Novel Excerpt

Ciao, Tutti!

For the first time ever, I will be posting an excerpt from my Nanowrimo novel during the month of November! I know, you can barely contain yourselves. There will be other excerpt postings in the future as well, seeing as there are two scenes I really want to post right now and can't make up my mind. The excerpts will be unedited, the way November intended. Be sure to follow my progress on the left-hand side of the blog if you have nothing better to do (you know you don't). The goal is 50,000, and I'm almost 40% there!

But first, a word of clarity: The band Flaming Fire is indeed corrupting my soul. Just in case there was ever any doubt. Now you don't have to worry that it's affecting me, because you know for sure.

You're welcome.

"Outside the Crystal" (working title) Excerpt

The door to Cy’s room was cracked open about a third of the way, but the inside seemed to be pitch black, no lights on at all. Raychel tapped on the door cautiously with the tops of her knuckles and whispered, “Cy? Your door’s open.” Hopefully he was asleep. He was probably the one who needed it most tonight. But he wasn’t, and the light turned on. Cy pushed the door aside, standing in his underwear in the threshold, scratching his stubble that had already started to form. Raychel tried not to wince because of the smell. Behind him a mixture of clothes, glass, fruit peels, plastic bottles, computer parts, and other unidentifiables were scattered across his floor, bed, chair, and desk.

“Hi, Raychel,” he yawned, rubbing his eye and standing out of the way to let her enter. She watched her feet as she did. “You didn’t wake me up, don’t worry.”

“Hello Cy,” she croaked, trying as hard as she could not to appear disturbed by the mess.

Cy knocked a cardboard box over with his foot to clear a path to the bed, then sat on it, his bulky body making it bounce without squeaking. He laughed without vocalizing, staring between his knees. “Oh, man, this place must look like a mess,” he said. “I must look like a mess.”

“No,” said Raychel automatically. She brushed a crumpled up Kurly O’s wrapper with her foot like Cy had, cautiously clearing a path to a chair she could sit in. “Actually, yes, this place is a mess. But I don’t mind.”

“It’s not supposed to look like this,” said Cy. “You shouldn’t be all right with it.”

“Cy, I don’t mind because I understand.” Raychel bent down to pick up a miniscule figurine, a wooden construction worker the size of a joint on her finger. He was missing an arm and paint was chipping off his helmet, but he still smiled. “We’re all kind of a mess right now.”

“This whole world’s a mess,” said Cy. “I know, everyone always says that, but it’s true. That’s why everyone says it, because it’s true. Think about it, Raychel. What happened to Tarana is happening every day, all the time, to people all over the world. Everyone’s losing loved ones, and everyone’s in a mess like this.” He sniffed. “I can’t believe that so many people in the world feel the way I feel right now.”

Raychel didn’t know how to respond to that, so she looked over the figurine. She recognized it from the model city Cy was always working on whenever he had spare time, even back in Brodaw. Raychel looked to the corner of the room where the city sat, separated from the ground by a slab of wood so it could be lifted and turned to make a better working angle. Miniature skyscrapers were meticulously painted, windows so real that it really looked like they were reflecting the light bulb as if it were the sun. But, unlike usual, a section of the city seemed to be missing, as if a miniature mechanical rhino had crashed through the edge of town and capped off the top of a bunch of the buildings.

“I’m sorry to sound like this,” said Cy, sniffing again. “I’m really happy you came to visit. I just…” Cy sighed on the edge of his bed. “I don’t really know what else to say.”

Raychel understood. “You were lucky to be so close to her,” she said, setting the figurine at the base of the broken buildings and making her way to the chair.

“I don’t feel lucky right now,” he whispered.

Raychel tried to change the subject, gesturing towards the model city. “What happened to Cyberg?” she asked.

Cy made the effort to chuckle. “I kicked it,” he said. “I kicked a lot of things, but that one gave in the easiest.”

“But it was your city. You worked so hard on it.”

“But all it takes is one kick to break it down.” Cy stretched out his back, reaching his arms high above his head. Raychel heard some of his joints crack. “I’ll have to rebuild it, when I can think straight.”

Cy had been involved in building models ever since Raychel had met him in Brodaw, and this city, Cyberg, was the most ambitious project he had taken on yet. He had plotted out the entire plan on a sheet of square paper two meters long which he used to keep hanging on his wall and had taken down once he started the actual building process. Raychel remembered the enormous effort he took as they evacuated Brodaw to keep everything perfectly intact on that same slab of wood, walking in slow motion as he held it in front of him like an tray of overflowing lava, shushing anyone who so much as said something.

“See, Raychel? Here’s the rubber factory, and here are the people protesting the stench, and here are the crying babies, because crying babies are always the most convincing argument. If you’re ever upset with something, just find a crying baby and say, ‘See? She’s upset, too!’ All right, for this one you have to bend over the city, so be careful not to touch anything. Here’s the waveball stadium in the center of town and all the wealthy waveball players who don’t even notice the beggars who are all around the stadium. Here’s the hill across from the river, where all the kids go to make out while their parents aren’t looking. See, there are two kids making out right there, under the tree. But – little do they know! – there’s a pigeon in the tree about to poop right on their heads. See, I painted a little glob coming out of its butt. Come on, Raychel, it’s not that gross. Just imagine it’s a white worm trying to work its way into the bird. Now that’s gross. Oh, over here’s the evil genius, Dr. Mighty Monstrous Morphing Man, developing his Ultimate Death Ray of Doom in his mother’s basement. See his outline through the curtains? But he messed up, see, and he exposed one of the wires, so now he’s getting electrocuted. See how I painted his hair all spikey? Here are two people having sex on the sixth story of their building, and here’s everyone watching with binoculars from the bushes across the street. That guy has a video camera, see? See?”

To be continued...

It's raw, I know, but that's what Nanowrimo is. Editing will happen in good time.

Now, time to study. Nah, my soul's too corrupt.

-Sam goldsmith

P.S. Don't forget, comments have been enabled! Take advantage!

P.P.S. Up to 20,000 words! Boo Yah!