PART ONE ... RULE OF THREE ... THE ESCAPE ...

Well friends I finally finished my entry for the Rule of Three. The prompt I chose to incorporate into my post was an argument.

For all the wonderful details about the Rule of Three, scroll down to my previous post OR click on the badge in the side bar to the right. It is an amazing month long blogfest featuring the unusual town of Renaissance.

For my entry I had decided to recycle my mc from my second novel The Blinded Gardener. I also changed from first person narration to third. Why? Hmmm. I just thought it flowed better for this particular excerpt.

I hope you enjoy it and PLEASE let me know what you think. I'd really appreciate your honest feedback,

Please hop around to the other bloggers involved, It will be interesting to see how all of these incredible stories end up. You can catch the list at J.C. Martin, Fighter Writers blog. 

Without further delay...

THE ESCAPE.

A streak of moonlight illuminated Aidan’s split, swollen lip as he stuffed a pair of jeans and a few t-shirts into a beat-up old backpack.

A massive shadow inched it’s way through the open door, consuming the wood-planked floor, the worn berber rug, and a rickety metal twin bed pushed against the wall. 

Sharp angles created a isosceles triangle in the center of the room as heavy breathing hummed within its darkness.

Aidan held his breath and turned, biting his lower lip. A drop of blood splashed onto his white trainer. 

A glint of light lit the half-hidden face of his father. He sucked in a raspy breath through gritted teeth. A muscular arm swirled a tumbler. The ice clinked and the amber liquid danced inside its glass prison.

“And where do you think you’re going, sonny boy?”

The words twisted through Aidan like a jagged knife. An invisible drummer beat the inside walls of his chest.

He sucked in a much needed breath, summed up his courage, and stared into his father’s fathomless eyes.

“No more, Dad. It ends tonight.”

The light shifted revealing a set a perfect, white teeth outlined by the thinest of lips.

“It ends when I say it ends.” His voice slurred. “Remember, I own you.”

He pulled himself up to his fullest height. Muscles tensed and rippled under a Marine Captain’s uniform.

Aidan paled, but stood his ground.

The captain lunged panther-like. Thick, mitt-like fingers strangled Aidan’s throat.

Sinking to the floor, his mind clouded from the smell of scotch and sweat mixed with Old Spice. 

Aidan gasped and tried to dislodge the increasing pressure on his wind pipe.

“Good night, sonny boy,” his father said, as he tightened his grip. 

Aidan’s convulsing hands dropped from his neck and slammed against the floor.

He stretched out his right arm under the bed. Cold metal touched his fingertips. As the final seconds of his life slipped away, he focused his remaining energy on inching his arm closer. 

Shaky nails dug into the smooth ridges of a rounded object. He slid it closer, gripped the handle, and flung his arm upward, cracking the back of his father’s head with a baseball bat.

Blood splattered against wall. He howled, releasing his grip.

Aidan’s rusty 1985 Chevy pick up wheezed its way through the foothills of the Roundeli mountains. Memories of his father’s bashed in head flashed through his mind. His trembling hands had difficulty controlling the steering wheel. The truck jerked to the left barely missing a boulder.

“Get a grip, Aidan — but I’m — I’m a murderer,” escaped from his quivering lips. “It was self defense! That psycho tried to kill me,” he burst out. 

Aidan heard his words echo back to him, but he still couldn’t erase the grisly scene from his mind.

Onward and upward the truck snaked along the silent, pitch-black mountain road. On one or two rare occasions the crescent moon peeked though the dense trees, providing a glimmer of light, a glimmer of hope.

Stayed tuned for Part Two next week ...