M
Miss Muses
Guest
Ok...ya'll have been SO encouraging and helpful. So Some good advice given to me was to just see if my writing hooks. So I am going to post an excerpt from my book. Honest opinions please! Also...it isn't 100% edited!
Ballord locks eyes with me and a wicked smile forms beneath his thick beard.
“Next.”
The Ranks try to grab me but I jerk out of their grasp, elbowing one of them in the process. “Get your filthy hands off me.” I say loudly, glaring straight ahead at Ballord. I pause shortly before advancing with as much confidence as I can muster knowing the mark of the devil is about to be agonizingly burnt into my arm for eternity.
Before I know it, I stand before the General. The iron still hovers in the hot flames until it glows red. I do not look into his eyes. Instead, I face the crowd and look down at the beautiful fountain separating us. I extend my arm to my side and feel Ballord clasp my wrist. I shake. Every fiber in me screams to beg like the women before me. I notice Xander standing rigid, cold, and angry. A fire hotter than the one I stand before burns in his eyes. Joan pushes Jeremiah’s face away so he cannot see.
“No.” I call to her. “He needs to see this. He needs to think of this moment every time they try to brainwash him into believing they are good and just.” Her eyes fill with tears and the crowd gasps. She releases her hold on his head and he looks up at me. His mouth quivers and he holds onto Joan’s hand tightly. I look at Ballord and sneer. “You are not good and just!”
A smile creeps over his face and he plunges the iron deeper into the fiery red coals. Seconds pass and he does not break his eyes from mine.
“What are you waiting for?” I hiss. He lets go of my wrist and for a second I think that he may be letting me go. I realize I am wrong when he pushes me to my knees.
“Let this live in each of your memories as a reminder of what happens to traitors!” He jerks my hair away from my neck in one painful swipe. I feel the iron before it touches my skin. The heat radiating from it is even unbearable. However, the pain to follow is more excruciating than I imagined it might have been. I feel the iron burry itself in the flesh on the back of my neck. I dig my palms into the cobblestone beneath my, slicing my palms open. Tears form immediately upon contact and stream down my face. I will not scream! He wants to see my weakness. He wants to see me broken. Nevertheless, I will not give him what he wants. A pain I cannot explain lasts an eternity as he forever mars my skin. The heat radiates down my spine. I feel my skin rip in the trauma of the burn. I grind my teeth together and will myself to stay silent. I can hear the aghast disapproval of my fellow Rouen citizens and the angry shouts and threats from more than one person encourage me to stay strong for the final seconds. If I cry, if I struggle, not only will it satisfy Ballord but it will likely encourage the crowd to try and help me. If anyone steps out of line, The Ranks will begin shooting and with my brother standing there, I refuse to risk it.
I count in my head. One. This is what it means to be brave and strong. Two. He will try to break each one of us in time but we will not let him. Three. I hope my mom and dad are not ashamed of me as I sit here taking the punishment of failure and rebellion. I know how careless this action is, but I believe in it. Four. It is over. The iron is removed and I am pulled to my feet by my hair.
“You are too young to be so rebellious.” He touches my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Learn your lesson this time and perhaps the next time I’m in town I won’t have to publicly humiliate you.”
I jerk out of his grasp and glare at him. “Maybe there won’t be a next time because someone will have answered our prayers and shot you.” I hiss, shaking as the agony sears my body.
“Watch it, girl, or you will be the one with a bullet in your head.”
I let out a faint laugh, too angry to feel threatened by his words. “I would like to see you try. You cross us the wrong way too many times and you’ll wake up dead with a knife in your chest.”
He pushes me towards the crowd, his angry sneer watching me with violent intents.
Ballord locks eyes with me and a wicked smile forms beneath his thick beard.
“Next.”
The Ranks try to grab me but I jerk out of their grasp, elbowing one of them in the process. “Get your filthy hands off me.” I say loudly, glaring straight ahead at Ballord. I pause shortly before advancing with as much confidence as I can muster knowing the mark of the devil is about to be agonizingly burnt into my arm for eternity.
Before I know it, I stand before the General. The iron still hovers in the hot flames until it glows red. I do not look into his eyes. Instead, I face the crowd and look down at the beautiful fountain separating us. I extend my arm to my side and feel Ballord clasp my wrist. I shake. Every fiber in me screams to beg like the women before me. I notice Xander standing rigid, cold, and angry. A fire hotter than the one I stand before burns in his eyes. Joan pushes Jeremiah’s face away so he cannot see.
“No.” I call to her. “He needs to see this. He needs to think of this moment every time they try to brainwash him into believing they are good and just.” Her eyes fill with tears and the crowd gasps. She releases her hold on his head and he looks up at me. His mouth quivers and he holds onto Joan’s hand tightly. I look at Ballord and sneer. “You are not good and just!”
A smile creeps over his face and he plunges the iron deeper into the fiery red coals. Seconds pass and he does not break his eyes from mine.
“What are you waiting for?” I hiss. He lets go of my wrist and for a second I think that he may be letting me go. I realize I am wrong when he pushes me to my knees.
“Let this live in each of your memories as a reminder of what happens to traitors!” He jerks my hair away from my neck in one painful swipe. I feel the iron before it touches my skin. The heat radiating from it is even unbearable. However, the pain to follow is more excruciating than I imagined it might have been. I feel the iron burry itself in the flesh on the back of my neck. I dig my palms into the cobblestone beneath my, slicing my palms open. Tears form immediately upon contact and stream down my face. I will not scream! He wants to see my weakness. He wants to see me broken. Nevertheless, I will not give him what he wants. A pain I cannot explain lasts an eternity as he forever mars my skin. The heat radiates down my spine. I feel my skin rip in the trauma of the burn. I grind my teeth together and will myself to stay silent. I can hear the aghast disapproval of my fellow Rouen citizens and the angry shouts and threats from more than one person encourage me to stay strong for the final seconds. If I cry, if I struggle, not only will it satisfy Ballord but it will likely encourage the crowd to try and help me. If anyone steps out of line, The Ranks will begin shooting and with my brother standing there, I refuse to risk it.
I count in my head. One. This is what it means to be brave and strong. Two. He will try to break each one of us in time but we will not let him. Three. I hope my mom and dad are not ashamed of me as I sit here taking the punishment of failure and rebellion. I know how careless this action is, but I believe in it. Four. It is over. The iron is removed and I am pulled to my feet by my hair.
“You are too young to be so rebellious.” He touches my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Learn your lesson this time and perhaps the next time I’m in town I won’t have to publicly humiliate you.”
I jerk out of his grasp and glare at him. “Maybe there won’t be a next time because someone will have answered our prayers and shot you.” I hiss, shaking as the agony sears my body.
“Watch it, girl, or you will be the one with a bullet in your head.”
I let out a faint laugh, too angry to feel threatened by his words. “I would like to see you try. You cross us the wrong way too many times and you’ll wake up dead with a knife in your chest.”
He pushes me towards the crowd, his angry sneer watching me with violent intents.