Abigail's Book Blog

 The world had gone dead silent, telling Beatrice that her prey was close. Every living creature in a five-mile radius knew to “GTFO”, muting the nightly chorus that normally filled the preserve. Even the once-blue-now-rust pickup was quiet, momentarily forgetting it’s many complaints. Silence wasn’t the worst effect of the creature they were hunting, but it was one of the most disconcerting. The truck hit a pot hole, eliciting a muffled apology from Erica, their driver. Beatrice grabbed the edge of the truck bed for support. On the opposite side, her wife Stephanie did the same. In the pallid light of the half moon, Beatrice could just make out her familiar sharp features and wispy blonde hair, dyed a strange shade of silver in the moonlight. Beatrice gave her a wry smile. “Not much of an anniversary present, huh?” “We’ve had worse,” said Stephanie with a laugh, “remember the possum pandemic? And that racoon that almost scalped you?” “Don’t remind me,” Beatrice muttered. Stephanie...

  Ch. 1 Pg. 1 PANEL 1 Establishing shot/wide shot. We see a cluster of small buildings in the distance, then a wide, grassy field that gradually turns into a hill. On top of the hill is a wooden fence and a small figure climbing over it. Both of these are almost totally in shadow. My name is Rivi Redwing. I’m 12 years old. PANEL 2 Rivi pauses and looks back towards the village, his face wistful, maybe slightly regretful. PANEL 3 He sighs, and the camera is turned towards his face again. PANEL 4 Another wide shot. Rivi is standing with his back to the audience,so we can see his wings clearly for the first time. And today, I am running away. Page 2 PANEL 1 A side view of Rivi, pushing through bushes/brambles. Rivi: I can feel something calling me.  PANEL 2 The camera zooms out, and we see Rivi climbing over a large boulder. Rivi: I’m just not sure what. PANEL 3 We see a fair haired, freckled boy, also with wings. His back is turned to us, but we can see part of his face. He is s...

  “New York City is home to over one million pigeons, though evidence suggests there may be many more. Incredibly effective pests, they spread disease and pestilence across the city, dirtying parks and porches alike. Attempts to remove them from the landscape have only been partially effective, and have met with opposition from some segments of the population.” “Damn right they got opposition,” muttered Raven. His dark eyes regarded the television with a look of indignation. “Those rich bastards are the ones making a mess of the city. Maybe we should remove them from the landscape.” The slate-grey pigeon sitting in his lap cooed, perfectly at home in the folds of Raven’s sweatpants. “See, Woodrow Wilson agrees with me.” “Turn that thing off,” said Wren, looking up from her notebook. “It’s upsetting Gerald Ford. No sir, pen caps are not for pigeons . ” She sat a few feet away and was attempting to write, which was no easy task partly due to the disastrous existence of their kitchen...