Sunday Six

Somebody over at /fanfiction mentioned something called the Sunday Six in a recent post. Basically, the idea is to post six sentences (or paragraphs) from a WIP. In that spirit, here are six paragraphs from The Water is Wide.

In the distance, he could make out a shadowy grove of trees, their branches withered and bare, despite the warm air. The trees bowed in on themselves like hunched old men. From this distance, even their bark looked grey.

The gurgle of water as he approached the grove reminded Ciel how dry his throat was. He quickened his pace. Ahead, the dusty road give way to a curved wooden bridge crossing over a narrow stream. He jogged the last few steps. A beat-up copper cup dangled from the bridge, held by a rope. Eagerly, he knelt, reaching for it. As he lowered the cup into the water, however, a fish floated languidly out from beneath the bridge, belly up. Ciel frowned, noticing, for the first time, how the copper lip of the cup had disturbed an oily film on the surface of the water. A fetid stench drifted up from the cup when he lifted it, something like old blood mixed with rotten cabbage. He let the cup clatter back to the wooden bridge, splashing his bare knees with the slick, oily water.

Shuddering, he climbed back to his feet, throat still dry and parched. Then he caught a glance of a figure in one of the trees on the other side, a man hanging in the branches. His lithe, lean arms knotted high above his head, stretching his gaunt torso. He wore only a pair of trousers, ragged and frayed at the ankles. His bare toes dangled inches above the ground. He hung as though dead, head bowed. A dark fringe of hair obscured his face.

For a terrible, heart-stopping moment, Ciel though it was Sebastian. But no. The wind-tangled hair was dark, but not the same, glossy black of Sebastian's. Instead, it was closer in shade to Ciel’s own, dark brown shot through with premature strands of silver. Black pearls studded his earlobes.

The hanged man lifted his head with great effort, and Ciel held his breath, terrified he’d see the monstrosity he’d glimpsed surrounded by flames in the library, his mother’s wide, blue eye staring out from his father’s face. But the eyes that focused on him were dark, piercing, the same ones Ciel remembered watching him over the chess board, evaluating his every move.

"Ciel?" his father rasped.