This is the prologue to a novel I am polishing at the moment. I have reworked this about ten times now and I would really like some feedback. Is it too much of an information dump? Does it catch your attention? Would you want to read more? Comments would be greatly appreciated!
My life has been defined by death.
Even before I was old enough to know my own name I knew death. My grandparents died in a plane crash while I was still teething and my parents were gunned down in our home before I had left elementary school. The official story was murder suicide. Official stories are never the real story –that is why they have to make them official. They cannot be anything else. I hold Christian responsible.
My husband, Blake, and my uncle, Daniel, were the next to go. My brother took care of them with a shotgun. The twisted part of Uncle Daniel’s death is that he had been the chief proponent fighting to keep my brother from being charged with my parent’s murder. Christian’s ingratitude knew no bounds.
The night Daniel and Blake were killed I walked into my uncle’s house and found Christian hovering over them with a sick grin on his face. That is right were I shot him, in his smug face. I gave that son of a bitch what he deserved.
That is the last moment I can recall with any clarity. I have been trying for nearly two years to remember exactly what happened after that but for the life of me the memory will not come back. The next thing I knew I had woken up in a compound full of refugee women somewhere in Asia with no idea how I got there. I would try to escape but where do I have to go? Everyone I have ever loved is either dead or despises me.
So I am here; haunted by vivid nightmares, isolated and confused.
Mine is a life damned, and only my pride propels me forward. I will find out why I was brought here and how. There is a reason and until I learn it I will keep fighting.
Death can have me after that.