I entertained the notion of writing a YA novel a few months ago. Didn’t get too far, but I stumbled upon the 522 words that I did write down and found it to be rather amusing. Made me smile, at least. Thought I’d share.
We begin with the end.
The end of a world: a plunge into darkness, destruction and despair. The usual.
An accident, an impossibility, and yet, a fact.
Clary Jane Darcy stood in the middle of it, aware that she had caused it, and not yet certain that she was still alive.
She could feel her mind, understand that she was thinking, but her body felt distant and detached. It was as if she were suspended high in the night sky, slowly turning, and holding her breath.
“No, no. This will not do.”
“Are we dead?”
“No, ninny. The dead don’t talk.”
“I can’t see anything.”
“Of course you can’t. The candles aren’t working.”
“I believe the world just went out.”
Clary recognized the voices, and at first she had been relieved; so she hadn’t done what she thought she might have. It was her master, Ashe, speaking to Collin and Sam. But then—no, they knew. How could they not?
“It was Clary,” said Collin. “She’d been talking about it last evening at dinner, but I hadn’t imagined she’d really do it. She just seemed curious. And she’s curious about everything, isn’t she?” Collin, always disapproving of the youngest apprentice.
“And what did you tell her?” It was Ashe who asked, her full voice low and resonant. “You dissuaded her, I take it?”
“Of course I did,” Collin replied. “But—here, I can’t see a thing. Are we sure she’s even alive after it?”
Ashe sighed, and Clary heard the old mage’s robes rustle. Then, even with her eyes closed, she felt light and warmth—it emanated from Ashe’s outstretched hands.
“She’s alive,” Ashe said, and Clary could not help but notice the note of disapproval in her voice. “Likely stunned. Destroying a world would have that effect on you I imagine.”
Clary saw Ashe standing above her, the mage’s dark face highlighted by the flickering flames at her hands. Her black and fathomless eyes were narrowed, her brows down over them; there was soot on her face, even darker than her skin, and her hair—usually braided impeccably—was tangled and damp with something. Collin’s round pale face appeared, followed by Sam’s muted brown.
They were in a stone room, of some sort, but significantly more rustic than the library Clary had just been in what felt both like moments and lifetimes ago. She could hear Colin breathing, as he always did, through his mouth, and the constant click-clack of Sam picking at her nails. She was nervous, of course.
That was to be expected, considering Clary had just destroyed the world.
“Where is everything?” asked Sam, her voice even more high-pitched than normal. “When you say she destroyed the world—”
“I quite mean it,” said Ashe.
“Then how’s it we’re still here?” asked Collin.
Ashe sighed again, the shadows in her dark face flickering in the light. “We were safe, here, at the center of things.”
“Just…” Ashe trailed off, and Clary willed that she could close her eyes. But she couldn’t; it were as if they were frozen open. “Gone.”