Writing Exercise: Your Character Finds Themselves...

By D R Cartwright

A quick writing exercise for the evening. The person next to you gives you a scenario and you have to choose a character that you're currently writing about and put them in that scenario to see how they would react. A great way to get to know your character more.

My Scenario: My Character finds himself in Eastenders (who come up with that idea???)

A brief bio about my character so this little flash piece makes an ounce of sense: Devon McCormick is a gangster from my fantasy world and he's currently fighting against a Necromancer with a powerful black crystal.

***

He had absolutely no idea that the black crystal was so powerful until the Bishop directed its glow towards him. Feeling the pull of its power, Devon had no choice but to give himself over to it.

For what felt like hours, Devon was floating, drifting in a sea of blinding light, and when it dimmed he collapsed in a heap on the floor. He sat there for a few minutes, blinking the blindness from his eyes, and when sight returned to him he saw he surrounded by dark, towering structures. He new they were buildings but they were unlike any he had ever seen, and it was then he realised he was no longer in Montagola.

Where was he?

He knew the crystal mastered the art of Necromancy, but to transport someone somewhere? That was impossible. Yet here he was - wherever here happened to be.

A blue door opened to his left, its squeaking hinges alien to his ears, and he watched as a man stepped out carrying a black bag stuffed with unknown contents. In one swift movement, the man tossed the bag onto a pile of others that littered a large, steel box on wheels.

Devon frowned and looked from the pile to the man and the white apron he was wearing. Such strange garments he was wearing. And just as he was about to turn and head back in, the man's eyes fell on Devon's sprawled form.

"Oi! What you doing back 'ere?" he yelled. Devon assumed it was an attempt to frighten him off.

Finding his strength, Devon climbed to his feet and stepped over. "Where is this?" he asked

The man looked him up and down. "How much 'ave you had?"

Devon closed the gap between them. "Where is this?" he repeated.

"You're behind the cafe, you know, in Albert Square? Walford?"

"And your name, sir?"

The man frowned and hesitated before answering. "Ian Beal."

He was glad the crystal hadn't drained him of strength when it transported him, and in one swift movement he raised his hand, his fingers gripping around Ian's neck and closing airwaves.

Ian's eyes bulged, his mouth gaping as he clawed at the grip, and slowly his complexion took on a purple hue, his protests weakened and his body fell limp. Devon kept his grip and crouched as he let the body collapse in a heap.

He had killed Ian Beal. He didn't know who the man was, didn't know how important he had been, but he knew if there was one, there were others, and he could assume domination over them all like he had in Montagola. All he needed now was something to heat his ring with so he could brand his victim in his usual fashion and leave his mark - the first, he knew, of many...