Surric is a very emotional book for me, that I've been working on for almost five years now. It is, to date, the only book I have that focuses mainly on a romantic relationship between two characters.
By the way, if anyone tells you that writing good science fiction is easy, hit them over the head with a cheap Star Wars ripoff. Sci-fi is hard. But I love it anyways.
Waiting was the worst part. Getting hit was almost better for a moment because then he didn’t have to wait anymore. Then it wasn’t better at all because he realized this was the reason waiting had been so hard in the first place – for once in his life, he didn’t want to die.
It was a stark realization, and one that he should have – he really did – know from the beginning, and yet … still didn’t. It was similar to the sensation of saying “I like that,” without looking at it, then looking at it and realizing you really do like it.
The engines were burning, and he was burning. His ship must have looked beautiful, falling from the stars to the earth below. Things always are more beautiful in flames.
Smoke poured into his face, and he couldn’t breathe. He clawed at his helmet, his fingers searching for the strap. A huge jolt shook the ship yet again, and this time without his hands braced on the wheel, his head was thrown full force against it.
Blood seeped into his eyes. With one hand he held the wheel tightly, with the other he gently probed around his eyes. Good, the actual eye wasn’t bleeding. He felt upwards, and his hand hit the chip on his forehead. It had been crunched inward, and was oozing blood.
Oh. He tried to think it quietly, as not to scare himself.
He felt the plane spinning. For a moment when he was upside down, he watched his own blood pitter on the ceiling. As he turned, the blood drops floated in the air and spun with him before they fell. It was almost strangely poetic.
Things had gone quiet from the outside. They were leaving it up to him now, how he wanted to die. One last act of kindness from his old friends.
And for a moment it was quiet. The fire was quiet, his blood was quiet. Even the air had a soothing sound, “Hushhhhhh, Hushhhhhhh,” as he dove.
I do love the quiet. But no, not really. What he really loved was for a moment he could now hear his heart in his ears. It was beating. A beating heart, all his own. And he was thankful. He was thankful for that beating heart.