CH Keyes, Writer
CH Keyes, Writer
Here is a bit of what I have in progress:
And Brother Joseph Rode Shotgun (an excerpt of my YA novel)
“God damn it, pay attention kid!”
Fargo’s voice brought me back to the horse under me. Testy dropped his head, yanking the reins I’d foolishly held too loosely from my hands. The first jump jarred my feet from the stirrups and cleared my thinking for a moment. My thighs hit against the pommel, smashing my thin legs and stretching them open wider. I dimly heard my butt smack the seat of the saddle then Testy jumped again and this time I was air borne.
The sky was a cool blue, whispy white clouds drifted in small clusters, the toes of my boots came into view. They were worn, one size too big, the right one had a shabby wrap of silver fix-all tape to plug the hole in the sole on that side and keep the fine dirt from sifting in. My pants legs were slipped back off the once red tops of the stove top boots, skinny white knobby knees showing for a moment.
I was a graceful athlete, gliding through the air in a rubbery arc, arms and legs weightless tendrils of ribbon. The pain, when I hit, jarred my teeth, my ears rang loud for a moment then it was blissful quiet.
A snippet from my urban romance novel:
Charley Girl
Charley was gasping, pain overwhelming the air she needed. Her eye was already swelling shut, mouth and jaw on fire. Her ribs and back sent waves of pain to her brain, but the fear of his awakening drove her to stand. She stumbled into the kitchen, to the end of the counter, digging in the junk drawer until she found several plastic zip-ties. She returned to the mud-room, fighting the desire to lay down and give in. Taking short breaths, she fumbled until she had a zip-tie on each hand, pulling up a foot and binding one hand to one foot behind his back. When her father was trussed like the calves she roped, she returned to the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed. It was only after she hung up the phone, slumped to the floor, kitchen towel pressed to her side and nearly gave in to the tears that she remembered. Caleb.
Her head was slumped forward, blood from her nose and mouth dripping onto her shirt. She struggled to open her eyes, her eye. She knew she had to get up, to move. To find Caleb. But her eyes wouldn’t open. She didn’t know how much time had passed before the siren woke her.
When she opened her eyes, Caleb’s face was inches away. He patted at her, chattering in his sing-song slurring speech, both hands covered in her blood, pajama’s flecked with it. The cupboard door under the sink was open, dry cereal squares spilling from the box he’d obviously been munching on. The cupboard was his favorite safe place, where he could feel the vibrations of her work in the kitchen. She’d cleaned it, lining it with soft pieces of carpet and setting a small shelf at the side, an old pencil box for his treasures. Sometimes she slipped him cookies and milk and sometimes she caught him asleep in the dark cupboard. He’d been in his place, safe. She sighed, the pain from the deep breath washing over her and sending her back into the darkness.

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