Some first lines:
The man on the doorstep was soaked, water dripping from his overcoat and evaporating the moment it hit the dusty, sun-drenched porch.
On every page of the diary, the same nonsense word scrawled over and over again: scissormirror, scissormirror, scissormirror, scissormirror, scissormirror...
"Simmer down, kids," Ravi whispered. "It'll be dark soon. And we all know what that means, don't we?"
The road forked, north-east and north-west, but inbetween, a dirt track that was hardly visible at all.
Chris didn't care what the politicians said, or the weathermen, or the newsreaders; the arabesque patterns in the carpet told him all he needed to know.
Thursday, 18 June 2009
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