The sky out my window is that fiery red which makes the heart swell with life and there it is again: that sensational expanding within my chest, rising to my throat, gripping and stinging my eyes.
Oh, no. Not again.
I bury face into the scarf. Traces of fig leaf and sandalwood bring her rushing back to me.
The mountains stretch into fractals as the tears come and the puddle along the red sky horizon, where the sun has fallen and melted, flickers with a faint shimmer and so suddenly the world goes dark and I have never been so mysteriously out of sorts than I am on the six o’clock from Casablanca.
From my working draft of the Outsider.
I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts. I know this is a short excerpt but this is the piece i’d like to hear about.
Do you feel connected? Interested? Invited to dive deeper into the novel? Are you left curious?
Or, lackluster? Bored? On to the next one?
Again, i’m aware of it’s length. The idea is to pack a heavy blow into these first lines so I want to hear from you good people out there!
As always, cheers!
–Nicholas
Nicholas Andriani Rankin 
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