I wanted to share with my blog friends and any passersby a glimpse at my newest novel. The story could fall under many labels, near-future sci-fi, science fantasy, Contemporary fantasy, thriller. But at the heart of my endeaver is to tell a character story that agonizes over deep questions and feels more like real-life than your average paperback thriller.
The following is the current draft of my prologue...and I'm sorry you won't really get a picture of my "vision" in this scene, but at least you'll get to see some of what I've been toiling on these past few months.
“YOU MOVE—HE DIES!”
Danje Suhad’s English was poor, but the 9mm pointed at Senator Strauss’ head was crystal clear. The diners in the restaurant obeyed unquestioningly, frozen where they sat.
With his free arm, Suhad shoved the senator through the kitchen doors. A few cooks and waiters hunkered down on the floor. Senator Strauss gasped in pain as Suhad shoved the gun hard into his ear.
“You move and I kill him! I kill this pig, you move.”
Suhad pushed his hostage forward, towards a back door that led to the alley.
“Please,” moaned Strauss. “What have I done to you?”
Suhad’s eyes fixated on the back of the senators expensive suit. “You send your soldiers to fight against God’s. You smother the world with your pornography and sin.” Suhad slammed Strauss against the back door sending him stumbling to his hands and knees in the alleyway. A car idled outside. Suhad’s brother, Nabeel, sat in the front seat staring out at him anxiously. Strauss attempted to stand. Suhad kicked his legs out from under him and he crumpled again onto the wet asphalt. “You are worthy of nothing but death.”
The sound of distant sirens wafted in the air. The car door banged open and Nabeel stood and shouted in Lebanese, “Kill him and let’s go!”
Suhad’s eyes widened. A ghost-like shadow stirred behind his brother. Before he had taken his next breath the shadow had taken on bone, then ligament, then organs, then flesh, each arising one after the other at an unfathomable speed. It was as if Allah were forming a man from the dank elements of the alley, as he had Adam on the sixth day of creation. Suhad gaped at the male figure standing behind his brother, dimly illuminated by a pulsing neon sign hanging above.
An angel of Allah?
A gun glinted in the man’s hand. A shot shook the alley and Nabeel’s head rocked forward in a burst of blood. In that instant, Suhad’s last thoughts swam around the impossible singularity that the man now swiveling a gun towards him had materialized out of thin air—an angel of Satan?—and then a second bullet tore through his frontal lobe.