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Genre: Fantasy
About ekhidnaLocation: Indiana, of the Northwest variety. Home Region: Age:20 Favorite novels: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Dante's Inferno, the Orcs series, The Color out of Space, The Rats in the Walls Favorite writers: Douglas Adams, Jhonen Vasquez, Garth Nix, Brian Jacques, John Green (DFTBA), H.P. Lovecraft Favorite music: Not sure yet. I'll keep you posted. Non-noveling interests: Roleplaing, video games, reading, horror movies that don't suck, folklore and mythology, crime research, ancient history (especially Rome and Ancient Greece), |
Joined: October 5, 2008 This Year: Official Participant NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 54 NaNoWriMo buddies: 6
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Brief Author Bio: Twenty, junior in college, history major, still engaged because marrying's not legal yet. Now that that's out of the way, onto the literature. This will be my fourth year doing Nanowrimo. Last year was my first win, with 50,094 words, on the 29th of November. Sequel year turned into rewrite year, and I don't have a problem with this outcome at all. After all, this is the actual interesting bits that I tried to get to all of last year. |
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Synopsis: Pardon Me While I Throw Up
The Ragnarok Chronicles: Tier One
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Ryker has a problem. He's been trying to deal with it for two years now.
All he ever wanted to do with his life was grow up to be a doctor and help save people. Now, he finally can fulfill his dream, due to the family he was recently 'adopted' into. Unfortunately, Ryker's never going to grow up.
Ever.
And it's hard to convince to people that even though there this base instinct in you now to rape, maim and destroy, you can still be a good person. Really. Seriously. Honestly.
If only he could convince himself, then maybe this could actually work out.
Let's not even bring up the zombies. That just complicates things.
Excerpt: Pardon Me While I Throw Up
“Professor, something’s wrong with O’Reilly” A voice to my left rings out.
“Yeah, he totally looks like he’s going to hurl.”
I look of from my internal struggle to see that half of the class is staring at me, although that in itself isn’t particularly unusual, but my cadaver class professor also has his attention on me.
Dr. Ian Woon strides through the tables and I manage to force myself to release the death grip I have on the scalpel in my hand. I really don’t need to be wielding anything pointy at this point, I don’t think.
My professor studies me a moment before speaking. “Is there a problem, Ryker? Are you ill?” Due to all the excuses he’s gotten from me, Dr. Woon must think that I am horribly lazy and a liar, or deathly ill. Not to mention, I’ve failed this class once before, and it was his that last time too. I know my marks are already dipping perilously low this semester. I have to hold it together. I have to.
“No, sir. I’m…I’m fine. I mean, I’ll be okay, that is.” I manage to mumble, averting my eyes so I don’t stare like I want to.
This isn’t fucking rocket science, Ryker. Eat, you little bitch. How about the kid next to you, the hot rich boy who is your lab partner? How about your teacher? He’s giving you a look like he’s got authority over you. Who gave him the right to do that? Kill him. It’ll feel so good.
The voice in my head’s tone changed from the orders it was giving me before into a more subtle, almost seductive tone, reminding me way too much of one of my elders in the way it crooned about violence. I want to listen. God, do I want to listen to it. I just want to stop hurting.
“Are you sure?” The doctor asks me and my gaze snaps up to meet his. I can feel a growl rise in my throat, my hands clench in the latex gloves, my whole body moving to obey the instinct that guides it more than I do sometimes.
Just one bite, Ryker. That’s all it’ll take. You can do it.
The voice flirts at me again as the ache in my head subsides, my instinct pleased that it looks like I’m going to listen to it. And I want to, I want to so bad that it makes me sick to my already twisting stomach....
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