Paul stood still, frozen in place by the enormity of this situation.

His mind whirled, thinking back over the last 45 seconds of his life, unbelieving. He’d just been talking, talking! He hadn’t meant any of that, surely this was a dream, some kind of nightmare. It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t.

The body was believable.

His breathing was fast and shallow, he was panicking and for good reason. His friend was dead.

It sounded weird in his head even to think out loud. They’d been right here in this spot, not a minute ago talking about Rebecca. . . and what she’d been saying. What had she been saying? Why was this so hard to think about?

The body wasn’t moving, no signs of breath, no chance he could just be stunned? If he was to determine that he would have to move from his rooted position. He’d have to break through the ice in his veins that kept him from having a full-blown panic attack but stationary.

He deserved it.

The thought flashed unprovoked into the forefront of his mind.


He fought against that smarmy voice in his mind, the voice that was reeling with pleasure, the voice that was responsible for the body. The body with a deep red stain emerging on the stone floor beneath its head. The darkness was spreading slowly away, a fluid army fleeing from catastrophe.

The odds of him being just stunned diminished severely. Paul still hadn’t moved. His hand still grasped the rock. One of its edges was flecked with red.

It wasn’t right, he hadn’t done that. It was that voice.

His dumbstruck body finally dropped the stone. It clattered loudly on the floor and that seemed to stir him into movement.

He shattered the icy terror keeping him stuck in that spot and ran.

He deserved it.

Thanks to Laura for this week’s prompt.

I wrote this extract as part of the novel I’m writing for NaNoWriMo, way ahead of schedule but as soon as I saw the prompt I had to write that scene. It may well change as I write more of the book but it’s a start!