Nanowrimo 2010…

OK, so I am giving Nanowrimo another go – it’s been six years since I did it last…

Here are the first 500 or so words – I’m ahead of the curve, finishing day one at 1,824 words so far…

The smell of blood is thick in the air as you come to, ears ringing and eyes full of tears. You blink repeatedly trying to clear your vision; for some reason you have an unconsidered mental block on using your hand, so you keep blinking. Eventually, after what seems like an age but is probably only a handful of seconds, reality starts to swim into focus. People had tried to explain to you what it was like to be in close proximity of an explosion, but you are starting to realise that there is nothing like the real thing when it comes to comprehension. Everyone seems to be moving in slow motion, but you quickly realise that this is only an illusion that is predicated on the relative silence. It is not actually silent, there is a continued and terrible ringing in your ears, but the effect is that you cannot seem to detect the normal sounds of the chaos you can see around you through the aqueous lens of your tear-filled eyes. There is Fletcher, running across your field of vision, well trying to run anyway, waving around the bloody stumps of his wrists, his mouth distended in what you can only assume is a prolonged and bestial scream, except that you cannot hear it. The vicinity is filled with shredded paper hanging in the air, and the odour of cordite is actually overwhelming now that you have noticed it. You look down at the hand you were instinctively not using to wipe your eyes, and you realise that like Fletcher you are injured, though not as seriously. Still there is blood and wotnot all over your right hand, which despite this does appear to work when you try to curl and flex your fingers. Your left hand is immobile, but at least it is whole, and so you turn your attention to your legs. They appear to be in passable working order. The rest of your body is now starting to report a kind of general level of pain that you think must be the bare minimum you should expect after being next to an exploding bomb, as the adrenaline runs out and physical realities start to seep into your consciousness. Carefully you push yourself to your feet with your better hand, and cast around for the exit. You know perfectly well where it should be, but since a bomb went off in here you would not be surprised to discover that there might be a more convenient route out of the thankfully ground floor office and into the arms of paramedics that are doubtless congregating at that very moment. You smile to yourself as you spot a large hole in the office wall and begin to head for it; the smile leaves you in an instant when you nearly trip over Donaldson. No matter how hard you might want to believe the opposite there she is, and it looks very plausible that she is dead.

Let’s see if I can get to the end…

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