The following information below are profiles about the main characters in the ongoing novel collaboration, “Identify.”
She hated them, but quite at times admired them for their will to live. The bond between them only got stronger and stronger the more adversities they faced together. Only Zara was able to flicker that bond for a few moments, that fucking siblings-bond.
We are currently looking for a participant to pen chapter nine of “Identify”. You can sign up through here. Please also leave a comment below that you’ve signed up, so when it is your turn, I can remind you and let you know that you have one week to write the chapter and send it back to me.
As some may have noticed, there’s been a brief hiatus in the current novel collaboration. That does not mean it is over. Far from it, in fact.
Darkness wailed, as they shuffled silently ensuring Anastasia had indeed left the basement. Tom balanced himself up with one of the boxes sequestered in the room. “I don’t want to see her,” his eyes twisted shut.
It’s not a comfortable silence; a tableau of images coursed through him like a dark wash of blood and glassy eyes gating towards him. He didn’t understand the complexity of what he saw, and shaking, he started to shiver on the floor, feeling mounted towards the absolute of death.
She crouched down with him, surveying his eyes. He felt he was bleeding out, and before he could get a word in, she gently put the cigarette on his lips, told him to puff. He coughed. His legs swayed, his ribs jammed and compacted. Most of all, he felt trapped in a faint chill that squeezed his eyes open and closed.
“Take the cig, Tom, and give it a kiss for me.”
Zara paced back and forth between the branches, curling her feet around the bark covered limbs. As quietly as she could, she watched the two below hurriedly dash about, covering their mechanical transport vehicle. How stupid, she thought. To think they went unseen on such an island as this. How easily she could take them out with her claws she pondered, but now was not the time to strike.
“I think this is good,” Lauren took a step back to inspect their work. “Let’s go,” she handed him a heavy bag, while she carried another.
He followed her.
He clears his throat, turning to leave. I grab my umbrella as the darkening clouds started to form. The shade covers me, and throughout the empty streets, I walk in the direction of the man.
My grip loosens on the umbrella, now angled downward; it slices easily into his thigh and he starts to bleed, the red now burdened, padding his brown layered pants. He slips a tad on the concrete, whirring slightly deeper into the dark dawn tip of the knife.
I’ve laid before you, darkness all I’ve mapped, all alone,
Those little taps, and the enlightenment of voice from birth
Intrigue the remembrance of once I had,
And all I held, and all I’ve left and sought,
And loved, I’ve loved! The cruelty of son,
Told that the son branched take on this