SickHouse and Novel

I should have changed the name of my blog this weekend to the Slaughter SickHouse. We had a tough weekend. I won't go into details, but it involved large quantities of vomit and other bodily fluids ending up in places vomit just shouldn't. We are all better now, though, and our little setback was actually good for me in that I got the opportunity to write a little more than normal. I take what I can get these days. Anyway, I have had several people ask me why I don't post portions from the book I'm working on anymore. The answer is I'm a big fat chicken. But, today I decided to bite the bullet. I finished another chapter and am so close to the end. So, what can it hurt?

Esther exhaled loudly and leaned her head back onto the couch. She closed her eyes and took her face in her hands. She wanted to cry but was far beyond tears. She wanted to run but knew of nowhere as safe as where she sat. Peering through her fingers, she saw Ms. Beulah sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes shut and her lips murmuring a rapid prayer. Esther focused on the old woman’s hands clasped together on the table. The knuckles were white as Ms. Beulah clenched her fingers together tightly and prayed with fervor, determined not only for God to hear, but to answer.