You all know about the lucky 7 meme by now, right? It’s been spreading like crazy through the blogs and goes something like this:
Go to page 77 of your current MS. Go to line 7. Copy down the next 7 lines as they’re written– no cheating! Tag 7 other writers and let them know!
Now I’m not going to tag anyone but if, like me, you haven’t done this and want to join in on the fun. Go for it!
I had a wee bit of mull over what story to use and finally settled on my current WiP. So here’s a piece from Dark One’s Mistress. Since I haven’t got 77 pages yet, this comes from chapter seven instead.
It wasn’t moonless sky dark, which at least had a lighter edge to the skyline. This was the sort of blackness the night could only dream of being. The kind where you weren’t quite sure if the hand you knew you’d just waved before your face was really there. This was a place where you were wise to bring a reliable lantern and a dozen or so matches to boot.
Above came the mournful groan of the main gate opening.
Of course, she’d turned right at the previous junction. Putting her back to the wall, she marched off into the dark, steadily counting her steps as she went. Up the second flight of stairs she came to, another left at the top and onwards until her last barrier to freedom stood before her. Naught but a simple, wooden door.
Clara peered through a knothole. People with torches hustled about their business. Not far now. She pushed open the door, hinges giving a tiny peep of protest. The sound all too easily lost in the clatter outside. Little shivers of glee tickled down her spine. Too easy to catch, was she? The entrance was to her left now. Likely still open.
She slipped out into the courtyard, pressing one shoulder to the wall. Keep to the shadows, she chanted. Walk like you belong. No one ever bothered anyone who looked like they belonged there.
In the middle of yard stood a carriage. A hideous boxy thing, bound with metal in too many places to be carrying anything nice. An iron wagon. She’d never seen one before, but she’d heard of them a great many times. Be good or face the iron wagon. She shivered.
The doors open, the carriage rattling as they swung freely. Clara paused, unable to tear her gaze from the dark shapes within. Criminals. The law said if you weren’t good, then you must be bad. And all bad men met their end here.