I, Effing Feline, am exhausted. You see, I stayed up all night kneading my claws on Ed’s leg and chasing a ping-pong ball around his bedroom and playing with him by jumping on the bed to enjoy his startled yelps. Now, in the glare of daylight, I’m typing this with one eye half open.
Today, another snippet from Secrets of Love and War — the kernel from which the WIP sprouted, actually. While Mr V was semi-awake in hospital last fall, the nurses seemed, just for an instant, like malignant monsters.
Realizing that this was how a pilot might feel when awakening in hospital after getting shot down over an alien world, the story idea sprang to life. When Mr V told the nurse about his story idea, she laughed.
Norse Malstrom wondered how he’d gotten into hell, but the thought lasted only a nanosecond, vaporized by the nightmarish horror of seeing demons hover over him.
Leaning toward him.
They held gleaming instruments of torture . . . raised them . . aimed them . . .
Fury filled him. He slammed his fist into shoulder of the nearest stick-like demon. It crumpled under his unholy wrath. Another ghoul, its ugly face made of leather and hatred, almost plunged a needle into his thigh but he grasped its evil neck and tossed it like discarded toilet paper at another pair of devils who cowered in the face of his unrighteous human fury.
Then by magic they were gone, vanished into warm, wet air like the supernatural ghosts they were.