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In all the hubbub of starting yet another algebra class, I almost overlooked the fact that I’ve hit a HUGE mile marker on Messy Death. 20,799 words! OH YEAH! I anticipate an 80,000 word novel if not more. That means I’m 25% finished! Can you believe it? I can’t. To celebrate, here’s a few paragraphs depicting Emon Knowl via Chapter Five.

     Most of the time, Emon’s striking features were overlooked. Not because they weren’t worth noticing but because they sort of dulled when he was simply being himself. If things got dicey and he desired a particular outcome though, his appearance glowed purposefully. It wasn’t extreme, mind you just a faint radiance that made people want to comply with his yumminess. This was one of those times.

     He stood in the quiet implication of solace. His heart-shaped face fixed on mine. For a moment, I thought about giving in. Letting the pain of Lent’s betrayal slip away would keep my frayed spirit from unraveling anymore, but denial only worked when you knew what needed denying. All at once, the Reaper trance slipped away.

     “You realize we’re one short, right?” Before he could blink, a flash of discomfort lightened his normally dark eyes. Bingo! He knew something. “Where’s Lent, Emon?” The strain of his brow told me he did not want to answer. “He quit didn’t he?”

     “Miss Silk,” His reluctance made me clinch. Oh God, it was true; had to be. Nothing else would prompt such dodginess.      

     “Just tell me,” I ordered, cracking with impatience. “Did. Lent. Quit?”


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