I'm at just over 100,000 words, roughly 400 pages, probably another 100 pages to go. I thought I'd be done by now. Hell, I thought I'd be done 100 pages ago. So much for that. When I finally do finish I'll go back and revise what I've written, taking out the completely crappy parts and fixing the broken ones. I'd like to think that this scene I just wrote, part of what is now chapter 25, will remain:
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It wasn't the blood. There wasn't much of it, only where the welts crossed over each other, and Alex had never been squeamish about blood to begin with.
It wasn't the pain. The worst had been when the belt actually made contact with Christian's skin. Everything since was just an echo.
No, it was the entire awful scene. The stoned young woman, barely a woman, with cold dead eyes. The boy, Christian, unable to defend himself from some horrific torturer, tiny rivulets of blood rolling down his back. This nightmare that the boy and his sister were forced to relive. And it was the total lack of feeling from those two unwilling participants. The girl so broken by drugs, she didn't know how to feel. The boy so broken by pain, he had given up, at least till the wounds healed, hope returned, and the cycle began again.
It was that scene that caused Alex to lose control of his stomach. He had seen death, his father's and nearly his own. He'd had the most awful thoughts pushed into his mind as he slept. His body had become a toy in the hands of a demon. But it was this scene, man made, horrific, repeated in homes throughout the world... It was this scene that made Alex sick.
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