IRON THIRST SAMPLE PAGES (attempt 2)

Click here to read the original query. (Originally posted as Vanishing Iron)
Click here to read the revised query.
Click here to read the first three pages (original submission).

Chapter 1

Choices surround us. We are faced with life altering decisions on a daily basis. However nothing could have prepared me for this. I did not truly believe that such things existed. I've read about them, I've studied them, but they are things of fairytales, legends.

This beautiful vampire has given me power over my own death. A choice. His kiss is earth shattering. His eyes could move mountains. Somehow I gained his attention, and he has gone through great lengths to be with me. I've tried to escape him, to run away, but his force is much too great. He has a power over me like a moon orbiting a planet. Our destinies have been intertwined, and I cannot break free. My body aches. My heart yearns for the one I love. Blood still spills out of the two small holes that have been pierced in my throat. I can either close my
eyes and drift away, or drink his blood and live forever.

This is my choice, and this is my story.

Chapter 2

Pure evil is staring back at me from my full length floor mirror. I may even be afraid of myself. My eyes glow a very bright crimson with black around the edges, as if the fire inside had burnt the curved periphery. I look like I have not had a "bite" in weeks. My skin, which is normally
pale, is almost iridescent now. The jet black pixie haircut is arranged in little spikes that spell trouble. The menacing grin is complete with two sharp fangs over my scarlet red full lips that look poised to wreak havoc amongst the unsuspecting city's people of Atlanta, Georgia.

The town won't be that unsuspecting considering the rest of the people at DragonCon will also be dressed in costumes ranging from Star Trek to Night of the Living Dead. In addition to the wig, glitter, and contacts, my costume is complete with a red tank with three holes sliced across
the front, a black leather floor length trench coat with three waist-high silver buckles, a black leather mini skirt, and black leather high heel boots that cover my knees but leave much of my thigh to be seen. Dare, I say it… I look hot.

This will be my second year to attend the huge convention/party that is Con. Last year, I went as plain old me, and in a crowd of freaks, the normal person is the weirdo. I, a Con virgin, walked among the pirates, wookies, zombies, and even got to pet a real live functioning R2-D2. To
call DragonCon a convention would be an insult. It is a place of worship to all geeks, freaks, and nerds, and a source of entertainment to anyone else who dares to enter. This year, we plan to submerse ourselves in this magical wonderland.

I am in the midst of trying to add a little more dark shadows under my eyes to give myself the true undead look, when the doorbell rings. It must be Christian, my best friend, who/ is /a true fanatic. He is the reason I even started attending these types of things and unlike me, he
is a fan of it all. I slide down the banister to get to the door. Safer than taking the stairs in these boots.

I fling the door open, and there he stands. We both let out a scream and begin cackling at each other. No one is really scared, we are just that silly. Christian is a yicky-ucky zombie, complete with a tattered, stained, once-white shirt, pants that actually look like they had been buried, and suspenders. His normally perfect hair is dirty and a total mess at the top of his head. His skin has been painted a weird grayish green, and his mouth is bloodstained. No one would recognize this scary critter as my normal, calm, clean-cut best buddy.

"Felicity Johnson, you look a-freakin-mazing. I would have never thought that you, of all people, could pull this off." I should be offended, but he is quite right. Everyday me is not sexy, not scary, and definitely not a vampire.

"Well, hello Pot, I must be the kettle," I say with a laugh while opening the door for him to enter.

Christian stands at about six foot and can best be described as cute as a button. His dark brown hair, the color of tree bark, comes out in front of his face in a wave. His skin, when not covered in goop, is a nice golden tan. His face is clean shaven and smooth, and is small and angular. Although today he is wearing contacts, his nose normally holds his silver rimmed glasses. Behind them peer soft green eyes.

"Hey, listen to this," I say, letting out a very non-intimidating version of a snarl. "I've been practicing."

"Um, keep practicing; you sound like a drowning kitten."

I look at him with my pouty lip showing. I at least sound like an angry kitten, not a completely helpless one.

"Hey, Fee… I…I…," Christian stutters. Great, this cannot be good. "I may have kinda invited Mike."

Way worse than not good. Mike Fletcher is Christian's best guy friend who is nothing like him. More like his alter-ego. Where Christian is sweet, understanding, and everything a girl looks for in a best friend, Mike is a chauvinistic, egocentrical, pig-headed jerk. I cannot tell you how many times he has tried to randomly grab my breasts. It is a mystery to me why they are even friends. Well, they were fraternity brothers at Georgia, and from what I hear, that bonds you for life. Lucky me.

"Why, in the name of everything holy, would you do that?" I ask as I look down, feeling very exposed. It's one thing to look this way in front of Christian and tens of thousands of random strangers, but Mike will never let me hear the end of it.

"He swears that he will be good, and he is excited about meeting some of the celebrities, and /he/ is even dressing up," Christian says, looking a little proud of himself.

"Is he meeting us there?"

"No, he is meeting us here." That's it. I am going to have to kill him.

"Are you telling me that you gave Mr. Grabass my address? Christian, what were you thinking?"

"You are totally over-reacting. Just calm down. He's not that bad."

The door bell rings, and I jump ten feet in the air. Just wonderful. I don't have time to tone down the outfit. I am stuck dressed as sexy vampire with only a piece of wood separating me from my nemesis. Might as well get this over. I sling open the door.

"Hey sexy lady, where's Felicity?" Mike says with a wink. I just turn on my heals and start to walk away, when he adds, "What's eating her? Wish it was…" I punch him in the stomach before he can finish that thought.

"Dude, you said you would behave," Christian states, as he turns his head and looks at Mike like a puppy dog.

"Man, that's before I knew she was going as Sexy Fee." He looks at me and tries to turn on the charm. "Felicity, I am just kidding. I think it's cool you got all dressed up. You look really nice and very realistic. Can I lick your fangs?" He almost had me believing that for a minute.

"Absolutely not, but I do love your costume," I say, changing the subject.

QUERY- STORIES ENDING (revised)

Click here to read the original query.

On September 11th 2001, while the rest of the world mourns a tragedy, twenty one year old Livie Sivadier is admitted to a psych ward. When she begins her first novel earlier that spring, she has no idea that she is heading down a path to madness. All she knows is that she wants to escape— from both the confines of her home town, Irvine, and the depression that's hung over her since her fiancé dumped her two months before in a crowded coffee shop.

After an argument with her controlling parents, Livie travels up the coast of California to seek out her estranged sister Darlene. While living at the hippie, communal “Lake House”, Darlene and her creative friends inspire Livie to pursue her lifelong dream of writing, but the dream turns nightmare when the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Eventually, she comes to believe that her own protagonist is real and that the precarious balance of her own reality will crumble if she does not do something drastic.

Complete at 90,000 words, STORIES ENDING explores the dark potential of the human mind, but also its remarkable potential to heal. It is loosely based off of an experience of my own with mental illness. I appreciate very much the time you have taken to read this letter and I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.