The cutting room floor

Working on finishing up the story I’m on (featuring the urban mage I created a while back). Due to some issues I mentioned a few posts ago, I ended up completely rewriting the ending. It meant cutting a scene and a few lines I’m kinda fond of, but that’s how things work sometimes. I’ll probably still work some of this in to the final draft.

Originally I was going to use some fun fonts to get across the magical elements, but that’s kind of a pain in an electronic setting (the person receiving would have to have the same font for it to work, right?), so I’ve nixed that idea. This was my favorite portion of the cut material (there was a little before this and a lot after).

[Material Cut from Untitled Sevastian Dušan story]

They were again plunging through the sky. Samantha twisted her head and saw New York sprawling far below. Dušan fell alongside, one hand loosely wrapped around her arm, his head turned away.

“Dušan!” she yelled. “Dušan!” She grabbed him by the collar of his jersey and hauled him over. His eyes were closed. She noticed for the first time that he wasn’t holding his precious hockey stick—it free fell beside him. Blood soaked through the right shoulder of his shirt. It dripped up as they plunged toward earth.

She shook Dušan, but it was no use. He was out, for all she knew he was dead. She stretched an arm across him and grasped the hockey stick. She pointed it at the ground and wondered what to do next. Dušan had just made things happen. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t make any weird motions with his hands, nothing. She quickly felt along the shaft, but there were no buttons or switches or anything else that would explain the insanity that had disrupted her life over the past few hours.

“Goddammit!” she yelled, shaking the stick. Dušan claimed Samantha had powers, but how was she supposed to know how they worked? The words were inside her, he’d said. What words? And how freaking cliché was that?

She shouted into the wind. “Fly! Hover! Fucking…umbrella!” Nothing happened, and the stick hung useless in her hands.

Samantha stared hard at the rooftops, as though willing them to stop, to push back, or just disappear, so she could just keep falling forever. She started to go numb, and the PhD in her whispered that she was going into shock. Her lips parted.

insert crazy runes here” she mumbled, only barely aware of herself.

There was an abrupt shift in the wind–it began to die. The air thickened. Samantha’s mind sharpened, and she could swear that she were suddenly falling not through empty air, but a stack of fresh sheets or towels. She could almost push back against the air enough to sit up.

The air gently deposited Samantha and the unconscious Dušan atop a flat roof somewhere in midtown Manhattan. Samantha, breathing heavily, didn’t dare take her eyes off the concrete. Her mind groped for the logic in the situation, but utterly failed.