"Oh, my new story? It's called InVincible and is about a guy named Vince who is a... well... someone who used to be in training to eventually work for a bad guy, but broke out and is being chased by them (they're trying to get him back)."
Doesn't sound too great, does it? I think it'd sound a bit better if I had an actual title for him though.
Anyone have any ideas?
(P.S. Here's the excerpt I promised.. sorry it's not much, but I can't type a lot with chocolately fingers :P I'll have more tomorrow.)
Invincible
“You know who they are?” She said, pointing over to the tight circle of boys she’d been trying to get into earlier.
“Nope.”
“They call themselves the Midnight Mass, or Masters.” Wings told me. She had this earnest look in her eyes that almost never went away - like every time she spoke, it was from the inner depth of her heart. “Apparently, they’re some sort of escaped convicts or mobsters.”
I almost laughed, imagining how bad these guys were compared to me - and Wings was afraid of them? She had much more of a reason to be terrified of me. But people seemed to like me - I hadn’t caught anyone giving me funny or scared looks since the scene in the shopping alley. It was part of my training, I guess, to be friendly… and deadly.
I watched the group - Midnight Mass. What a random name… couldn’t they have thought of something better? Like… Nightblade or The Dark Devils or something? I wasn’t good at names, but I was better than them!
One of them turned around and I caught a glimpse of his face.
Total recall.
My eyes became glued to the face, the young man’s eyes searching the crowd, and landing on me. I fought the urge to hide, not liking the extra attention any more than I’d been brought up to like it.
I couldn’t move. It just wasn’t possible as the man said something to the rest of the group and slowly, they all turned to look at me. I knew each and every one of them. If you want, I could list there names, but they would mean nothing to you.
Instead, I’ll say everything about them - in school, before the fighting, we had been forced to meet all these different random people and figure out their innermost personality in about an hour. All of these people where my roommates. I’d spent almost 8 hours every day of the year for 5 years with these people. I think I knew them.
First, there was Paul. Tall, blond-haired with a sharp, angular face, he’d always been the calmer one of our group. Of course, Paul wasn’t his real name, he’d just picked it because he loved Paul McCartney from the Beatles. He thought the Beatles where the greatest rock group ever. Once, Paul had said he was going to get out and play the drums for the real Paul - even though his passion was the hand-made piano made of paper he’d drawn. Paul wasn’t one for fighting, but if he had to, he could beat just about anyone. If he wanted to, Paul could kill everyone.
Paul started to walk over, closer to me.
“Look,” Wings whispered beside me. Oblivious, she was, to everything that had happened in the last few moments.
Another member of the group, Peter Wright, as he supposedly remembered his name being, stepped in front of him and Paul fell behind. I almost laughed. It was just like before, Peter could never let anyone lead anything, everything had to be him, him, him. But that worked. We all worked well with Peters organization and knowledge of everyone’s different skills.
With Peter in lead, Paul and the twins, Leddie and Zeddie followed. Obviously, their names were the creation of their younger selves, and had stuck like the glue they use to put heads back together when stitches wont work.
The rest followed in behind, all eight of them, as it had been before they’d moved on and I’d stayed behind. If I hadn’t stayed behind, I would’ve been with them now. But we both got out, right?
“Vince.” Peter said, his bright, light blue eyes shining in stark contrast against his dark olive skin and chestnut brown hair. Born only a few degrees away from blind, Peter had undergone years of constant surgeries before he could see enough for the Bishop to let him pass through the training. He was already old when he started, and was the oldest of all of us - and the toughest. I guess the constant surgeries had changed him; never knowing whether he’d emerge healed, or totally blind.
“Peter.” As if to prove I still knew them, I looked around at each face, pairing it with a name. “Leddie, Zeddie, George, Paul, Frank, Josh.” Some half-hidden smiles shone through their tough demeanor, but where quickly gone.
“Where’s Herve?” I asked, trying to bury my creeping emotions.
“Dead. He died the night we escaped.”
Good? Bad? Did something not make sense? I can't give you the whole story, so I understand how it might be confusing (hey, the whole story althogether may still be confusing!) and if it is, ask me.
Oh, and any name for what type of person Vince is?
- S a r a h
