AnyaKimlin
Confuddled
I'm between works in progress right now so I am indulging myself and writing what I feel like. This was in my head when I woke up this morning and for the first time I am liking Angus in anything other than first person present tense. However, does the prologue/introduction work or is it just silly?
MAYHEM
The Universal Father, Tim to his mates and Mr Fisher to anyone who wasn't a creation of his, lay in the foetal position, bellowing like a mooncalf. The pain consumed him, but he could hear them whispering, them being his wife and the doctor she had called. He hadn't wanted medical assistance but she said she couldn't stand the awful bloody noise any longer.
“It's his eternal organs – IPS.”
“What's that?” Tim's unsympathetic wife asked. Usually he adored her but today she was the ultimate bitch.
“Irritable planet syndrome. The one that cleanses his energy is proving particularly troublesome. There's a severe imbalance between the good and bad bacteria living on that planet. This probiotic should help. Dose him before every meal.”
A meal! They wanted him to eat when his innards were being ripped to shreds by ungrateful creations who wouldn't fulfil the purpose he had for them. “Argh!” He turned the yelling up a notch.
Meanwhile on the Planet Litae at the heart of The Universal Father:
***
Prince Angus Lorenzo of Covesea Island lay face down on his bed, reading about how Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson first met. The doors to the balcony were open and the warm sea breeze blew over his naked torso. His ribs hurt but he found placing pressure on them was somehow easier to bear than when he sat up and the pain felt like it was running down his body. He turned over the page and allowed himself to be sucked into the story as the men moved into 221B Baker Street.
“Angus!”
He checked the door. The key was in the locked position; unlike the retina controlled security system the centuries old iron key couldn't be hacked. Safe from his father's wrath he picked up his pillow and used it to muffle the shouting.
“Angus! Get out here – now.”
“**** off and go away,” he muttered to the book. His father didn't approve of swearing and technically the offence for cursing at the king was death. Not that his father had ever actually used capital punishment on anyone.
“If you don't come out here, I'll come in there and drag you out.”
“Yeah? You and how many Soaring Warriors.” And under his breath. “****” As he realised that up until that point his father hadn't known for sure he was in his bedroom. At six-feet-eleven not many people threatened Angus with physical violence. Except Jack, the cause of the bruised ribs.
MAYHEM
The Universal Father, Tim to his mates and Mr Fisher to anyone who wasn't a creation of his, lay in the foetal position, bellowing like a mooncalf. The pain consumed him, but he could hear them whispering, them being his wife and the doctor she had called. He hadn't wanted medical assistance but she said she couldn't stand the awful bloody noise any longer.
“It's his eternal organs – IPS.”
“What's that?” Tim's unsympathetic wife asked. Usually he adored her but today she was the ultimate bitch.
“Irritable planet syndrome. The one that cleanses his energy is proving particularly troublesome. There's a severe imbalance between the good and bad bacteria living on that planet. This probiotic should help. Dose him before every meal.”
A meal! They wanted him to eat when his innards were being ripped to shreds by ungrateful creations who wouldn't fulfil the purpose he had for them. “Argh!” He turned the yelling up a notch.
Meanwhile on the Planet Litae at the heart of The Universal Father:
***
Prince Angus Lorenzo of Covesea Island lay face down on his bed, reading about how Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson first met. The doors to the balcony were open and the warm sea breeze blew over his naked torso. His ribs hurt but he found placing pressure on them was somehow easier to bear than when he sat up and the pain felt like it was running down his body. He turned over the page and allowed himself to be sucked into the story as the men moved into 221B Baker Street.
“Angus!”
He checked the door. The key was in the locked position; unlike the retina controlled security system the centuries old iron key couldn't be hacked. Safe from his father's wrath he picked up his pillow and used it to muffle the shouting.
“Angus! Get out here – now.”
“**** off and go away,” he muttered to the book. His father didn't approve of swearing and technically the offence for cursing at the king was death. Not that his father had ever actually used capital punishment on anyone.
“If you don't come out here, I'll come in there and drag you out.”
“Yeah? You and how many Soaring Warriors.” And under his breath. “****” As he realised that up until that point his father hadn't known for sure he was in his bedroom. At six-feet-eleven not many people threatened Angus with physical violence. Except Jack, the cause of the bruised ribs.
