Life didn’t just interrupt a couple of days for me. It interrupted my entire week. For the past week, I’ve been working 12-16 hours day. I’m exhausted and my brain is crying. I did manage to do some writing though. The only question is, how fruitful is said writing. Some days, I feel like I’m writing garbage. But I do know that a couple of weeks after, when I get a look at the script, any problems are things I can just as easily fix.
That’s what I tell myself every day when I wonder what the hell I’m writing.
Today’s snippet however is not what I’ve been working on since last week. Instead, it’s a story I started last year but couldn’t finish. This is the year I shall finish writing it :). So, enjoy. And like I usually say, ignore all grammatical errors and typos.
There comes a time in every man’s life when he realizes that his wish for a peaceful life and existence is nothing but a fool’s dream. Life was subject to change and things generally worked better for the smart man who realized this and rolled with the punches. Only a fool would fight fate. And James Driver was no fool. He was not terribly superstitious either, nor did he believe in the old wife’s tale that had everyone in Drolsten huddled indoors with their windows and doors shut against the light of the full moon. Nope. James Driver was a sensible man, and common sense had him believe that creatures basically attacked you when they were hungry or when they felt threatened. And if he should come across one tonight who happened to be hungry, staying indoors would definitely not save him from being a werewolf’s dinner. If they existed that is. Quite frankly, he only believed in what he could see. And in all his thirty-three years, James Driver had never seen a werewolf.
Neither had he seen the amount of brutality and callousness he came across while wandering around the edge of town. In all his years, he had witnessed the occasional scuffle, but that was usually between gang members and the fights were always on equal footing, nothing like the pummeling of the child that was presently going on.
“What the hell do you all think you’re doing?” James barked and leveled his harshest glare at the five young men who had corned the younger boy and had been beating the life out of him. He watched the five bullies rise slowly to their feet. They glanced at each other, then at him; their gaze assessing their opponent.
James knew what they would see. He stood at six foot six inches, weighed two sixty pounds and packed his weight in muscle, which was clearly shown in the black tank top and well-worn jeans that hugged his body. His long shaggy hair reached past his collar blade, and the stubble had bristles that made themselves known any time he ran his hands over them. His mouth was hard and his eyes were pitch black.
All in all, he cut a frightening figure on a regular day. But at night, in the full moon, he knew he looked even more imposing. And judging from the way the young men glanced at each other before looking back at him, they probably agreed.