Every Story Starts Somewhere…

August 23, 2016
Yesterday, my blog post was about a Western novel I’ve been working on, “Coyote Courage.” I thought I would share the prologue. This is the first half, and the second half will be published tomorrow. Your feedback is very much welcome.
Prologue – Part One

I wake up to a low growl and a loud pain.

My head aches in a way that lets me know I’ve been injured, and it hurts to even open my eyes. Fighting through a painful fog, I struggle to figure out where I am and to remember how I got here. There are no immediate answers or even recent memories, another sure sign that I took a blow to the head.

At least I can remember my name, so that’s a start. Brock Clemons.

I can tell I’m in a cave, lying on my right side on a cold, hard floor. I’m facing the front of the cave, which is about 10 feet away. I can hear water dripping behind me, but I can’t tell how much, or how close. Without moving, and I most certainly am not ready to try to move, I can’t figure out how big the cave is or how high up the mountain I am. And I realize that I don’t even have any idea as to what mountain this is, much less how I got here or how long I’ve been here.

After a couple of minutes, I can see a little better. Maybe some moonlight has filtered in, or maybe my eyes have adjusted. But I’m still not ready to try moving — in part because of the pain and in part, if I am being honest with myself, because I’m afraid that maybe I can’t. So, I just keep staring at the front of the cave and trying to clear my head.

The opening is small and it’s dark out, so I can see very little inside the cave and even less outside. It’s the kind of dark that isn’t getting any help from a recent sunset, or from dawn being right around the corner, so all I know is that it’s somewhere in the middle of the night — and since I don’t know how long I’ve been here, I’m not even sure what night it is.