Thadren

Jaren's head ached. The pain seemed to rise from his brain out to his scalp, and then sink back down. He held his head in his hands, like he was trying to keep it from falling apart. Confused by what was going on, Jaren tried to piece things together, but his thoughts were too elusive.
He had tried to open his eyes when he first woke up, but the sunlight was too bright. Instead, he had to use his other senses to figure out where he was. He could hear clinking metal and creaking wood. The pain intensified, distracting him. Jaren winced as he put his head between his legs. Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. The more lucent he became, the more he wished that he was still asleep. His whole body hurt. His stomach ached, his muscles felt torn, and he felt as if large sections of his body had been rubbed raw and then exposed to too much sunlight.
The pain momentarily ebbed, and Jaren focused again on his surroundings. He was sitting on something hard, his feet and seat level. Whatever he was on was gently swaying from side to side, like a rocking chair. After a moment of concentration, he identified the metallic clinking. It was the sound of metal chain links bumping into each other. Jaren had often heard this noise when he had watched his father work with carcasses in the slaughter house.
Jaren inhaled sharply in response to the pain cycling through his body again. The throbbing still clouded his mind. Once it subsided, he focused on the very distinct odors that filled his nose: smoke, like burning grass or wood and pork.
There was another smell that somehow nostalgic. The image of the slaughter house with the animals hung by chains through their hind legs, their heads missing, and blood dripping in the collection pails below returned to his mind. The combination of senses made Jaren wonder if he was in fact in a swaying slaughter house. The smell was blood.
Jolted quickly to full awareness, Jaren ignored the pain the sunlight caused and looked down at the drops of blood that had dripped to the wooden floor below. He gingerly traced the source, a wound on his head, with his left index finger. Squinting he looked up and his heart surged with fear. It was mid-day. He was caged in on a wooden wagon heading away from his home town.
Memories from the past night flooded into his now alert mind.

Uh...that's how my book is going to start.

If you know anybody that works for a publishing company, let me know. I'm trying to get as many contacts as I can so when I'm finished with the book, I'll have people to try before just going to random publishers.

Mike