Time to jump into the wayback machine and post the beginning of my very first novel
Fear Itself. Yes, I picked out quotes for the beginnings of every chapter.
“The greatest obstacle to discovery is not ignorance—it is the illusion
of knowledge.”
– Daniel Boorstin
“We’re on in two.”
Scanning the copy for tonight’s
broadcast, Alex McKenzie couldn’t bring herself to believe what she was
reading, not that any of it was new. The
world she once thought was so constant—so stable—was falling apart.
She reported on the same
types of things for the past two months, but she still couldn’t shake the
feeling something wasn’t right about it all.
As if the action would erase her unease, she ran a trembling hand
through her hair.
Out of the corner of her
eye, she caught a flash of movement; a monitor just off the set showed a woman’s
profile. Her long black hair was perfectly
coiffed, but hung limp around her pale face.
Her slender fingers quivered over the papers in front of her. The corner of her mouth twitched as though
she held back a tide of tears.
At the edge of her
consciousness, Alex heard the lead-in, but she couldn’t seem to focus her
thoughts. The camera in front of her indicated
she was now on-air. The woman on the
monitor straightening to speak.
“Good evening, ladies and
gentlemen,” said a familiar voice, “and welcome to GBC
News. It’s Friday, May 1st, and
I’m Alexandra McKenzie standing in for Craig Jamison.”
The woman sat rigidly
behind the news desk and looked, for that brief moment, as if she would rather
be doing anything else than reporting the news.
It took a moment for Alex to realize the woman was herself. Shaking away the detachment she now realized
was visible on her face, she replaced her harried expression with the steely
gaze of the hardened reporter she used to be.
She looked directly into the hearts of her audience and began. “What would normally be a day of celebration
for the coming of spring is instead a day of trepidation. This time of year we should all be thinking
of beaches and bikinis, cookouts and ball games, but instead our thoughts are of Fenrir and its
rapid descent toward Earth.”
Her face twisted as she
fought against the pain coursing through her chest. She had no hope to offer about its course and
no new reports of anyone who could divert the catastrophe headed their way.
She looked at the text in
front of her. It couldn’t be true. If she didn’t read the words, it wouldn’t be
true. But it was her job. “Tonight, Paris is in flames.”
The whole world was a
gigantic jigsaw puzzle being dismantled bit by bit; one more piece taken out
and tossed into the jumbled pile that once made a picture and now only made a
mess. “Over the past few days, a mob has
moved across the city leaving death and destruction in its wake. This morning, we showed footage of their attempt
to destroy the Eiffel
Tower. As of late this afternoon, that same mob
focused their anger on the Louvre.
Beginning with the glass pyramid that has become as familiar a part of Paris as the gallery
itself, a full frontal assault on the historic structures ensued. We have reports several of the mob’s members
were trampled in the crush to escape the pyramid’s falling shards. At least two have been pronounced dead from
their injuries.” She stopped, swallowing
hard while the director looked on, horrified.
Motioning nervously, he tried to get her to resume, but she sat battling
against a twisted urge to burst into hysterical laughter.
After several more
seconds and many more gestures from the director, she took a deep breath and forged
in again. “The assault on the museum
escalated with an attack on three security guards who were attempting to barricade
the doors. Our thoughts go out to them
and their families, but at this time hope for their safety is bleak.” She paused as a lump in her throat threatened
to choke her. Each word drained a little
bit more color from her face and a little bit more light from her eyes.
Her hands shook as she pushed
past the pain. “Once the mob entered the
museum, the carnage was overwhelming. Attempting
to save such famous artifacts as The Mona
Lisa and Venus de Milo, several
noted historians lost their lives. Men
on the scene report nothing of significant artistic value made it out of the
blaze.” Splaying her fingers on the
desk, she nodded curtly in response to a signal from behind the camera. “I just received word GBC’s
reporter on the scene is coming through.
For up to the minute news on the fires, we go now to John Clanton.”
As the feed began, the
on-air light flickered out and Alex surrendered to her misery, sagging in her
chair, her head slumping forward to rest on her arms. Even as she tried to block it all out, she
could hear the GBC reporter
speaking and the sounds of the scene behind him. The cries of the mob were like a thousand
hyenas in her ears.
She felt the urge to run,
to get away from the horror she reported day after day, but a single thought
held her in place: “Tomorrow someone… anyone…
may come forward...” She never finished
the thought; she didn’t know what was left to hope for. Like the billions of people around the world,
she once held out hope the scientists were wrong, but as time passed and the
comet came closer, her hopes withered.
“I don’t know why hope
doesn’t just die,” she thought.
No matter how bad
everything got, she knew she had to be
there to report the news; to relieve the minds of the millions and speak the
words: “Fenrir is no longer a danger.”
Yes, there are flaws, but this was first written in 2004 and edited ad nauseum between 2004-2008. I don't think I have the heart to edit it again - not without some kind of industry interest anyway.
