Masks of Terror: Excerpt
Derek Mace: This is a new concept in making. I pursued this genre because I saw it fit to appeal to the greater masses which (I fear) are adamant on making High Fantasy obsolete lest it be from a famous author.
This story on the other hand, is mystery, action and drama. It takes place mostly in a fictional university campus, with visits to Seattle, Washington, and Boston. It takes place two years from now, when Iraq is relatively calm and most American soldiers are backing home.
The two protagonists in this story are John Howard, and Josef Shamairi, two students in one class, who early on, show their great cultural differences towards each other. John is a serious man, but a clumsy student who hates to ask help from anyone. Josef on the other hand, is a serious student and vague person who write stories in their Engineering classes.
Josef is on a scholarship from his country, and John lives off his parents’ fees and financial support.
Now that you know the characters…we’ll begin.
The story kicks off with a bang…literally.
This excerpt has none of those main characters, but friends of Joseph who were sent with him in an international students' scholarship.
Excerpt:
This is wrong.
The late night's chill and silence vanished as a blast tore them asunder. A tongue of flames rose to the sky, before a clap like thunder shook the very ground.
This isn't happening.
Adrenaline rushed to my cheeks. The cold air took my breath away, and so did what we just did.
This isn't supposed to happen!
People were yelling, running, hiding. In the distance, I heard sirens, and before me, the night was lit with fires.
"Why are we doing this? These are civilians!" I yelled. Mus'ab reloaded his gun, and in the shadow, the cell began operating.
"Come here, we need you to plant--"
"I didn't come here to kill civilians!" I retorted, face pale and fingers blue. "We're only making things harder for peace!"
"Peace?!" He barked. "When are people offered peace, Kasim? When are countries respected? Only with power are people recognized!" The light of the fires flickered unto his face--he looked like a messenger of Hell.
"But why them?" I cried, before I was grabbed by my jacket and thrown forward. I landed and was dragged into an ally, where Mus'ab followed, as his men-once thought friends of mine- seized me and drove me into, rattling into a fence.
"He's deserting us, scatter!" he shouted, as they left the ally. Mus'ab remained, gazing at me, and the sirens neared.
I eyed him as bits of the metal fence bit into my skin, "What are you doing?"
"I'm getting arrested," he replied, as if my question insulted him. "What were you saying?"
"You are a disgrace, Mus'ab! You were sent here by our king to help our land flourish, and this is how you repay his trust? Killing unarmed people is no war policy and hardly yields results!"
"His trust is misplaced--he is a mockery of all we are, and if we can make things harder for him, we would," he said. My skin bled and stung from the frost as he continued. "As are you. Eating from the hands of them. One hand yields their greed, and the other yields their wrath. There is no trusting them." He idly swept his gun at the burning buildings. "They smile to your face, and doubt you when your back is turned."
"It is clear who has no trust in what, Mus'ab; you have no trust in our country, our government, or our leaders. You are a traitor, and an obstacle that would hinder our growth," I said and spat. His eyes widened, and his mouth curled into a smile as the fires toppled a building into a street--the sirens stopped.
"That buys me more time to properly explain to you, dog," he said. "Our country isn't a proper one. Consorting with an enemy? That is a laughable and pitiful policy. Giving them fuel to burn us is foolish, and trusting them is a damned notion. They do not know who or what they are."
"I know who you are, Mus'ab; you are a traitor, a murtad, and a criminal. You are an ill-thinking extremist, and your deeds will only ruin everything for us! Do you think killing fifty office workers or a librarian would threaten America? That, is the foolish notion!"
He pointed the gun at me, and my mouth shut.
"I thought you had the makings of a true--"
"Don't you dare think -for one second- that you are a true Muslim for doing this," I retorted. My blood boiled and my eyes watered. "You're nothing different from the Kawarrij! If the leaders of the nation--if the immams of Islam talk against you, what do you know?"
"That's all you know, obviously. Drink to the rim of the cup of what the immams say. Don't think of anything else, you animal. I know what I'm doing, and I know what you're doing," he shouted. He breathed quicker, and his gaze faltered. "They're not always right! What do they know about what we feel?"
"Who is we, Mus'ab?" I asked. The sirens were close--too close. I would soon be in the news, and I will disgrace them all--my king, my family, and even professor Mazen would shake his head in sorrow. I won't be one of them. "Who is we? Whoever they are, I am not of them! They are not of us, and nor we of them! Take your nonsense and--"
The gun--
The pain.
Mus'ab shot--
I fell at the fence. The snagging hooks held my skin--
I am fading.
Ashadu Ana La Ilah Illa Allah--Washad An Mohammadun Rasul--Allah...
I think this is enough for today. There are more protagonists in this novel than one, and this event is only one of many in this work.
Hopefully, I gave a big shot at 'Who's the hero? Who's the villain?' trope with the heated debate.
I probably didn't mention this work.
Masks of Terror is a modern Drama/Action/Philosophy work, which focuses on a fictional city in America, where a circle of friends go to study abroad in, just to meet up after a while with a terrorist cell from their own country.
Anyone Could Die is the trope of this book.
This story on the other hand, is mystery, action and drama. It takes place mostly in a fictional university campus, with visits to Seattle, Washington, and Boston. It takes place two years from now, when Iraq is relatively calm and most American soldiers are backing home.
The two protagonists in this story are John Howard, and Josef Shamairi, two students in one class, who early on, show their great cultural differences towards each other. John is a serious man, but a clumsy student who hates to ask help from anyone. Josef on the other hand, is a serious student and vague person who write stories in their Engineering classes.
Josef is on a scholarship from his country, and John lives off his parents’ fees and financial support.
Now that you know the characters…we’ll begin.
The story kicks off with a bang…literally.
This excerpt has none of those main characters, but friends of Joseph who were sent with him in an international students' scholarship.
Excerpt:
This is wrong.
The late night's chill and silence vanished as a blast tore them asunder. A tongue of flames rose to the sky, before a clap like thunder shook the very ground.
This isn't happening.
Adrenaline rushed to my cheeks. The cold air took my breath away, and so did what we just did.
This isn't supposed to happen!
People were yelling, running, hiding. In the distance, I heard sirens, and before me, the night was lit with fires.
"Why are we doing this? These are civilians!" I yelled. Mus'ab reloaded his gun, and in the shadow, the cell began operating.
"Come here, we need you to plant--"
"I didn't come here to kill civilians!" I retorted, face pale and fingers blue. "We're only making things harder for peace!"
"Peace?!" He barked. "When are people offered peace, Kasim? When are countries respected? Only with power are people recognized!" The light of the fires flickered unto his face--he looked like a messenger of Hell.
"But why them?" I cried, before I was grabbed by my jacket and thrown forward. I landed and was dragged into an ally, where Mus'ab followed, as his men-once thought friends of mine- seized me and drove me into, rattling into a fence.
"He's deserting us, scatter!" he shouted, as they left the ally. Mus'ab remained, gazing at me, and the sirens neared.
I eyed him as bits of the metal fence bit into my skin, "What are you doing?"
"I'm getting arrested," he replied, as if my question insulted him. "What were you saying?"
"You are a disgrace, Mus'ab! You were sent here by our king to help our land flourish, and this is how you repay his trust? Killing unarmed people is no war policy and hardly yields results!"
"His trust is misplaced--he is a mockery of all we are, and if we can make things harder for him, we would," he said. My skin bled and stung from the frost as he continued. "As are you. Eating from the hands of them. One hand yields their greed, and the other yields their wrath. There is no trusting them." He idly swept his gun at the burning buildings. "They smile to your face, and doubt you when your back is turned."
"It is clear who has no trust in what, Mus'ab; you have no trust in our country, our government, or our leaders. You are a traitor, and an obstacle that would hinder our growth," I said and spat. His eyes widened, and his mouth curled into a smile as the fires toppled a building into a street--the sirens stopped.
"That buys me more time to properly explain to you, dog," he said. "Our country isn't a proper one. Consorting with an enemy? That is a laughable and pitiful policy. Giving them fuel to burn us is foolish, and trusting them is a damned notion. They do not know who or what they are."
"I know who you are, Mus'ab; you are a traitor, a murtad, and a criminal. You are an ill-thinking extremist, and your deeds will only ruin everything for us! Do you think killing fifty office workers or a librarian would threaten America? That, is the foolish notion!"
He pointed the gun at me, and my mouth shut.
"I thought you had the makings of a true--"
"Don't you dare think -for one second- that you are a true Muslim for doing this," I retorted. My blood boiled and my eyes watered. "You're nothing different from the Kawarrij! If the leaders of the nation--if the immams of Islam talk against you, what do you know?"
"That's all you know, obviously. Drink to the rim of the cup of what the immams say. Don't think of anything else, you animal. I know what I'm doing, and I know what you're doing," he shouted. He breathed quicker, and his gaze faltered. "They're not always right! What do they know about what we feel?"
"Who is we, Mus'ab?" I asked. The sirens were close--too close. I would soon be in the news, and I will disgrace them all--my king, my family, and even professor Mazen would shake his head in sorrow. I won't be one of them. "Who is we? Whoever they are, I am not of them! They are not of us, and nor we of them! Take your nonsense and--"
The gun--
The pain.
Mus'ab shot--
I fell at the fence. The snagging hooks held my skin--
I am fading.
Ashadu Ana La Ilah Illa Allah--Washad An Mohammadun Rasul--Allah...
I think this is enough for today. There are more protagonists in this novel than one, and this event is only one of many in this work.
Hopefully, I gave a big shot at 'Who's the hero? Who's the villain?' trope with the heated debate.
I probably didn't mention this work.
Masks of Terror is a modern Drama/Action/Philosophy work, which focuses on a fictional city in America, where a circle of friends go to study abroad in, just to meet up after a while with a terrorist cell from their own country.
Anyone Could Die is the trope of this book.