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Abhay-Piya FF: Unlocking the Past Ch. 8/Pg. 27 (Page 26)

natashu IF-Dazzler

Joined: 03 July 2006
Posts: 4581

Posted: 18 April 2011 at 1:12pm | IP Logged


Hey hun! I'm so sorry but I'm in the middle of final exams and last-minute assignments! But I'm about close to the end of the smstr. Beginning May, I'll be very regular with my updates. And make them longer as well ;)
Thanks so much for your comment! It means a lot! =]

..Bournville.. IF-Stunnerz

Joined: 22 February 2011
Posts: 29571

Posted: 18 April 2011 at 9:58pm | IP Logged
ok no worries, all d best for ur exams
mangona Senior Member

Joined: 16 March 2011
Posts: 922

Posted: 20 April 2011 at 2:49pm | IP Logged
plz ad me in ur pm list 
i liked ur ff very much :)

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shakthi04 Senior Member

Joined: 14 February 2011
Posts: 236

Posted: 04 May 2011 at 10:52am | IP Logged
Love it, mind sending a PM when you update?

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Prinsesse.Suvi IF-Sizzlerz

Joined: 10 December 2009
Posts: 13931

Posted: 04 May 2011 at 11:07am | IP Logged

when will you update?

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natashu IF-Dazzler

Joined: 03 July 2006
Posts: 4581

Posted: 04 May 2011 at 2:11pm | IP Logged
Yes, sure! (:
Hun,I recently finished with my exams. So, an update is on its way =]

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natashu IF-Dazzler

Joined: 03 July 2006
Posts: 4581

Posted: 08 May 2011 at 1:36am | IP Logged

Hey guys! I'm almost done writing the next update! Thank you so much for your patience! (:

But till then, you can read something I wrote for this Tell-A-Story Contest. It's nothing special. I wrote it under an hour at the time. So obviously it's not much of an eye-catcher. But I still think it came out neat. And if it helps any, you can imagine the leads as Abhay and Piya. (:
Note: Anything in italics is the exerpt on which the writing is based.
Credits to Nj for the lovely excerpt. (:
Unknown Territory
(I still have no idea why I named it this, just something that hit me at the moment I was asked to give it a fitting title.)
I, Lily Sinclair, couldn't help but sigh at the sight in front of me.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. My original thought of not coming forward with the information had been the right one. But that ship had long sailed. I shouldn't have come and now it was too late. Too late to back out. Too late to save myself from the agony of having to remember the details of that dark, ruthless incident. Not an incident. That was putting it nicely. Murder. That's what it was. Not exactly reassuring thoughts but the entire scene just kept replaying over and over in my head. The horror of it etched into my mind.
 Pressing both hands against my temples, I tried to dispel the fear that now churned in my gut, threatening to make its way up. But that effort also went in vain. If anything it only further intensified the explosion of light and pain that now was running through my head like arcs of swirling fire.

 "Tell me more about the eyes." 

An easy question to pose. But Dylan Brody, the lead sketch artist at the police station, was definitely asking all the right questions. Standing in front of me with a brush in hand, alternating his hands to paint strokes across the canvas, he looked the man for the job. Everything about him commanded attention. His dark hair was crisp and close-cut, emphasizing his rough-hewn features and hard, hazel eyes.  So when he turned to direct his gaze at me, I couldn't help but flinch at the quick but thorough appraisal.

Passing me the glass of water, he pressed me for details, without a trace of urgency or haste. It wasn't a gesture of concern, because coming from him, it was like a receptionist's smile - something he was boringly and obligingly accustomed to doing, as part of his job.

I wasn't mindful enough of his lack of sympathy, just right then. Quite thankfully instead, I drank in a large gulp of the chilled water. Then I took in a deep breath, and closed my eyes to remember what I would have given anything to forget - the sight of those eyes through the face mask ... The translucent hazel that turned to steel when they narrowed to focus upon ... 

 My own eyes fell open with a start, a shudder passing through my spine. He sat looking at me intently, and the very distant comprehending part of my mind held onto the subconscious former belief - it wasn't out of concern, but routine. He was being merely patient with me, a crucial witness to this fifth murder case in the neighbourhood, that had kept their hands full here at Scotland Yard, this entire awful week of rainy afternoons. In this weatherly respect, today was no different. 

 "They were cold," I whispered. My voice had refused to come full volume ever since the incident early this morning, sometime before the inset of dawn. 


 "Nuances of grey ... they turned dark ... very dark when he ... when ... " I inhaled sharply and ran a hand forcefully through the tangled mess of my long tresses. If I'd survived the sight of that ruthless stabbing, surely, I could survive speaking it out loud ... ?

 "I see." 

 Any other day, any other time, this man would have driven me over the edge. Why here I was, at all my nerves' end, and all he offer me was an 'I see'  ... ? Sure! He could see nothing at all. Nothing! Unknowingly, I had worked myself into something of a breathlessness. Unknowingly also, I was scowling deeply, staring, or rather glaring at him. Perhaps he sensed it, for he met my eye, interrupting his professional strokes on the canvas, sketching the murder suspect.

 "Are you alright?"

There it was, the water glass yet again, raised up for me. I wanted to scream the obvious 'no I'm not!' right into his face; instead I held back and re gathered my dissipating composure. I did however reject his attempt to drown my extreme discomfiture with mere cold water - what was I, a flushing system? 

 "They were quite like yours," I told him bluntly staring into his eyes, and momentarily, the revelation of my own words shocked even me.

 Heavy silence greeted my steely answer.

 And I instantly regretted having said the words. The man was only doing his job. But it wasn't easy for me either. The whole ordeal had left me reeling. Reeling with pain. With the unfairness of it all. Looking up to finally meet his eyes, I found nothing in his expression. It was unreadable. Most likely another part of his job. He was probably used to dealing with people like me, drawing those sketches day and night or whenever the occasion called for it. Still, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. But it had come and gone so fast that I was beginning to wonder if I had seen anything at all. And suddenly I was at a loss of what to say. He had now turned back to his work, his hands making those familiar strokes once again.

 The rapidly growing silence was beginning to gnaw at my insides. What was I to do? Coming here, at some level, hadn't been one of the smartest decisions. But justice had to be served. Justice. The word that could weigh down on your conscience. It was the perfect replay of a scene from one of those crime movies. Only I had never expected life to imitate art up so close. 

 "I think you need to go home. You can come another time." I would almost have missed his words had he not been standing mere inches away from me. Those eyes, once again unreadable seemed to be beckoning me. If only unknowingly.

 So the man had his own secrets.  Odd enough, that came as a relief. Maybe he would understand my plight. But then again, the word maybe was dangerous when spoken on its own.

 My thoughts taking a new turn, I finally let go of a breath I hadn't known I had been holding. The panic from the ordeal still burned my chest. All I really wanted to do was crawl into a hole, never to appear again. But I wasn't the one to back down. Cowardice wasn't what defined us Sinclair women. We were everything but that. So it was time to push ahead and meet this giant of a beast head on. To get past my own fears.
"No. I will stay here. We aren't finished with the sketch."
He gave her a long, searching look before replying back. "May I suggest something?"
Okay, so I was so not ready for this. Because if not the eyes, take a look at the body language. And everything about Dylan Brody was screaming suspicious. "Ugh, yeah. What is it?"
"Maybe I could accompany you home? There you'll be much more um, comfortable."
So maybe I was wrong about the whole suspicious thing.
It certainly looked like it was the first time he had made such a suggestion. That long, searching look had really been him in deep thought. Great. At least the man was concerned. But I wasn't exactly sure about this whole go-home-and-make-a-sketch thing. Although, it definitely beat having to sit in this stifling of a police station. And I really needed to go home and down a couple of painkillers. That gentle bloom of pain threatening to metamorph into something more was indicative of a full-blown headache.
Plus, a whole load of anxiety and panic still in my system had my nerves all jumbled. The effect was only beginning to wear off. To be honest, I wasn't exactly sure of what I was feeling right now. The here and now. It was all so surreal.
His hand was touching my arm lightly. The suddenness of it had me lurch from the chair and stumble against the desk table. He was quick and caught my elbow. "Are you okay?"
I tried to answer but never quite made it through. Darkness seemed to be creeping into my vision. And I swear I even spotted a star or two. No. Not good. I didn't need this now. And the man was too close. I could practically smell his aftershave.  This wasn't the time to notice the man's aftershave! Maybe this was some sort of post-incident thing. And I thought the day couldn't have gotten any worse. He wrapped his arm around my waist to hold me up. I could barely feel my own feet, mighty glad for the support. But melting into the arms of a perfect stranger wasn't my idea.

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..Bournville.. IF-Stunnerz

Joined: 22 February 2011
Posts: 29571

Posted: 08 May 2011 at 3:02am | IP Logged
ohk, the story building was nice, but can we please have the update please. I really really love this FF. Please continue.

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