New Novel: Blood and Sofía
Pleased to meet you and greetings from México. My name is Pablo. I just finished my first novel - self-published on Amazon - and I want to invite you all to read it and let me know what your thoughts are (link amazon.com/dp/B07NKB9PDH/ref=sr_1_2?key ... amp;sr=8-2
To try to convince you, here´s the synopsis, followed by the actual prologue (excuse the formatting posted here):
After learning that her father is dying and in spite of the hatred she feels towards him, Sofia Flores returns to the town of San Miguel de Paz after ten years to have one last meeting with him. During her stay, the image of the town she met as a child is replaced by a portrait of secrets, lies, and blood - all linked to Arturo, the newest owner of the Vinyet hacienda. Sofia will confront the ghosts and demons that seem to be rooted in Arturo's essence, finding in him something he himself has forgotten: hope.
A veil of dense clouds covered the night sky. The raindrops fell fast; cold and ruthless like little daggers. Street lamps flickered cautiously as they rarely did. From time to time, the lights of a car could be seen hurrying in the distance, at one end or another of the cobblestone of San Angel’s streets. Nobody wanted to be outside during the deluge - nobody except him.
I'm an asshole.
His dark coat was soaked and felt heavy. Even his gloves, housed in both front pockets of the coat, were dripping with water and blood. His breathing came in brief and agitated gasps and his steps were weak; his legs were trembling and the street was slippery. He advanced a little and less and less with every step. It was the fragile gait of someone lost; lost or aimless. In his situation it didn't matter. He didn't intend to get anywhere. At that point, he didn't intend anything. He could not turn back. He didn't want to go back.
What the fuck was I thinking?
One step. Two steps. He walked in a straight line, following the path laid out by the street and the small river that made its way through the rocks. He passed in front of the large wooden gate that led to the apartment he rented; to one side of the Parish of San Jacinto. He hesitated only for an instant. With his right hand he caressed his keys. Temptation stirred within, stronger than the rain around him. Temptation and anger. Frustration. Fear. Death.
I was pissed.
He could still see the scene in his head, as clear as a movie that ran endlessly - the wine, the knife, and the blood. A desperate decision that had changed his life. Desperate, perhaps even cruel and stupid, but in his mind, just. Or so he said to convince himself; to disguise the pain that had long appropriated him.
But I had to do it.
After a deep breath, he pulled the keys from his pocket. His right hand still shook disturbed. He made sure no one was passing by; policemen patrolled occasionally. He turned and threw the key chain as far away as he could. Far away as his memories. Far away as his life. As far away as to never return.
And if you do decide to give this novel a shot, please let me know what your feedback is. Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!