I’m writing this entry from the truck parked in downtown Cloudcroft, NM. Our new campsite is about 8 miles from town in dispersed camping and we have no phone service there, so no Internet either.
Anyway, without further delay, here is the 1st sample from my first novel Indian Paintbrush.
Andy regained consciousness and was immediately met with a pounding in his head, blurred vision, disorientation and total confusion. He could somewhat see, but couldn’t make out what he was seeing. He thought he recognized where he was, but something just wasn’t right about it. The pain in his head was so intense he could hardly keep his eyes open. He had a sensation of swaying. The effect was nauseating; he closed his eyes tight to settle his stomach. Every beat of his heart sent a wave of nausea and a sharp, near unbearable pain to the top of his head.
“Don’t quite know what to make of this do ya, bud?” a voice whispered in Andy’s ear. Andy swung around to see who spoke. Something was keeping him from moving freely. He struggled a bit before soon realizing he didn’t have full use of his arms or legs. Squinting through whatever was blurring his vision, he confirmed to himself that he was in his barn behind the house. He was sure of that, despite the darkness. He closed his eyes again, though he had failed to locate the source of the voice that spoke to him.
“Figure it out yet Bud?” Andy heard the voice again. He turned his head slowly to the side and down where the voice came from. Then, something pressed against his opposite shoulder and pushed. He was swaying back and forth, from front to back again, though he felt he was in a standing position. Still, he could see no one. Forcing himself to keep his eyes open this time, he finally figured out why he could not get a grasp on his position. He looked down and could make out his own feet. His boots had been removed but he still had his socks on. A rope had been tied around both his ankles, holding them together. Beyond his feet, where he expected to see whatever it was he was standing on, he now recognized as the rafters and heavy timbers that made up the barn’s ceiling. There, he saw the other end of the rope that bound his ankles. He recognized the rope as his own. It had been coiled and hanging on a large nail above his work table that sat against the wall. He was hanging upside down in his barn, by his own rope.
Andy felt another push from his back. It was then that he realized his wrists were tied behind his back with something he couldn’t make out, maybe some sort of leather strap.
“I’m real sorry bout this Andy. It’s just not your day, bud.” The whispering voice said.
“Who the hell are you?” Andy raised his voice more in anger than fear.
“That’s really not important now, bud.” the voice answered. “What’s important is that you know that this is the only way. I’ve thought about this for a long time now, and this is just the only way.”
If you like what you’ve read so far, you can get the full novel on Kindle here. I’ll also be posting more sample from Indian Paintbrush in later posts if you’re not sure yet.
Thanks for reading…