Authors - this is your chance to present readers with a taster of your work.

First Chapters is where members may place the first chapter of the novel along with a brief overview of the story without giving away the end.  To submit their work writers will send a synopsis - to allow me as Editor to make informed comments on the story ( I promise not to give away any endings) - and follow the guidelines in the Submissions page.  We will take first chapters and prologues and publish those.  Readers and members are invited to comment on the work presented. 

 by KARM ARGER

’Tis all a chequerboard of nights and days

Where Destiny with men for pieces plays

Hither and thither moves and mates and slays

And one by one back in the closet lays

(From the Rubiyat of Omar Khayam by Edward Fitzgerald)

Chapter One

   Yesterday was a Saturday. It had dawned the same as any other. There was no hint, suggestion, or indication, nor had I any premonition that it was going to be anything else other than a particularly ordinary day. How then was I to know that before the sun had set this day would become one, which was unforgettable, marking forever a milestone in my life!

   The long midday sun had borne down mercilessly baking white the powdery sand covering the entire ground. In this intense copper-red heat no sensible animal would have stirred - certainly not any bird or beast - except, maybe, man. The first two of these, that is bird and beast though difficult to discern with the naked eye, were undoubtedly out there resting either upon the branches of trees or on the dappled ground; any place in fact where they were afforded safe and peaceful enjoyment. They rested, waiting instinctively, for the fiery sun to sink lower in the sky. If one had looked searchingly, of course, one could have found them. But as for me, I knew they were there and I had no intention of ever harming them. I am sure they, too, were aware of my innocent presence because they made no attempt to avoid me.

   It was the loud barking of our two dogs that jolted me into full consciousness. Rising slowly to my feet, I shuffled along towards the end of the long straight veranda whence I could look out over the spacious grounds surrounding our home. My peering, probing, eyes noticed nothing out of the ordinary save that by now I was able to tell by the barking of the animals they had moved round to the other side of the house. It was with scant interest that I ventured out of the confines of the cool veranda into the enervating heat, to explore. Slowly, and lethargically, I treaded my weary way down from the portico to the steps, from the steps to the solid ground, my feet by now well insulated by thick rubber-soled shoes.

What I saw both thrilled and frightened me. In truth, it took my breath away completely. Confronting the dogs was a hissing snake about twelve or thirteen feet long. With hooded head raised high, darting forked-tongue sensing the air, it struck out repeatedly at the elusive hounds, missing every time. Again and again, the flattened head speared towards them but exercising an uncanny judgement the dogs managed to keep just out of reach. The dogs were nervous. Were they afraid? I could not tell but if they were they held their ground all the same. For the snake, its only escape route and safety - which remained barred - lay past the bared canine teeth of the snarling animals. To flee in the opposite direction meant slithering over some thirty feet of open ground, over white burning sand. I am certain the snake had realised this meant immediate death. I watched the battle helplessly, and fearfully, staying my safe distance.

   Already, the sound of their nervous, querulous barking, which had first awoken me, had changed to a vicious, violent and irrepressible anger. Only this time the dogs had probably sensed they had gained the advantage over their legless quarry. With salivating mouths, bristling hairs like ruffs right up to their necks, they lunged at it from every direction, gnashing, snapping, growling, each seeking to deliver the final, mortal blow. One savage bite from those razor sharp teeth would have instantly ripped apart and broken the snake’s back. Seemingly, the deadly reptile must have become alerted to this impending danger because suddenly - and with such incredible speed that I could remember seeing nothing more than a blurred movement - the reptile lowered its head, whipped round like a top and then like a loosed quarrel streaked right across the scorching sands in an attempt to escape from its tormentors which were following close behind. I don’t think it managed to cover even fifteen feet before it slowed to a stop. Frizzling in the sun, its body spiralled and shrivelled and then, in a moment, all movement ceased. Undoubtedly, it was dead and had died almost instantly. This life or death struggle, so often found in nature’s domain, was over. Death having intervened, the dogs quickly lost all interest in their quarry. They headed first to our open-air pond to slake their thirst and after that trotted off to settle down in the large shade provided by a leafy tree. They preened, licked themselves clean and then satisfied yawned widely before fully stretching out their bodies. Heads lowered comfortably between their paws, they rested together in amity.

By this time my curiosity had been aroused irrepressibly. The earlier torpor had vanished and I was wide-awake. Searching about, I found a long piece of dried bamboo with which I picked up the dead snake. “Snakes should never be manhandled, even dead ones” - so much had been piously drilled into me. I intended to heave it as far away as my strength would allow. Pivoting on my heels, I swung back and forth to get into a rhythm. Swivelling as I did so, I saw not too far in the distance, but well beyond the boundary fence of our property, a group of five men emerge through a rear gate of the fortified military establishment nearby. They were marching towards an open piece of ground. Four of them wore military uniforms and three were armed with tall rifles, but the fifth, walking a few feet in front of the group, looked like an unarmed civilian. In his right hand he carried a shovel. I could see him clearly as I could, indeed, all five of them. As he walked this man’s head rolled peculiarly from side to side, keeping time as it were, with his footsteps. His shoulders appeared asymmetrical, one end drooping, the other standing much higher. There being no regularity in his steps his disjointed movements tended to give him a hoppity gait as he went along. Stopping in mid-swing, I stepped forward to watch walking to the very edge of our land until I was standing up against the barbed wire fence.  From where I stood nearly the whole of his face was visible. It was a face utterly devoid of any cheer. Quite to the contrary, it expressed a total resignation. The ends of his mouth were drawn downwards twisting the lower parts of his face; beneath his thick, dark, furrowed brows, unblinking small eyes peered straight ahead not appearing to see what was around him. In a flash it dawned upon me that I was witnessing the last walk of a man who had been condemned to die. Utilising all my strength I swung the dead snake on my stick with full force, releasing it at the optimum point, to watch it sail through the air in a big semicircular arc and disappear from view over the tall hedge. Having rid myself of the snake, I concentrated on the scene that was being played out in front of me.

   It looked as if one of the soldiers was an officer. He was giving the orders. Uniquely, somewhat, he did not follow behind the group but, as the man in charge, walked beside it. The remaining three uniformed men were positioned so as to be one on each side of the civilian with the third formed up immediately behind him. Whenever the civilian, who was proceeding in front, faltered in his footsteps he was vigorously, and most

unsympathetically, prompted to move forward by the soldier behind. I thought I heard some guttural sounds but they definitely did not emanate from the hapless civilian. I am sure he said nothing.

   This group of five men finally stopped at the foot of a solitary, stunted tree. The officer swung round to stand at one side. I could see now he carried a holstered pistol in his leather belt. He said something inaudible pointing with his right hand to the ground. One of the soldiers shouted out some more orders. I could not hear him properly or even understand what was being said. Nevertheless, I fully understood their meaning. What he wanted done was only too clear. But despite these peremptory orders the civilian still did nothing. He was hesitating. He stood, unruffled, not at all wanting to move. There were more furious shouts. I saw the burly soldier who had been shouting earlier kick the man into action. The condemned man turned round slowly. Now he was facing sideways towards me. Holding the spade with both hands he dug into the dry, grassy, ground. Using one foot to assist him with the entrenching tool, he dug and then shoved the earth upwards, piece by piece, in large, crumbly clods. These he piled up neatly on either side of the hole he was making. Deeper, ever deeper he went, digging and shovelling, excavating the ground, while all four soldiers standing around watched him silently.  

   I cast my eyes left, then right, looking near and far, searching for others who, like me, might be watching the same scene. But I could see no one. It was as if this whole tragic scene was just for me to view, for my eyes alone. I know I ought to have turned away but I was mesmerised, drawn like the proverbial moth to a flame; I found it impossible to avert my gaze. More likely perhaps, if the truth were to be told, I just did not want to go away. I preferred to stay put. I wanted to watch.

Chapter 1

My name is James Roberts. If you’re a human reading this then I have overcome almost impossible odds to save you, the human race, against a powerful evil that threatened the very existence of this restless planet, but in doing so have become damned to wander another universe till the end of my days.

If, however, you are one of them reading this then I have failed to stop your kind and am, at this moment, lying inside the digestive juices of your master, slowly melting away in eternal agony, praying for death.

I have, either, been given the chance by your master or am writing this before my fate takes me to the other universe to tell my story so that any future generations will know what I had to go through, and so that my experience may, in turn help you to complete your own stories.

It all started on a cold, snowy December evening, Christmas Eve in fact. My brother, Josh, and I had just crawled into our beds to await the glorious morning of presents and video cameras, but it was never meant to be. . .

This is the first chapter of a book by Michael Davis which having read some I like the idea.  Again this is a draft but I submit it as an example of writing that is beginning to show some potential.  Read it and see for yourself. 

Winds of grief

Chapter one

Walking along the silent street, Mark came to a halt at a towering structure stretching from the ground until it almost dipped into the clouds, spinning as it goes. Such a bizarre structure, lit up like an elegant Catherine Wheel in the night's sky, spinning slowly to the distant sounds of the daily London traffic. Without a sound Mark rushed past the millennium wheel towards the simmering shadows below the lights of London.

Mark didn't give it a second thought before plunging his head in to the river. His mind as wild as fire could not be extinguished by the sudden cold rush he felt as his head went under the water. He pulled his head out shaking uncontrollably whispering under his breath,

"Oh my god"

His mind was confused with poison. Mark kept asking himself questions. Why does that thing exist? Why does he feel more like a monster now then before? Why is God putting him in this much pain? He brushed back his long black hair shaking himself off as he slumped against a wall. His green restless eyes looked out across the water's edge while he closed his mind and breathed heavily on his hands. He needed to calm down. He never should have acted with so much violence.

He walked back towards the water's edge and knelt down to twirl the silky substance which the moon had revealed. He didn't want to go back and see Katharine. All he wanted in the whole world was to be with her now but, because of what happened that night, he doubts he could ever see her again. Mark had been friends with Katharine for only a couple of weeks and now his love for her has brought doom to the city. He suddenly lashed out at the wall, smashing his right hand forcing dust to burst out at his face. He scrambled around, swiping at his face with ever aggressive movement. Never could he have seen, in his blind rage, a pair of dark black eyes looking at him from the darkness. Never could he have seen this dark figure glide towards him, raising up a glittering sharp object, which looked ready to strike the moon red.