The room was small and sterile. So white it scored the eyes in over saturation. In the middle of the small, white room, a plain, dull table sat, two chairs on opposite sides. Doctor Freeman took a seat, his eyes barely glanced upon the individual across from him as he stubbed through various papers in a manila folder.
“So Charlie, let us talk about the ‘Visitors’.” He spoke nonchalant, with little emotion or intent. Charlie struggled, stumbling over his first few words “I see them everywhere in reflections. In the mirrors, in panes of glass, in puddles.”
“Do they ever speak to you?” He asked, calmly jotting down notes with a blue ink pen.
“How can they talk to me, They don’t have mouths, or eyes, or
quote:
Note from Kathleen: 13 lines of manuscript text (12-point courier font with 1-inch margins on 8.5x11-inch paper) please
[This message has been edited by Kathleen Dalton Woodbury (edited February 17, 2006).]
I won't have time this weekend but if you want to send me what you've written, I could read it on Monday if you want.
Charlie's eyes darted around the examination room, which surrounded him with walls so white they scored the eyes in over saturation. The only relief was a glance at the drooping head of Doctor Freeman, or over at the one way mirror, where more shrinks listened in. He couldn't see the doctors, but he could see another silohuette. Superimposed with his own stubbled visage, it watched him without eyes and grinned at him without a mouth.
"So Charlie, let us talk about the 'Visitors.'"
I'm all tingly. I think you could have something really good going here. I'd offer to read, but I really don't have the time right now.
Definitely pick a POV and stick with it.
...and this did hook me, as soon as I got to the Visitors.