Here is a part of my latest project. I don't know when I finish the first chapter, but it should be sometime this week. Any title suggestions are welcome. ---- When I was little my mom used to have this box up in the closet. She kept it on the very top shelf, I couldn’t reach it even if I pulled over my special super-duper booster chair and stood on the tips of my tippy toes. The box itself was about the size of a small volkswagen and in my mom’s neat, no nonsense handwriting, it read “Imagination”. Whenever my mom got what I would now call shit-faced drunk, she would help me get down the box and we would fill it with our thoughts. This is the box that now sits on the metal table with a harsh light distorting my childhood memories. The corners of the box are fraying, the delicate flowered cloth coming unraveled. I stare at the box. Thing is I haven't thought the box, much less seen it, since I hit the road four years ago. Now here it is, on my interrogation table. And I have no idea why. "Maybe she's dead," I mumble to myself, causing Rae, my partner, to look at me from the doorway. "Did you say something," her voice is so out of place this deep in the west. Especially now that most people that leave the south adopt our typical American accent as quickly as possible. "Nothing, Rae. Just thinking aloud. Any idea what this case is about?" "No, but we're 'bout to find out," she steps aside, leaning casually against the wall as not to seem eager to Boss. Boss is a big guy with probably a negative amount of body fat. His shirts never fail to outline the chiseled chest that's almost as big as his ego. Gotta give it to him, though, the man's smarter than most people in his employment. "Rae, Tyson, I brought you something," Boss's voice is gruff and a bit strained, like he actually had to make an effort. He unlocks the door, his breathing increasing and shoves in a woman in shackles. Her cheekbones are high and the skin over them is pulled tight. The shackles on her wrists slide down to her knuckles. If this had been a decade ago, one would think she's a cocaine addict, but she isn't. She's a Parasite. Those are almost worse. They're humans with a special affinity for sucking temporary skills off of people with actual power; and each time they do this, they die a little more until they're nothing but skin and bones and a heart that can't keep beating. There's no reversing the process, either.
My first instinct is to immediately put in the punctuation that you're missing, or need, and correct some of the grammar, but I can't do that ;-; But overall, it's quite interesting :3