I wrote this story last year called Miles’ Love. It came out to 34 pages, poor writing and too much dragging. I didn’t like it and left it on the shelf for some later date.
That later date happened to be yesterday. See, I figured out how to cut out a good 10 pages from the story, and that’s just the beginning. It also made it ten times more interesting I think. The reason for this change is the story started much too slowly, because it had too much background.
Now, this does mean I have to change the story from third person to first person, but I kinda like it like that actually. We’ll see where it goes at least. I thought about doing this before type of introduction before but this is the first time I actually tried it.
So here’s the very beginning of Miles’ Love.
“Your father and I believe that the time has come for you to be married.”
“We have been told that you can help us with a bomb issue with are having, involving the SFFC.”
“Rachel is a nice girl. You will do well for each other.”
“I’m just here for therapy. Nothing more.”
“You weren’t really on guard duty, were you?”
“Three years is more than enough to be running around the world with the military. It’s about time you settled down.”
“I know I’m the eldest, Luke, and that my tradition my marriage is arranged. But I don’t want to be married, let alone to a girl I don’t know.”
“I can’t tell you anything. It’s classified. Mother can’t know either. If she knew….”
“You take care of Rachel, you hear?”
“Thank your for your help, Major Jospehson. We are indebted to you.”
“Don’t go to the mall–not until Wednesday at least. It’s not safe.”
“You should take her on a picnic. She would like that.”
“How much were you hurt when the bomb exploded?”
“What did you hear?”
“Stop playing games with us, Jospehson.”
“You used the bomb to lure me out.”
“We have our sources.”
“Don’t you dare hurt her.”
I was ten when I first heard about the Changers. These people would voluntarily removed parts of their body to have new, improved bodies, generally speaking for criminal purposes. The prosthetics had become so advanced by now that a person could sometimes move faster, quickly and more. Changers were the future of the criminal race, for they used these skills to exploit and steal.
accurately with one. By the time I was fifteen, everyone believed that any amputee was probably a Changer. Not that they could be easily recognized, since most artificial limbs looked normal. Still, people would see, or think they would see, the small metal band and know. As such, most everyone would do anything to keep a limb, no matter how maimed they were.
Except me. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine I would become a Changer.
I didn’t mean for it to happen. I should have seen the bomb, realized the location, not miscalculated the time–anything to keep myself from being caught in the explosion. But it did explode. Before I could get out. When the pain cleared enough for the doctor to give me a choice, I told him to use his best judgment.
But I never thought he’d chose to remove my arm. And even then, I never thought I’d be pressure to opt for a millitary-issued arm. Nor did I expect that injury would encourage the military to select me to go to Bordino, a third world country who current sold telepathy to anyone willing to buy.
With an advanced arm and a telepathic ability to sense other’s emotions, I might as well be a Changer. I couldn’t tell my parents though. A lord’s son–without an arm? Even if that would be found out soon enough, no one could know about the telepathy. That was against the contract. Nor could they know that my expertise lay in bombs, both decoding Intel and defusing. I made too many enemies in the war zone to allow that to be known here.
And where did all this end me? My specialized skill set and training? A basement cell, kidnapped by the SFFC because I prevented a bomb explosion earlier this week. And my betrothed pretending to sleep against the wall, her dark hair falling into her face. Luke, my brother, told me to keep her safe before we left for the picnic, but I couldn’t have imagined this would happen. I couldn’t have known they would know about me, let alone go after me.
I took a deep breath. No matter. First, I would get free. Then, we’d deal with how they found out. But about Rachel… I had been in worse situations.
I shifted and stretched my legs. “I’m thinking it’s about eight.”
Rachel pushed herself up. She didn’t really sleep. Only pretended to. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”
“It just does.” The sun set within the last hour, so we would have enough twilight to run and enough darkness to hid. I fumbled with the handcuffs behind my back. Rachel just stared at me, her large brown eyes not even bothering to hide her fear.
“Did–they say something? When they questioned you earlier?”
So, what do you think? Did it work maybe? What do you know about Miles (the person who is telling the story)?
Have you done any kind of unique beginnings like this for your writing? How did it work out for you?