I am trying to write a book. I'd appreciate constructive criticism, because I want to maybe publish it one day.
And just a note so they don't jump down my throat; this is not an attempt to copy the Twilight series. Believe it or not, I started writing this is 2004 while I was a senior in high school bored during classes. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that was a year before Twilight was even released. I will admit though, Twilight helped inspire me to complete it. I only recently started to revise it.
CHAPTER 1- Andrew
Andrew stood over the body. Never again, he thought. No more.I'm not like them, their clans, their packs... I am different. This is over for me. The scent of blood was overwhelming, and it was all his fault. He had taken everything too far. My lies did this. My hope to be different. He had lived with this curse long enough.
“I will not!” Andrew yelled out in the darkness. Across the field, glowing eyes were on him, fueled by hatred. He didn't care. He wouldn't stand it. His eyes glowed as well—with fury.
Andrew lifted the frail body. He had done a horrible thing, caused by his selfishness. He caused his family to turn against him. “Do it boy!” Someone yelled. His fists clenched. He refused to obey.
There was fire surrounding the area. He had knocked down the torches. Sweat dripped of Andrew's face. The heat felt like it was burning his flesh. It only helped his urge to shift. It was a perfect representation of the fire that burned inside him. It was an angry fire of rage. It was about ready to explode.
Andrew didn't answer them. The boy in his arms was still alive, bleeding. There was only one thing to do now—run.
He took to the forest, away from the fire and from his family, his sins. He no longer cared. It was over.
He could hear the howling and roaring behind him grow as his family gathered up their forces to follow. There was no looking back. They would kill both of them now. “They must die!” “Betrayer!” “Thief!” “Coward!” They screamed, both as human and beast.
He kicked his heals as fast as he knew how. In the process he lost his shoes. He could run faster barefoot anyway.
Andrew held his friend tightly. He knew keeping him would only give the others a trail to follow. The blood. They would smell and follow it forever. The thought about ditching his friend made him sick. He would not leave him for dog meat. Running was the only way.
Their paws would catch up. It was only a matter of time. But, he had to keep going. He couldn't let his friend suffer. He would be a lousy friend if he did, and his efforts would be in vain.
It seemed like forever until they arrived—the road! This was only chance was to bum a ride in a car. With the speed of the car and the change in scent, it would be much harder to track them. But they were deep in the mountains and cars are rarely seen.
The pavement was soft and smooth compared to bare ground. His bloody feet finally at peace.
Please... please be a car, he panicking, sniffing the air. He set the boy down. Andrew could hear the barking and howls growing several miles behind him. Andrew was a fast runner, but he was not a good tracker. The rest of his family was. He had about ten minutes before they arrived.
Andrew put his hand over the wound. The boy whined in pain. His eyes closed and his skin felt more cold. “Hold on.” Andrew whispered. “This is all my fault.” The boy didn't answer, and began to go limp.
Andrew began to cry. He knew he couldn't save him on his own. If nobody came to the rescue, he would kill himself before his family had the chance. But there was a sound of hope down the hill. A truck! Andrew ran in its path.
“Please, please stop! He needs a doctor!” He waved his hands furiously. The clunky truck slowed, then a mid aged man stuck his head out the window. Fear grew on his face from the sight. Blood was all over Andrew. The mans eyes grew wide. Andrew was afraid he'd be too scared to help. The man rolled down his window only a few inches. “What the hell happened?” He said, looking back and forth from him and the boy. Andrew told the truth.
“Wolf! He was attacked. He needs to get to a hospital!” Andrew was out of breath from running. He panted, “Please!”
“I'll call 9-1-1.” His wife in the passenger seat quickly pulled out her cell phone.
The man hesitated, but finally gestured to him to get into the back of the truck. “Put him back their, we'll take you.”
Andrew grabbed the boy and laid him in the back. He jumped in himself. Safety, for now, he thought. The boy was rapped in a towel, but the bleeding still wouldn't stop.
Even though he was relieved for himself, it was now hopeless for the boy. It was another half hour drive till they reached town and the hospital. The boy would be dead by then—and he was.
It was a nightmare he would live with the rest of his life. He would never go back to that place. His actions caused the life of his friend. He knew nothing would ever be the same.
They would hunt him the rest of his life.
It was the same dream, almost every night. He dreamed of the pain, the running, the agony of his only friend dying a horrible death. Andrew rose up in his bed, sweating, and still very tired. He woke just one minute prior to his alarm. He hated that.
His thoughts were restless, and always the same. His pack—their anger and hatred towards humans and himself—caused him to lose someone close. Sacrifice was essential, this he understood for years, but it became pure madness when they forced him to kill his best friend based on principle; humans do not befriend werewolves.
He often tried to justify their acts, but could never find any reason to believe that they were right. Their behaviors today are the same as their ancestors; the wolves. His family always living the traditional ways. Living together in groups, males dominant, females are the mothers, the alfa male rules over all, sacrifices, hunting, mating, blood, and survival. Everyone else, especially humans, are the enemy. Nothing has changed.
Andrew can only recall short memories of his younger childhood. Some pleasant, some not so pleasant. There was always some drama to bark over. He grew tired of it. Even as a young boy, he could remember hearing his parents argue over their hatred towards humans. There was always talk of blood and carnage, domination, sex, and authority.
Growing up, the only thing that gave him pleasure was the hunt. The thrill of the hunt, the running, the instincts were free. Once the hunt targeted humans it was over for him. It seemed everything Andrew considered good in his life was destroyed.
None of it matters now, aside from the nightmares, he escaped. He was free from all of it.
After a lifetime of suffering, he escaped. He moved around a lot, until finally he moved to New York City. Andrew finally had a normal life. He wasn't strapped down by traditions or duties, he was free to live any way he chooses. The best part was that it was not their way.
He lived among humans, although normal to him, this was his first big downfall. Mingling with humans is what got him into this mess, but it was for the best.
Once he graduated from high school and was old enough to leave the agency, he got a job and a nice apartment. Living on his own was a dream he feels he had from the beginning. He was a free-spirited wolf.
Andrew wiped his eyes and sat up in his bead, his head busy with thoughts. Lately his sleep had been costing him to be late to work. Not that it mattered, he held a high position and a salary. He only had to be there to make sure everyone else was doing their job properly. Regardless, he needed to get up.
He let out a small grunt as he staggered to the bathroom. The tile floor of his apartment felt cool all the way to the bathroom. The blinds closed and the lights dimmed. He had lived this way, alone, for years. The same routine every day.
Living alone was wonderful, the privacy and the freedom, but it was important to keep his true form a secret. Nobody outside of his pack knows what he really is. He knew letting someone know would be dangerous. Not only would it jeopardize his overall safety—humans are not ready to accept them—he would risk being found by his family.
In order to keep himself safe, he avoided all human contact as much as he could. He learned his lesson about getting to close. He wouldn't repeat his mistakes. After all, the last time he got too close to anyone, it ended up killing them, and he had to run. He couldn't bare to go through that again. The nightmares alone are too much to bare.
It seemed simple enough. Besides his job, avoiding people was easy. It's lying that was getting harder. Not to mention he had a target marked on him at all times—literally. The symbol on Andrew's eye. A “sacred” tribal symbol—something he can't easily hide. If anyone knew anything about the traditions of werewolves, they'd instantly know he was one of them. Humans always fear what is different, and the added attention to himself made it hard to keep his life a secret.
Admittedly, life in the pack was easier. You can talk about whatever you want (except for human affairs), you can be yourself (in any form), and everyone you know knows exactly who and what you are. It's like one big family living in a community. A wolf utopia of some sort.
Outside the pack, however, Andrew discovered it isn't easy. He has to deal with humans, questions, always making sure he's fully human, the urge to shift when in pain or anger, and of course, hormones. Staying away from relationships is the most important goal. The drama is too much to handle. Not only that but wolves are naturally sex driven. Under those circumstances he could easily hurt someone if he lost control. Then there's the blood lust and his diet. Just like a wolf, they enjoy raw meat. His fridge was packed with chicken and steak, and not much else. To satisfy his tastes for blood, eating it raw helps. But werewolves can eat normal food as well.
He tries his best to keep his profile low, hiding his tattoo with his long bangs. Eight-to-five job, simple loft apartment, boring hobbies, crappy car; just your typical New Yorker trying to get by.
But, after five years of living with humans, he decided it was worth it. Even though it was dangerous, it didn't mean he wasn't allowed to have fun. Running in the far woods several miles from the city gives him comfort, especially in his fural (wolf) form.
Sometimes within the comfort of his own apartment with the windows sealed, he lives in his anthro (werewolf) form. It feels free and natural. It's like a drug. An arousing release to change and breath as though former life was left behind. But, with his new busy life, he barely has time to remember what he is. It has been years since Andrew has shifted into any form.
Andrew sometimes wishes he could show the world what he really was. Movies and books tell the world its fiction. He watches and reads them, only to find himself laughing. Although they aren't far off, they aren't quite like the movies depict. They aren't mindless monsters controlled by lust for blood or have savage animal instincts like in the movies, they are simply humans with the ability to shape shift. Their human mind has complete control of the wolf. There is never a point for weakness, though, sometimes blood can trigger desires. They also don't have gruesome or disgusting transformations. Humans have screwed up the werewolf legends so much, it almost makes Andrew angry. But, he would probably have a hard time convincing anyone what real werewolves are like.
First, there's the tribal mark. Each pack had its own unique marking. This wasn't just a tattoo, it was etched into their skin—using some magic he never really learned much about—deeper than what a human would have done. In the past, the mark is given to the first born male of every wolf family to determine worthiness to be the alpha male. Only those who have a mark can lead. It also showed other packs what family they belonged to, their class, their age, their deity. These markings were put on wolf babes on the day they are born. It can be anywhere on the body, not just the eye. This tradition had been out of practice for centuries, but his pack decided to continue with it. Yet another reason why he resented them; they were old-fashioned.
Packs live in groups together, usually in small rural areas. They can be any number from four to up to a hundred. Most live and blend in with normal people, but they do not separate too far from each other. They have jobs, go to school, pay bills, and live like normal law abiding citizens (with the exception of his pack).
It's easy to spot a werewolf pack if you know what to look for: Big houses with multiple families living in them, not just immediate family members, they sometimes disappear around the full moon to go and do ritual moon runs and hunting, and all are usually shy and reserved, and very rarely hang out with normal humans.
Werewolves are also incredibly strong, physically. Able to run fast in all forms, jump high, and fight. Fighting was essential to survival. If you were not a fighter, you might as well be dead.
It might sound like an ideal life, but living in a pack is incredibly difficult. Too many rules and inequality. When he was home, Andrew was still a young wolf. He wasn't high enough to even receive a rank. If he had gone through with killing his friend, he would have probably landed omega, which is the worst and lowest position—probably as punishment for being with a human.
Omega are often mistreated and are shown little-to-no respect. They usually spend time trying to avoid contact with everyone and keep from drawing attention to themselves. They are actually lower rank then children. Andrew hated that.
Not only would he have been on the bottom, he'd be pushed around and have to obey everyone above him—or be killed. Obeying other annoying members was one thing, but obeying the alpha, was something he refused to do regardless of the punishment.
The pack leader, Stephan, tried too hard to be his father, but he wasn't. Andrew's real father, Lokami, who died several years before. He held his position as alpha for several years and was known for being one of the best his pack had ever seen. Stephan had just joined the pack and already didn't approve. And as “tradition” calls, if someone wants to challenge the leader of the pack, the alpha was forced to fight them in order to continue or step down from his position. Stephan won and took over the pack. Lokami was killed.
Even though Andrew was still young and barely knew his father, he hated Stephan for it. It pained him to see that even his own mother didn't mind the death of Lokami, and that their stupid traditions overrule love and even logic.
Andrew's mother married Stephan immediately and Andrew's life changed forever. His perfect family was ripped from him. This was what started his rebellious stage. Sneaking out at night, lies, hanging with humans, it had to be done. Anything that wasn't their way was what he wanted.
To this day, Andrew wishes to see Stephan suffer for his fathers death.
Now that he was free, Andrew tried hard not to remember the life he worked hard to leave behind. All he knows is that he must continue to hide, because they will be looking for him, and with the mark on his eye, it would be easy. When they find him, they will kill him. He didn't want to give Lokami that chance.
Andrew stood in his bedroom. He stretched his body letting out a pseudo-howl. He laughed. Howling always felt good. It was a great way to relieve stress and get himself excited for another great day of freedom. He jogged down the stairs, and put his coat on. He looked up above his door, half smiling. Life is good, he repeated in his head, reading a sign hanging above it. He reminds himself that every morning. He agreed. Life was good. In fact, life was great.
I'd like to read this, sugarpoultry, but it's too hard with it all smushed together. Put spaces between each paragraph and dialogue. It's MUCH easier to read that way. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you can see the way my fanfiction is formatted for reference. :]
And the chapters ought to be a little longer than that, but that's just me being picky. XD
Haven't read yet, but will. I did glance over it, however. My thoughts would be that if this really is going to be a book, and not a story (like mine), then "Chapter 1" would be more of a prologue, due to it's size. There really is no rule for this, but typically the chapers in a book are longer.