Deleted Scene Blogfest
Let's see, it's Monday, May 10th, that means it must be time for the DELETED SCENE BLOGFEST, the brainchild of Mia, from My Literary Jam and ToastMy scene was going to be a prologue for my unnamed WIP. (how sad is it that I'm 21k in, and have no clue for a title?) I've decided not to use this because I've heard agents don't like prologues, but I hope you all will like it. :-):
Sam Brennan tossed back his fifth shot, craving relief from the pain. As the heat of the alcohol burned into his belly, the numbing effects spread like a warm blanket. He poured another, held the glass at eye level and admired the flickering of the fireplace flames through the amber liquid. Beautiful. He downed the whiskey in one long gulp, hardly tasting the bite anymore.
A log popped sending a shower of sparks swirling up the chimney. Whose idea was it to build a fire anyway? It was too damn cheery. Sam flung the shot glass at the flames, feeling a measure of satisfaction at the explosion of glass against the back wall of the fireplace.
"Sam? Is everything okay?"
He turned to find Cynthia, his best friend's wife, regarding him with concern. She dried a pink bowl as she spoke. A few hours ago, the bowl had held some kind of macaroni salad. The 'guests' had raved over it between offering their condolences.
He was sick of everyone's concern. Sick of holding it together. Sick of being strong. "Everything is just peachy, don'tcha think?"
"Why don't you come back to our house tonight, Sam? Stay a few days until--"
"Until what? Until I get over this?" He stalked towards her, but stopped short, as even in his drunken haze, he recognized her suggestion was only an attempt to help him.
She flinched but held her ground. "No, that's not what I meant." She tossed the towel over her shoulder and held the bowl in front of her, hugging it against her stomach.
Tears swam in her eyes and he felt like a first class heel. Cynthia and Dave had taken care of the details he couldn't face.
"Dave's missed you and wants to be there for you."
"I know." Good old Dave. The guy who has everything. A beautiful wife, two adorable children, and a loving, comfy home. It was the last place on Earth Sam wanted to be tonight.
"I...I can't. Not tonight." Waves of pain crashed over him, drowning him in their intensity. His knees buckled and he sank to the carpet.
"Sam!"
He felt Cynthia's arm drape over his shoulders as she eased down, kneeling beside him. "It's okay. Let it out. You'll feel better."
That was a lie. He'd never feel better. Not now, not ever. If crying would help, he'd cry buckets. But it wouldn't. Nothing would. He put his arm around Cynthia's waist, giving her an awkward hug. "I'm okay. Jus' too much to drink."
She pulled away, searching his eyes, but he averted his face. "Sam..."
He stood, pulling Cynthia to her feet as well. His years of undercover work had taught him that he could hide any emotion. His cover had depended upon it. Now, he clung to the lessons learned, sure that if he let go and vented his grief, he'd lose his focus. Lose the singular emotion that kept his heart beating.
Revenge.
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That's fantastic! Why are you cutting this? It doesn't have to be labelled as a prologue does it? This evokes curiousity. I want to know who has died. I assume someone has killed this loved one of his that has died. Why? Why does he want revenge? Also curious as to why his best friend's 'wife' is consoling him. Is there anything going on between them? I find this very interesting and a great beginning. I think you should keep it!