Background came from this design.
Genre: YA Sci-fi
Word Count: 80,000 words
3-line pitch:
Seventeen year-old Bastian Reynolds just met the other universe’s version of Sora Walton – also known as his dead girlfriend – which was creepy enough without the whole “she can see violent crimes before they happen” thing. Apparently her dreams have been slowly counting down to the day when he’ll end up on the wrong side of her knife – but, hey, the bright side is she doesn't want to kill him. The not-so-bright-side is that unraveling the mystery of Bastian’s murder means the two uneasy allies must travel between their ailing parallel universes and place their trust in some morally questionable people as they fight to change their futures – oh, and they've only got two months to go before Sora’s knife wins.
First 250 words:
There are easily five hundred people from both ‘verses in Ryland Market today – and my arm is stuck to some guy who seems to be sweating super glue.
Awesome.
I’m tempted to just start yelling. If I make enough noise or freak enough people out, they might leave. Or stampede.
One look at the large guy next to me and I decide against causing a scene. I don’t want to end up on the wrong end of his feet. Instead I put all my power into my arms and propel myself forward, finally breaking the disgusting sweat-seal that started to form between me and the Hawaiian-shirt wearing shopper.
I wipe off my arms as I continue to scan the crowd. I have less than five minutes left before the bomb goes off, and –
Do you always have to be so melodramatic? Reese’s voice intrudes on my thoughts.
You’re not the one about to be framed for this thing. I shoot back, rolling my eyes. Telepaths. Think they know everything.
I heard that. Reese says as someone pushes past me to get to the wind chime booth. You should be more grateful, you know. I am technically a traitor now –
That makes two of us. I interject. Remember me? Bastian Reynolds, the soon-to-be-infamous Ryland Market bomber?
Yeah, yeah, sure. You count too. But we all know I’m the brains of this outfit.
Oh, just shut up and help me find the damn bomb. I snap at him.
Yes, oh bossy one.
Awesome.
I’m tempted to just start yelling. If I make enough noise or freak enough people out, they might leave. Or stampede.
One look at the large guy next to me and I decide against causing a scene. I don’t want to end up on the wrong end of his feet. Instead I put all my power into my arms and propel myself forward, finally breaking the disgusting sweat-seal that started to form between me and the Hawaiian-shirt wearing shopper.
I wipe off my arms as I continue to scan the crowd. I have less than five minutes left before the bomb goes off, and –
Do you always have to be so melodramatic? Reese’s voice intrudes on my thoughts.
You’re not the one about to be framed for this thing. I shoot back, rolling my eyes. Telepaths. Think they know everything.
I heard that. Reese says as someone pushes past me to get to the wind chime booth. You should be more grateful, you know. I am technically a traitor now –
That makes two of us. I interject. Remember me? Bastian Reynolds, the soon-to-be-infamous Ryland Market bomber?
Yeah, yeah, sure. You count too. But we all know I’m the brains of this outfit.
Oh, just shut up and help me find the damn bomb. I snap at him.
Yes, oh bossy one.
TP!
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