Here is a fraction of the prologue from my novel-writing entry.  I badly need critiques;  please share what you think of it. Thanks!

It was a November Monday. My death shocked the whole nation and piqued the whole world’s interest. 57 people died that day in one clean swoop. I was among the casualties.

The Lagunao Massacre was what it was, a massacre. If there’s a war going, the number of deaths would not have been unusual. Gruesome, macabre, and extremely raw, it was the most evil as evil can be; it was utter butchery. For the perpetrators, life as we know it was something to toy with. Human value has no meaning for them. What they did to us that fateful day was the most despicable act of violence of the decade. It was considered the most vicious, heinous crime against humanity in recent history.

When newspapers, tabloids, and radio, television and cyber space media caught on and raved about it, it was pandemic, viral. It engulfed the masses, filling every heart and mind with disbelief and outrage. The country condemned it. Religions all over the world was brought down to their knees by it. After the Holocaust, in this day and age? It was simply something unbelievable. The degree of the deluge of public outcry was beyond quantification.


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