Sunday, December 13, 2009

False Dawn #1: Comic Book Script

Expiration dates suck, and that’s a problem for fourteen-year-old Perishable Ral Dawson. Caught in an immortal battle between warriors of darkness and well…immortals, Ral gets closer and closer to his own expiration date when he’s sucked into the body of a Skadoian Warrior who kidnapped his mother and uncle. And you thought you were scarred by your childhood.

False Dawn #1: Graduation

False Dawn #1: “Graduation”

Short Story Edition
Devin Leigh Michaels

I should be thinking about the squealing mass of crimson flesh, dangling in the middle of the overturned bar with his ankles tied together above his head. I should be thinking about how Lance is way too comfortable with that blade and the pudgy man’s skin.

“All right, Biker Mouse from Mars,” Lance baits, “let’s try this again.”

I probably should be thinking about Casia and how she tries to hide her repulsion, even fear of the whole affair, though she has and probably will see worse before this is done.

“Lance, perhaps he’d be more apt to answer if he didn’t have a knife in his face,” she spats. Lance narrows his eyes. “That’s your opinion.”

Yet I keep thinking about the red gown I should be wearing and the matching cap with a tassel that reads “Class of 2009.” I think of Topher, my best friend, and how he would be doing a speech since he always was a “goodie-two-shoes” and he’d wrapped teachers around his pinkie since he started nursery school. I think how his mom made the best cakes. That, of course, makes me think of my mom and how she couldn’t cook cereal let alone sweets. I think how she did the best she could being a young mother and having to raise both me and my uncle Connor.

I think of all the lies and questions my mom never answered and all the pictures of my first years I never saw until after I found out the truth.

And that’s when I’m redirected to the present.

I think of the man hanging upside in the rundown bar that we—Lance, Casia, and me—helped to clear.

A reincarnated squire, a were-phoenix, and me—Ral Dawson.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. What’s so special about me?

“Look, Mr. I’m-So-Scared-I-Peed-My-Pants, you know you want to tell us, and I know you want to tell us,” Lance soothes with a dangerous tone.

Nothing really but more on me later.



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