Underwing Challenge: Day 5
What's your favorite excerpt from this WIP so far?
Here's a little piece from an early chapter I drafted when I was first starting to get used to the siblings' character voices. Enjoy!
“Fuck off!”
Tina’s voice is an octave higher than it normally is - and half drowned out by the hard sound of wood against skull that follows. My assailant goes rigid, and from underneath him, I get a spectacular view of his eyes rolling back into his head. Then, he collapses.
Out of all the terrible, uncomfortable things that have happened in the past few days - hours, even - being pinned between the floor and what might just be a fresh corpse ranks really high on the list. A shudder goes through my body and I shove him off, gangly limbs and all. He hits the floor with a solid thud while I scramble to my feet.
My sister holds a broom handle like a sword, her breathing even faster than mine. Her expression bears a striking resemblance to the one she wore when she first tried to dye her own hair - dazed, terrified, regretting every decision that brought her to this moment.
My panic breaks the silence. “Tina…”
“Should I have used a wrench?” she blurts, not even taking her eyes off the body. “I could have - I heard you two fighting and I thought ‘oh, it's fine, my sibling is strong and capable, there’s nothing to worry about -’”
“Did you kill him?” The words spill from my lips before I can stop them, every word a tick up in volume. Sure, as of three hours ago, I can’t be convicted of murder, but Tina? With a Competitor victim, to boot? “Is he dead?”
She shakes her head, making a bigger mess of her pink-tipped hair. “No. No, I couldn't have. There’s no blood.”
Tina pauses. I can almost see the gears in her head turning as she shifts the broom around, examining the part she must’ve hit him with. It’s just about the least reassuring thing she could've done.
“No blood. Okay.”
“What about a concussion? What about brain damage?”
“If we don’t overthink it, maybe it’ll be fine and maybe we can just - I don’t know - pretend this all never happened.”
As if on cue, the man on the floor lets out a groan. Both Tina and I tense, like we’ll turn into statues if he happens to look at us. Of course, he doesn't even get that far, just shifts a little inside of his massive coat and passes back fully into unconsciousness.
Tina droops like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Likewise, I let out a breath, suddenly lightheaded. “Great. Cool. We’re not murderers. That’s - okay.”
“Do you want me to murder him?”
Our eyes meet, and I give her the most strained, fearful look I can muster. For a second, I wonder if all the blood’s left my face like it used to when we were kids.
“Right.” She raises a finger, like she’s going to say something eloquent, but stops. “No murder.”
I clasp my hands together, my lips pulling into a thin, strained line. “I would, though, like to know what we are supposed to do with the unconscious man in our kitchen.”