Early this year I took a writing course and started on a story about a guardian angel trying to save a soul. I took inspiration (loosely) from Faust. So the man in question has already sold his soul to the devil, making things a bit difficult for the angel who's not feeling particularly charitable.
I've played around with an opening scene and can't quite decide if it should be 1. When my lost soul loses his soul. 2. When the Angel grudgingly accepts the mission. or 3. When the Angel and lost soul finally meet.
This is option 1:
Dominic tried to keep his knees from shaking, the last thing he wanted to do was to become unsteady and fall from the chair prematurely. They had put a blindfold on him so he couldn’t see where exactly he was, but it was likely they were in one of the abandoned warehouses that Phil kept exactly for these sorts of occasions.
No one every looks out for you. Dominic thought bitterly. You have to be your own look out.
Phil, Dom’s now ex boss, obviously wasn’t here he just wanted Dominic out of the way. Some of the burlier henchmen had been dispatched and they’d been none too gentle in getting the job done so far.
It wasn’t fair, he’d just been in the wrong place at the right time.
Dominic took another shuddering breath and tried twist his head out of the noose again. Bribing his way out of this hadn’t worked, talking his way out hadn’t worked and begging had only made them laugh. Cold sweat trickled down Dom’s back.
He’d do anything to get out of this. He’d give anything to just get a chance to get away. One chance, just one chance.
Dom stiffened as he felt someone untie the blindfold. He blinked in the dim light - he was alone in a large and grimy space. A few faint rays of early morning sunshine filtered through tall windows dull with years of neglect and pollution. Dom tried to twist round but the chair gave an immediate lurch, his heart hammered like a hamster’s.
A soft laugh behind his left ear made him twitch involuntarily and the chair wobbled again beneath him. A soft whisper of almost words breathe against the back of his neck.
“You think this is funny?!” Dominic put as much venom into the words as he could muster, but his voice still sounded unsteady with fear.
“From where I’m standing it’s not too bad.” The voice was male, smooth and cultured, with the slightest hint of an accent. Someone jiggled the chair a little.
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