I’ve been at home for most of today, which I’ve enjoyed. It’s a busy time of year and, as a bit of an introvert, home is where I go to recharge.
It’s also where I write. Even though I’m *supposed* to be sorting out Under Stone, the fourth Ambeth book, today I’ve been going through Silver and Black, my vampire novel. And I found this little passage that seems to fit the prompt quite well:
The sun is starting to slant towards the west, the blue sky striping with gold and red as I see the familiar gates of home. They are closed. F*ck. Of course they are. Locked and bolted too, I bet. I can’t climb them, either. I start to cry, the disappointment at being so close to home, yet unable to get in, overwhelming me. I cling to the wrought metal then sink down, my legs folding under me. I just can’t stand any more. Wrapping my arms around the metal I rest my head against it, waiting. I have no anti-feed left, so I’m basically a sitting duck. I can only hope the guards find me and realise who I am before they attack. The sky is a flaming bowl above me, the trees shading to purple against the red and gold and blue. It’s completely glorious, yet I feel nothing. It’s as though everything I had is gone from me, drained out by the night’s events and the day’s walk. I stare at the clouds, but I see nothing. Gradually, my head droops, and I slip into a doze.
A hand grabs my arms, squeezing tight so I wake up. ‘Ow!’ I squeal. The squeal becomes a scream as my arm is yanked upwards, pulling me with it, my shoulder twisting painfully.
‘Who are you?’ The guard on the other side of the gate snarls at me, his fingers digging into my arm.