Thursday, February 16, 2012

Blind Speed Dating #20

Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 82,500


Seventeen-year-old Jerome Harold Prewitt III is not the first to fall to the Underworld, but he is the first to survive.

Since he was twelve, Jerome has suspected that someone is out to get him. When a jungle cat attacks him in a suburban cemetery, his doubts flee faster than he does. Almost. He’s fortunate the girl with brown eyes he just met (sitting on her own headstone, no less) knows how to handle wild animals.

Jerome can't convince anyone about the attacks, but his rescuer returns again and again when he needs her most. That is until the latest assailant takes her by mistake, leaving Jerome falling from his neighborhood, which is suspended miles above the planet’s surface.

Now Jerome is stuck in the Underworld with no one to rely on but himself. As he plans a rescue mission and tries to find who is behind the attacks, he learns the Brown-Eyed Girl has her own secret--one that could lead to the end of the world if discovered by her abductors. She's a time-traveller. All Jerome has to do now is find his answers, stop the attacks, rescue the damsel, get home, and save the world. No big deal.

First 250:

At twelve years and not old enough for a title, the Boy kept his focus on the moss-covered cobblestones at his feet, but he stopped his daily walk through the cemetery at a sight even he could not dismiss.

"You shouldn’t do that.” He narrowed his eyes and glared with indignation.

"Do what?" The target of his fury, a girl no older than he, swung her legs back and forth. She had brown eyes, but as for her other features, he had not taken the time to notice them. He found something else far more interesting.

"What you’re doing, sitting on that headstone there."

"And why shouldn’t I?" Her question seemed genuine, but the Boy could not fathom how she could not see the issue with her actions.
"Because. Someone died there."

The Brown-Eyed Girl brushed an orange leaf from the headstone. "No they didn’t. Not one of these people died here. They all died at home in their beds, or abroad in the world, or wherever it suited the world best to have them die."

The Boy paused in surprise at her response, but could not deny she was right. "Well, I’m sure that person doesn’t want you sitting on his headstone.”

"Oh, I’m quite certain she doesn’t mind."

The Boy jolted. Who did she think she was? He puffed up his chest. "And how can you be so certain?"

She ran her fingers through her hair and shook it loose. "Because,” she said, “this headstone is mine.”

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