Novel: Fantasy Horror

He looked up, and saw that although the sky was gray the sun shone bright as if there was no cloud cover at all. But despite the sun the air was so cold Edward could see the breath of the boy puffing frantically. He couldn’t see his own breath though; there was something covering his face.

He took off the thing on his head and looked at it – a sinister black helmet that completely hid his face, with small pointy horns and something of a beak – and the boy stilled. They looked at each other for a moment, and Edward remembered slicing his wrists in the bathtub, the water turning first pink and then red.

“I thought you were one of them,” the boy said. He was maybe twelve years old.

“Who?” Edward asked.

“The screech owls.”

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Oh, this story. I hadn’t intended to write this book; I had real books all planned out but then this happened. I have to write it, but you don’t have to read it. It’s kind of a dreamy journey thing where not much happens. I’m convinced it’s pretty much unpublishable.

TRIGGER WARNING: I don’t usually bother with trigger warnings, but this first part contains a detailed description of a suicide. You can skip this part if needed and start from the first chapter. If you even want to read this thing.

Novel: Fantasy Horror

He turned up the music on his headphones so he could hear Amanda Palmer over the water rushing from the faucet. He left the tub to fill and watched the steam creep over the mirror. He ran his hands through his dark hair, trying to settle a few strands. Then he looked at his thin arms and scrawny chest.

Faggot. The word fell into Edward’s mind like a weight, but he didn’t look away from his reflection. Look. See what everyone else sees.

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