Excerpt 1

Below is the first excerpt (sneak peek) of Obsidian.

Unknown

PEOPLE DON'T know me. Those who think they do, don't. I'm black, unreadable, like that of obsidian. I have secrets and ideas that are masked within its darkness. Hidden, and dangerous. There is only one human being that could ever understand half of my life, only because I've personally known him since birth. Then there still stands the other half, unknown by everyone, prominent only if I'm exposed to the blinding, enticing, bright light, where I glow. Glow black, like obsidian. Otherwise, I will remain dark and disguised.

     Others view me as a reserved person. They know how to avoid me, which I am grateful for, as that keeps me painted black. There are only a few things that reveal my true self, and that includes anger. The other catalyst is inevitable: interest. If something strong attaches to me, I will pursue it until it is absolutely impossible to continue further. There is no limit for me, which is often a problem, because that is when the cracks begin to appear. That is when things become uncontrollable, like a pond frozen over with a thin layer of ice, splitting into pieces.

My hand ran across the smooth but worn cover, the other holding and caressing the binding as if it were a young and delicate child. Beautiful. My fingers flipped through the yellowing and stained pages, every one harboring a sparking excitement. I can see now the twisting, destructive colors swirling into emptiness, nowhere to go but to accumulate here. Have I made the right decision, resulting in this destruction? Influential, tempting descriptions reached out with invisible sharp nails and dug them into my brain, squeezing and pulling me into the fantasy. The fantasy of these pages—true or false, I didn't know at the time. Now I do know. I watch this phenomenon now because I believed and I attempted, and did I have anything to lose? My life could not be taken even if my pounding mind of ideas were to be crushed. Who left such a marvel here, in my own attic, for me to discover? Of course, maybe it wasn't meant for prying eyes because to reach this I broke open a tightly locked chest. I wanted to know. I'm glad I know. I wasn't supposed to find this ancient artifact, threatening to crumble in my interested hands, any time in my lifetime, yet I did. I felt my eyes glistening and wondering. Then I saw the name signed fancy in black ink on the very last page and the silence consumed me. The recognition was almost painful. Somewhere in my mind a realization occurred to me and things started hooking together like pieces of a puzzle. He had this book before me. He had read it or wrote it, probably had the same desires as me. But did he follow them to their fullest extent? No, he did not. The anger and success of my abilities swarms around me so violently I have to use all my strength and balance to keep myself on my feet. This is happening because of my grandfather. Because he did not destroy that precious, forbidden journal. He left it, I found it, and things changed. I did the impossible that he expressed to titillatingly in his writing, and I am proud of it.

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