He swept out his arm, gesturing outwards from the bluff.  “Do you think that prophecy will serve you?  Do you think that you can stop this?  Stop me?  You do not have the strength.  This is far beyond the comprehension of mortals.”

“I don’t understand,” I admitted, my heart pounding in fear.

“This world will bow to me,” my father continued, ignoring my response.  His face and crown flickered again so quickly that I wasn’t even sure it had actually happened.  “You will not stop me.  You cannot stop me.  You are weak.  Fragile.  You are...”

****

“…quite possibly the most dull-witted idiot I have ever known,” a raspy voice finished as consciousness seeped back into my body.