After participating in an awesome workshop, hosted by Writing Without The Drama, I went back and revised my prologue. Here is the end result. If you like it, or even if you don’t, leave a comment saying what you did or did not like. Don’t worry, I won’t get offended.
The crescendo of his heartbeat rose in his ears. It began as a low, deep sound of a bass drum accelerating to the medium tone of the tom-tom. It drowned out all other sounds of that glorious spring day, like the cheerful song of the spring robin. His ears turned deaf to every audible vibration, including the wind rustling through the branches of the willow tree.
Why couldn’t he hear the wind? It tussled his long, fudge-colored, wavy hair with each gust. The strands played against his baby smooth skin and jaw line. His conscience blocked the tree, the birds, and the wind from his mind. Nothing would deter him from his fascination with her. His eyes coursed over her delicate features. Her golden eyes. Her chestnut-colored curls. Her full, voluptuous lips …
To call her beautiful would be unjust. Though her beauty compared to that of Aprhodite, her soul radiated like an angel. Soft. Sweet. Heavenly. The breeze blew her hair from the nape of her neck, the ringlets swaying in the air. A scent of sandalwood rushed through his nose, intoxicating him.
Her skin, a soft shade of peaches-and-cream, glistened from the light coat of body glitter. The specks shimmered every time golden sunrays broke through the swaying branches of the weeping willow.
When he gazed down into her eyes, his breath caught. He tried swallowing the lump in his parched throat but his constricted chest held it in place, just like his breath. Her warm, inviting eyes were a rich shade of olive green weaved with flecks of gold. The alluring set of amber jewels were looking past him to the broken, shale wall surrounding the estate.
This estate belonged to him. At least he thought it did.
Something about the lush green grass and smell of tulips kept tugging his gut. The churning continued, but he ignored his duties. Why shouldn’t he? Nothing could be more important than this moment with her.
He wanted to be lost in the moment with his golden-eyed angel under the willow tree. His chocolate eyes searched hers for proof that she sensed the same magnetic force drawing them together. A force that powerful was irrefutable as it continued to recall his soul.
He waited for her to meet his eyes, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. The motion captured her attention. Her mesmerizing eyes focused back on his face. He released his breath, exhaling a slow sigh as he watched a smile spread across her lips. Full, voluptuous lips. He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. It made his heart hasten when he imagined them pressing to his, allowing him to taste their sweetness.
She stepped in, closing the distance between them. Her eyes descended from his, dwelling on his broad shoulders. His anxiety heightened every second she didn’t look at him. He watched in silent awe as her arm stretched toward his. When her gentle fingers touched his skin, a line of fire coursed through every nerve in his body, wrapping him in a cloud of desire. He fought against the groan creeping up from his lungs as she stroked his skin.
Her eyes wondered further down his body, focusing on his rigid muscles. The white, cotton T-shirt clung to his well-defined chest and abs, the short sleeves stretching tight around his biceps. His dark blue jeans fit snuggly around his toned thighs and bottom.
In the passing minutes, her eyes drank in his image. He craved the softness of her skin next to is, the need mocking the ache in his heart. His chocolate colored eyes fell to her tiny waist and well curved hips. The pink cotton sundress she wore hugged her hourglass figure, sending his emotions into a whirlwind. He wanted to cover her in kisses, taste the salt of her skin, and feel the beat of her heart.
One hand curled fingers around her hip, the other caressed skin as soft as rose petals. He began with her neck, sweeping his fingers up to her cheek. When he cupped it, she closed her eyes, her breath releasing a gentle sigh.
In his twenty-three years, no woman affected his heart the way she did. To make it race like a river rushing through a canyon. He wanted her more than a rose wanted sunlight, needed her more than the air he breathed.
When her eyes fluttered open, a smile played at the corner of her lips. She leaned her cheek against the warmth of his hand. Their eyes locked once more as her glowing presence pushed all other thoughts from his mind.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you more than the air I breathe,” he said, taking another step closer. “I need you more than a heart needs to beat.” Looking down into her golden eyes, he whispered one last phrase. “I want you more than a soul wants its mate.”
She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the cords ripple as he enveloped her in an embrace. Her fingers continued until they met at the back of his neck, interlacing at the nape. His hands continued to the small of her back, where they stopped and gathered her dress. The look on her tugged his heart strings. The way her brow arched as though she had something important to say And she did have something to tell him.
Her lips parted, the words playing on her tongue as she stared into his eyes. “Maybe I am your soulmate.”
His heart no longer raced. It pound so fiercely he thought it would beat out of his chest. His beautiful angel stood on her toes, her lips brushing his in a soft sweeping motion. He let out a soft groan before pulling her against him, one hand remaining at her back, the other cradling her head.
Their lips molded together, intoxicating him with the sweetness of her mouth. Her body conformed to his. Her touch searing his skin like hot lave. It was painful yet pleasurable as he submitted to the passion erupting between them.
But to his dismay, the ecstasy that enveloped them like an explosion in a refinery was stolen. The heat of her body, of their passion, tore from his soul as she stepped away.
Pain permeated his body as though someone forced a hot poker into his chest. The tears forming in her eyes glistened in a sunray filtering through the dangling branches. Her bottom lip quivered with sadness.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice cracking between words.
As she shook her head, her tresses bounced against her face. “I love you,” she uttered, “but your life doesn’t include me yet. It’s time for you to wake up.”
“What did you say?” he questioned, his head spinning, his stomach churning.
“You have to wake up, my love,” she said, her voice dripping with urgency.
“I’m not asleep. How can I wake up if I’m not sleeping?” He reached for her, wanting to pull her against him and feel her silky skin next to his.
She took another step back, tears sliding down her face, lips turning down in a frown. “You have to, my love. It’s not time.”
“No!” he shouted, his voice booming like thunder. “Don’t go. Stay here with me. I need you.” His eyes, heavy with sadness, pleaded with her to remain. His voice betrayed him when nothing more than a whisper passed over his lips. “Stay.”
He walked toward her, reaching out again. This time, when he touched her skin, or what should have been her skin, the warmth was gone. His fingers moved through her as her image began to weaken. She was an apparition fading from his sight.
Her silhouette disappeared, but her voice carried once more to his ears. “Wake up, my love. Please, wake up now …”
Standing under the tree, his heart heavy from desire, the scenery slowly vanished from his sight. He was falling into an abyss of darkness. His hands gripped the air in search of something to catch him, to stop his descent into blackness. Nothing was there.
His body jerked into a sitting position as he gasped for air. He no longer fell aimlessly into nothing. There was light. Bright light reflected off the beige colored walls surrounding him. His gaze lowered to his legs, where he studied their outline underneath a hunter green bedspread.
He was home in his bedroom, alone. No sign of his golden-eyed angel remained, no proof that she had been there. His eyes trailed over to the crisp white door. His shoes were a few inches away, but both were in different directions. A trail of socks, jeans, and a T-shirt led to his bed. He fought to remember why they were in the floor and not in the close hamper or on his body.
His head pulsed with a sharp pain, feeling as though someone was hammering nails into his temples. With each thump of his heart, the twinge pulsated behind his eyes to the back of his head. His fingers, calloused from playing guitar, snagged the strands of hair as he weaved them through the thickness. Reaching the origin of his pain, he massaged his head with vigorous movements, hoping to relieve the ache.
When the throbbing intensified, he knew he needed medicine. He pulled the covers from his legs, swinging them to the side so he could stand. His foot crunched a can that lay on the carpet. Scanning the bedroom floor, his eyes passed over a shimmering blue and white beer can. An empty liquor bottle lay on its side, just two feet away.
No wonder my head is pounding. A hangover. I have a damn hangover.
The details of the night before unfolded in his mind. He had been drinking with his best friend, beer after beer, shot after shot, until he grew shitfaced. He struggled to remember walking to his room. The memory, as fuzzy as an antique television, eluded his mind.
That’s when it hit him. The realization as crushing as a ton of bricks. His angel was just part of a dream … and it wasn’t the first one.