Snazzy Snippets

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At long last, I have decided to participate in Snazzy Snippets. In case you’re unfamiliar with Snazzy Snippets, it’s a bi-monthly link-up hosted by Alyssa @ The Devil Orders Takeout and Emily @ Loony Literate. Every two months, they post a set of writing prompts and then leave us to go hog wild. Or something like that. 

The guidelines for this edition are: 

A snippet from page 16

or

A snippet of 16 words or fewer

or

A snippet about something NEW

(Eg. A new year, a new school, introducing a new person/character/setting, a new revelation.) 

I’ve decided to do all three categories. (Also, you might be wondering why I often use initials in my snippets instead of full names. I apologize for any confusion, but I don’t like to share my made-up names online. Call it fear that people will think they’re stupid and laugh at me or fear that people will think they’re cool and steal them. Either way, my lips are sealed.) Also, in case you were wondering, all of these snippets come from my current work in progress, a YA fantasy. 

This first snippet could fit under the third category (since, for one character, it involves a revelation of new information), but since it’s from roughly page sixteen, I’m going to use it for the first category instead. So there: 

Ages pass before A reenters with a bowl of steaming water pressed tremblingly between her hands. Sitting, she crumbles the herbs and lets them slip through her long fingers into the basin. “You asked if you father is here now,” she says. “Come child, what is the meaning of this?” 

“He’s missing,” I answer flatly, afraid to explain further, afraid to mourn, afraid to break the wall inside me that has held back the tears until now. “Presumed dead.” My stomach sours, and I curse myself for my stupid hope. Of course he isn’t here. Of course. 

He’s nowhere. 

“Dead?” Her hands tip the bowl abruptly, and the water sloshes her dress, yet she doesn’t seem to notice. “How can this be?” Disbelief crowds its way into her voice. 

“They say he was murdered.” 

*gasp* 

Here we are for category two, with a snippet of sixteen words: 

“You’re safe here,” he murmurs, “you know that right?” 

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be safe.” 

(I don’t know how much impact that has or how much sense it makes taken out of context, but whatever. We’re just going to go with it.) 

And finally we come to the third category. In this longish snippet, my main character is dealing with a lot of new stuff. She’s made a (tentative) new friend and a new enemy, entered a new living situation, and encountered a whole new set of problems. So I think I’ve covered my bases with this snippet: 

High noon sneaks up on us as we sit beside the dead stream, lulled by the rustling of the leaves and the chattering of squirrels. When a butterfly flutters past, I listen to the beating of its beautiful dragon wings, wondering if it understands how fragile it is. 

Finally Jude stands and offers me a hand. “We should go back. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.” Despite his inviting smile, I am tempted to pull away, to flee—to run and run until I have left all this behind. Instead I let him help me to my feet. 

Trouble is waiting for us in the clearing when we slip from the woods like thieves in the night. S. As she approaches, her eyes flash sparks at odds with the painted smile on her lips. Jude stiffens. 

“Where have you two been all morning?” she asks, her tone light and innocent, her fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists at her sides. 

“The forest,” Jude answers, squaring his shoulders. 

“I saw what happened earlier, N,” S turns to me. “I saw how you treated A, the way you ran off like a spoiled brat to throw your little tantrum. It was very childish of you. And they may not know what you’re doing, coming here and demanding everyone’s attention, but don’t think you have me fooled. I know who you are. And I know what you’ve done.” She smirks. 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, but—” Jude begins. 

“Oh, don’t worry—she understands,” S cuts him off, unfazed by his anger. “Just be careful, N. Don’t hurt my friends like you hurt him.” Still smirking, she flounces off, her head held high, her posture oozing confidence. 

Why aren’t my lungs working?

“Well…I’m not sure what that was about,” Jude frowns, “but I apologize. I’ll speak with Mother; she’ll straighten this out.” 

“Oh no,” I blurt, forcing myself to make eye contact. “Please don’t.” If they speak with her—if she tells them…

“N,” he shakes his head, “S shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“I’m not staying anyway,” I protest, “and I don’t want to cause more trouble than I already have.” I need to get out.

“You won’t be the one causing trouble,” he assures me, scanning the clearing. 

“No,” I insist, more sharply this time because I see A now, gathering wild greens at the far edge of the forest. “I’d really rather you didn’t.” 

He purses his lips. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” I say. “Just let it be.” Does she know? Does she really know about Titus? “I should leave.” 

“You keep saying that.” He plucks a twig from a nearby tree and studies it a moment before casting it aside. “But I don’t think you mean it.” 

“Oh?” I try for a neutral expression. 

“Let’s get something to eat.” He takes my elbow, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s avoiding the question. “I can show you around later. At least give this place a chance.” 

Afraid to do anything that might draw attention to myself, I relent and follow him to a well-stocked table. Baskets of bread and jars of cordial line the surface like ramparts, and I wonder how these people can afford to be this liberal. In my village we drag our wheat from the ground and beat our milk from the cows and protect our spoils from the rabble under lock and key. Every day is a hard-won victory over the earth. And every day is another opportunity to die. 

As we seat ourselves on the rickety, weather-beaten chairs, I scan the clearing for any sign of S, but she must have left already. And good riddance. When Jude offers me a cup of tea and a plate of rolls to share between us, I fake a smile and force myself to eat, even though my stomach turns at the very thought of food. 

No matter what, I can’t let him see—I can’t let him notice how shaken I am. S doesn’t know what I’ve done—how could she? Still, if there’s even the slightest chance… If they find out, I doubt they’d let me stay. I doubt they’d deal kindly with me. After all, I know what my villagers do to those who murder their own. It can’t be that different here. 

And, there you have it, my little coffee beans. I’m still in the middle of (hopefully) my last intense round of edits on this project, so I apologize for any rough patches in the snippets. (I’m afraid S might still have a slight case of Cackling Disney Villain Syndrome.) What about you? Have you participated in Snazzy Snippets before? If so, feel free to drop a link in the comments below so I can check out your post.