Wednesday, August 13, 2008

When you just want to finish

I've hit another spot...and I think what I did before was race to the end. In this spot I have my hero, Mark, flying into Switzerland then coming back out...with a momentous happening. But, still, the scene is more of a flashback while he's flying away from the country. NOT GOOD!

So, here I am, writing another chapter/scene. I want to get more into it, scenery, emotions, people... everything. Shouldn't take too long to get back on track. I'm going to remember this incident next time, though. Racing to the end makes me leave things out. :P Don't want that.

Here's an excerpt of the bit I'm changing.

~~~~~~~~

Flannery rolled over causing the cot to squeal in protest and vomited into the pail. A thud accompanied the resounding splash when he fell back.

Mark opened a vent and looked to heaven. Their quick flight to France had included a side trip to Sweden—which had taken an entire four days—and now, a hop over to Belgium. And wasn’t that fun?

Somewhere along the line, Flannery had picked up a bug. Three days ago, he’d passed out at a farm in a small village in Switzerland. Filled with refugees, Christians and Jews, it sorely needed supplies—food, clothing, and medicines. Hollow faces filled with a spark of hope. They’d kept their faith and Mark had to wonder how, when everything they owned had been ripped from them. Sickness and death marked more than a few of the families. His greatest fear stared him in the face—losing what meant the most to him, Maggie. The stark reality made it difficult to guard his heart.

From across the rocky yard, a girl of surely no more than seven years approached. Her soft, blonde curls reminded him of his youngest sister.

"I speak English." The soft slur of her accent brought a smile to his face.

"I’m glad. I’ll need your help. Would you like to introduce me to your family?"

She nodded her head and, holding his hand, took him to each of the families. He’d swallowed pity and the knot in his throat. Shaking hands and sharing stories, just knowing a name meant being drawn into their circle of brotherly love.

No. Pity wasn’t needed there. The men he’d met had overcome no mere obstacle to protect the people they loved. The very lives of those loved ones had been placed in the hands of God. A faith, unshakable.

His paled in comparison.

Without a word at his departure, Emma had run to him and wrapped her arms around his knees. He patted her head and lifted her to place a kiss at the tip of her nose.

"Thank you, Mr. Danbury." She returned his kiss. "I love you."

Emotions blocked any response he wanted to make, should have made. A tight feeling in his chest reminded him of the day he married Maggie. Until this moment he hadn’t realized the depth of that love.

"I’ll say a prayer for your friend, Mr. Danbury."

Out of necessity, he cleared his throat. "Thank you," he whispered before squatting and returning her to her feet on the dry dirt road. "He’ll appreciate that."

Six hours after they left, the stink of sickness wafted through the cabin, and Mark brought the Belgium airstrip into his sights. Skies were clear and brilliant blue. He’d prayed for clouds. Getting in undetected would be nearly impossible on a day like today.

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