Snippet Sunday #8

Since I finished posting Rose’s short story on Friday, I thought I would share a little of the opening for her first novel with you today. The project is on the back burner for now, but I have lots of ideas for it and I’m looking forward to writing it.


It wasn’t until she bled, really started to bleed, that she got worried. She had to stop twice an hour to change out the clot of rags she was using to soak it up. Pretty soon she had a sack of bloody cloths and a dizzy head. She sat down on a rock and left a squish and when she nursed Cabhan she bled more. She was going to need help, that much was plain, but who and where? Rose adjusted the baby’s sling, got up from her spot, and walked the fuck on. She didn’t really know where she was, but if she could get far enough, she’d find people. She was sure of it.

By the time she saw the lights, she was ready to pass out or weep. Rose wasn’t sure which one. The night came down fast over the moor, and there, just there, was a place all lit up. She thought it was a place.

She stumbled toward it. There were a bunch of windows. Those were the light. When she squinted she could tell. So tight, she clutched that baby. She didn’t want him to slip. She’d sooner die than him, and if she should fall, she’d tuck herself around him; she already loved him that much.

Rose staggered into the yard, where the last of the merchants were pulling up and putting away for the night. They swore to see her draw herself in by the sign, which she didn’t read, only left thereon the prints of her bloody fingers. Blood soaked the seat of her pants, down the insides of her legs, and squished inside her boots.

“My baby,” was all she could whisper. This met with about as much success as she could’ve expected. She drew a rattling breath, opened her mouth, and howled with all her power, “My baby, you starin’ assholes!”

One of the merchants—she couldn’t make out face or form by now, what with the black sliding down over her vision, but she thought he was tall—took the baby from her arms. Relieved of the weight, Rose swayed in her squashy boots, blinked sluggishly, and went down into an unconscious bloody heap.

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