Covewriter's picture
Covewriter from Nashville, Tennessee is reading & Sons March 24, 2013 - 9:19pm

Oh yea Dwayne, folks dancing around with beer mugs in their hands singing "like a fox, like a fox, like a fox ..... on the run."  I am not sure what that means but I can sing it full blast. That and more. "Honey won't you be my salty dog." Who knows what that means but it's fun to sing. 

 

Dwayne's picture
Dwayne from Cincinnati, Ohio (suburbs) is reading books that rotate to often to keep this updated March 24, 2013 - 9:50pm

In fox hunts hounds chase them to death.

Utah's picture
Moderator
Utah from Fort Worth, TX is reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry March 25, 2013 - 10:46am

I always say shit like, "...the demons what possessed Hank..."

It freaks my wife out and she responds with shit like, "Who the fuck is Hank?  And who hit you upside the head with a two by four?"

ReneeAPickup's picture
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup from Southern California is reading A truckload of books March 25, 2013 - 5:43pm

A paragraph from my sci fi WIP:

 

She sipped her beer and neither of them spoke for a few moments. If she could ignore the hundreds of photos of Holly on every surface, and focus on the modern but comfortable furniture, the craft beer in her hand, Aaron’s face—it was apparent he wasn’t much older than she. Wrapped in his control game, she had almost forgotten. The realization hit her now, and the fire pit of emotion in her gut started up again.

Dogmeat42's picture
Dogmeat42 from Long Island, NY is reading House of Leaves March 25, 2013 - 6:51pm

Here is a paragraph from my first attempt at a short horror story called "In the Shadow of Mt. Kinbuck."

 

"With caution, I shone the ray of light throughout the dark confines of the cave, staring at the odd angles the rocks jutted out of the walls of the hollow- half imagining bears or large cats or wolves amongst the roughly textured patterns of the granite walls, and half expecting at any moment to see a real version of one of these carnivorous beasts leering out from the darkness, growling and snarling and gnashing its teeth.  There was no such beast in the cave with me, and as I searched around the dark cavern I began to become more and more relaxed- that is until my light cut through the last bit of shadow; the last little alcove of darkness, that my calmed state went away and was replaced by a sudden terror that instantly erased any suggestion that this relaxation had ever existed."

AmPlug's picture
AmPlug March 26, 2013 - 8:28pm

"Choir boy ain't from the block you know, he ain't been down here selling rock before.  You are sending a guppy to the sharks you know.  First time he gets held up at a deal, ain;t gonna end well you know. You know its all on you, right?  You put him on your back, you vouched.  When he in too deep, you better be ready.  You gotta answer the call.  I am telling you right now, this will happen.  You ready for what comes of it?  That kid is in for it and you got his back, don't make much sense to me, man.  Why you going to risk that for the little Choir Boy?  haha soft as a cloud man." Major Rager smirked,  put out his blade and looked me in the eye through the smoke.  I knew what I was doing, I think.  

 

AmPlug's picture
AmPlug March 26, 2013 - 8:28pm

"Choir boy ain't from the block you know, he ain't been down here selling rock before.  You are sending a guppy to the sharks you know.  First time he gets held up at a deal, ain;t gonna end well you know. You know its all on you, right?  You put him on your back, you vouched.  When he in too deep, you better be ready.  You gotta answer the call.  I am telling you right now, this will happen.  You ready for what comes of it?  That kid is in for it and you got his back, don't make much sense to me, man.  Why you going to risk that for the little Choir Boy?  haha soft as a cloud man." Major Rager smirked,  put out his blade and looked me in the eye through the smoke.  I knew what I was doing, I think.  

 

AmPlug's picture
AmPlug March 26, 2013 - 8:28pm

"Choir boy ain't from the block you know, he ain't been down here selling rock before.  You are sending a guppy to the sharks you know.  First time he gets held up at a deal, ain;t gonna end well you know. You know its all on you, right?  You put him on your back, you vouched.  When he in too deep, you better be ready.  You gotta answer the call.  I am telling you right now, this will happen.  You ready for what comes of it?  That kid is in for it and you got his back, don't make much sense to me, man.  Why you going to risk that for the little Choir Boy?  haha soft as a cloud man." Major Rager smirked,  put out his blade and looked me in the eye through the smoke.  I knew what I was doing, I think.  

 

AmPlug's picture
AmPlug March 26, 2013 - 8:32pm

Very sorry for the multiple posts.  

Dogmeat42's picture
Dogmeat42 from Long Island, NY is reading House of Leaves March 26, 2013 - 10:25pm

I hope no one cares if I post again, but this is from a different story I've been (slowly) making up in small chunks. 

 

"The worst thing about Hitler’s bathroom on the night of September 6th, 1940, was the god awful stench.  It had kinda an armpit mixed with industrial waste mixed with sauerkraut mixed with dirty baby smell to it.  It was one of those lingering smells that are so foul that they burn right through your sinuses and down into your throat.  It was well worth suffering through this horrible stink to claim my first small act of victory against the Fuehrer- but that said, I never, ever, made a hit on him in one of his bathrooms again."

jyh's picture
jyh from VA is reading whatever he feels like March 26, 2013 - 10:55pm

"god awful" should be hyphenated.

Bekanator's picture
Bekanator from Kamloops, British Columbia is reading Ugly Girls by Lindsay Hunter March 27, 2013 - 7:21am

@Dogmeat42 - I believe it's fine to repost. Avery said the point of this thread was to ensure we keep writing every week.

That said, I've got me a new one as well:

 

Ashley was just getting into punk two years ago. She burned me a bunch of CD's with all these bands I'd never heard of. None of the songs made any sense. They were all about blitzkriegs and sniffing glue and getting sedated. I didn't really relate to any of it. I was more into songs about boys.


She had this leather jacket she bought from Value Village. It was worn and beaten up, and she spent the entire family reunion on the porch hand-sewing patches over the holes. Everybody laughed at her for buying a jacket that should have been in the garbage, but she was just like, "Yeah, fuck it, whatever."

Brandon's picture
Brandon from KCMO is reading Made to Break March 27, 2013 - 7:28am

Devon Robbins's picture
Devon Robbins from Utah is reading The Least Of My Scars by Stephen Graham Jones March 27, 2013 - 10:27am

Her body is liquid metal; heavy, and hot all over. Everything is tinted yellow with blurred edges. The walls are moving. Breathing. Cancer black lungs on either side of her. Karen tries to drag herself to her hands and knees, but she lacks any real resolve. Pincushion kidneys swell with fire and broken glass. Her spider-leg fingers crawl over the concrete floor, stepping in warm droplets of blood. Pain receptors are the only active part of her brain. The man lies next to her, his limbs contorted underneath him. His porcelain doll eyes are pointed at the wall above her. He doesn't breath.

simulacrum's picture
simulacrum from Las Vegas is reading shit March 27, 2013 - 12:36pm

As I lay beside Abella- the arbiter of Lucia’s disgrace, the vessel delivering her temporal dissolution- I felt an odd pang as my heart was stimulated by a myriad of emotions escaping qualification. I was not disgusted- no, far from it. I felt myself almost, strangely, charmed by Abella. We lay beside each other, our legs weaved into one another’s, and she looked at me with what seemed a look of requitement. She had wept from the pains I had gifted her, and I nearly drowned in the shining seas of her moistened eyes; I dove into them, far from soil, far from reason, and treaded the water anxiously, struggling to keep my head above water in a sea of doubt.
The shameful corpse of mine and Lucia’s intrigue had been buried, and I could not be moved to feel any sort of concern over it any longer as when I had been grievously poring over the grave I had met another in the cemetery, grieving over something or another just as I and we, in darkness, together, found a light or a fire burning in the other. We had denuded to show only our most superficial wounds, we had bled so little for each other, but I found what damage she had comfortably revealed so endearing.
Following our violent tryst, we cuddled until we had fallen asleep. The following morning, I awoke hours before her and I lay still for hours studying the curve of her hips and her silken strands of hair that were strewn about her soft, glowing skin, soliciting tender passes along her body with the tips of my calloused fingers. Throughout her slumber, she would gently stir and roll into my arms, her body warmed by mine. Given some time, she finally awoke, announcing her presence of mind by saying, “Good morning, sweet thing.” She raised her lips up to meet mine and we kissed vigorously for hours, interrupting our kissing infrequently with shared cigarettes, intermittent intercourse and general discourse running the gamut from the sentimental to the melancholy. With just a few swipes, we had cut ourselves open and our character lay bare.

R.Moon's picture
R.Moon from The City of Champions is reading The Last Thing He Wanted by Joan Didion; Story Structure Architect by Victoria Lynn Schimdt PH.D; Creating Characters by the editors of Writer's Digest March 27, 2013 - 12:40pm

From The Naomi Shots:

He looks familiar. Could be that guy from last night. The one who ran into me, in a rush to go kill someone. I wonder if they were important. Maybe some Hollywood hotshot. Fucked the killer's wife or something. Might've been a contract on the guy; he didn't pay the mob. I've seen The Sopranos. Could be a woman, though. Thinking about this prick breaking her neck or shooting her in the head is really burning me up. I should aim my pink pistol at him and squeeze the trigger like Kristin taught me. The bullet shattering his window, snapping his head to the side. Blood and brain exploding onto the windshield. The crunching of his car slamming into the truck in front of him. Instead though, he's just smiling, waving then speeding out in front of me. Someone behind me lays on their horn and I realize I'm driving fifteen miles an hour under the speed limit. I get back up to speed and hardly notice Bethany rambling on about being late and how it'd be a shame if I were homeless. 

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt March 27, 2013 - 1:23pm

Devon - Loved that paragraph.

Devon Robbins's picture
Devon Robbins from Utah is reading The Least Of My Scars by Stephen Graham Jones March 27, 2013 - 2:26pm

Thank you, Sir. 

voodoo_em's picture
voodoo_em from England is reading All the books by Tana French! March 28, 2013 - 2:29am

Some people are always looking for their next pedestal. That perfect opportunity to get up high and look down on you. The funny thing about weight is the pivotal point of perfection is obsolete. For most of my teenage life girls were always saying: Urgh, you’re so skinny, you’re like a twig.

I could snap you.

 

Bob Pastorella's picture
Bob Pastorella from Groves, Texas is reading murder books trying to stay hip, I'm thinking of you, and you're out there so Say your prayers, Say your prayers, Say your prayers March 28, 2013 - 8:25pm

Here's the beginning of the Beck novel I'm working on. 

 

The house looked like any other house in the subdivision, with the exception of the SATAN RULES some dipshit spray painted in red on the garage door. Grass needed cutting too. Coming back from a run in Houston about a month ago, Beck turned off the highway and checked the house out. No reason, he just needed to have a look. It was one of those little subdivisions right off the highway looking a little out of place, waiting on the rest of the world to catch up to it. Beck didn’t know who lived in the house, and figured he probably didn’t want to know. Something was drawing him to the house, and that usually meant bad shit. Every couple of days he would drove by real slow, trying to peek through the curtains, never really seeing anything, then back on the highway.

Nathan Scalia's picture
Nathan Scalia from Kansas is reading so many things March 29, 2013 - 3:38pm

I read some of these paragraphs, and wonder what the FLAG AS OFFENSIVE button is for. Ha.

Michael.Eric.Snyder's picture
Michael.Eric.Snyder March 29, 2013 - 10:36am

Ok, so technically this is more than one paragraph. But they're short.

Even at street level, smog hangs like litters of dirty white kittens suckling on the atmosphere. This is urban fantasy at its finest, and I’ve never been more excited to play a game. Not only is the smog visually unsettling and immersive, I feel myself breathing it in, convulsing on its rancid stink. My lungs feel burnt by it. Air so compromised by pollutants I imagine its carcinogenic parts per millions are almost visible. My eyes water, even behind the hazmat mask, just at the mere suggestion of contamination.  And all of this in a game, while I sit in a pea-green recliner trying out my vidaround screen for the first time.

I understand how people can wet themselves while immersed, go hungry. Some die. Oh the indignity of it. And oh the rationalization of it, like any good junkie. 

I am a junkie. I resist the temptation to stop playing while I still can and shop at the local home repair store for plastic covering, hit the local pharmacy for a couple IV drips and a catheter, so that if I do wet or shit myself I’m only cleaning myself and my clothes, instead of both of those and the chair and the floor too, and I’m not doing any of it hungry or dehydrated. But I resist the impulse, I’m enjoying my new toy, so somehow, already, somehow, five minutes in to City Lizards I’m already addicted, I’ve already crossed the point of no return.

And as if to underscore my point, that’s when the dragons appear.

Utah's picture
Moderator
Utah from Fort Worth, TX is reading Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry March 29, 2013 - 1:38pm

@MES:  I like what you're doing with that.  It looks like a fun story.

Michael.Eric.Snyder's picture
Michael.Eric.Snyder March 29, 2013 - 2:29pm

Thankee sir! Although I just noticed I need to lose the mask or the lungs convulsing. Probably the mask. 

Just a tad embarrassing!

Courtney's picture
Courtney from the Midwest is reading Monkey: A Journey to the West and a thousand college textbooks March 29, 2013 - 2:39pm

I had to write a monologue for class. It was harder than I thought. This is the best paragraph.

"Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I watch her. I could say that those nights, when the nightmares get too bad and I wake up shivering, covered in what I think is sweat that turns out to be tears, I could say that I get up and do the dishes with her. That she washes and I dry, and we bond over this common task, over our history of being the woman of the house for my dad. Like my time spent as his surrogate housewife, running the household so he could come home after a twelve-hour work day and watch TV, somehow brought me and her closer together. I could say that, but I'd be lying."

big_old_dave's picture
big_old_dave from Watford, about 20 miles outside London, Uk April 2, 2013 - 12:47pm

Another lump from the Deadly Game. Most likely not grammatically correct, but that's just how I ruddy roll in these parts yer hear....

"I had read all the reports of Beria’s insanity from my contacts on his staff. It was a mystery what grisly events occurred in that oak planned office of his. Raping countless young women on that double bed he had installed up there. I only knew of one of his games. He would cruise Moscow at night and would pick out a teenage girl he liked the look of. They would be arrested. Dragged screaming way from their homes, classrooms or factory floors on trumped up charges. Once he had six or seven girls he liked to play a game at his house or in his office. He would strip them all naked then force them into a circle on their hands and knees heads together touching in the center of the circle. He would walk around them inspecting them before dragging one out by the ankle. He would rape her in front of the others before strangling the poor soul. Then he would start over, on to the next choice. He called it the flower game."

 

avery of the dead's picture
avery of the dead from Kentucky is reading Cipher Sisters April 10, 2013 - 9:39am

It seems as if every field and grove in Ireland has its own castle.  Some of them stand strong against time, renovated and useful.  Others aren’t anything but a few scattered stones, a bit of wall among the greenery looking so natural you think it grew there.  I saw the tumbled down and broken ruins of a castle, the hillside growing over it until it looked less like something that had fallen, and more like something that was rising up.  

This is from the thunderdome that never was (against Utah).  As you can see, I'm probably lucky he dropped out. 

Sound's picture
Sound from Azusa, CA is reading Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt April 10, 2013 - 10:09am

I actually think that's good, and now I'm bummed I didn't get to see what story came out of it.

avery of the dead's picture
avery of the dead from Kentucky is reading Cipher Sisters April 10, 2013 - 10:15am

Thanks!  Maybe one day I'll workshop it (lies). 

Bekanator's picture
Bekanator from Kamloops, British Columbia is reading Ugly Girls by Lindsay Hunter April 10, 2013 - 10:23am

If you say you're lying and you don't workshop it, then it's not a lie!

Michael.Eric.Snyder's picture
Michael.Eric.Snyder April 10, 2013 - 11:35am

I saw the tumbled down and broken ruins of a castle, the hillside growing over it until it looked less like something that had fallen, and more like something that was rising up.

That's a gem.

ReneeAPickup's picture
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup from Southern California is reading A truckload of books April 11, 2013 - 3:13pm

Man, I need to start checking in on this thread more often, too much stuff to comment on individually since I last read. Lots of cool stuff.

Here's a paragraph from my WIP that I am relatively proud of:
 

Holly sat on the couch, looking at him, past him, not moving. Andy tried not to watch it, but couldn’t help stealing glances from the corners of her eyes. The Holly was a perfect copy of Holly Adams in everyway but the important ones. The dress, the ruby red lips, the dirty blonde hair that sat just above her shoulders—it looked like every glamour shot the tabloids ever put out. But there was no rise and fall of the chest to signify life, no blinking eyes. She didn’t sigh contentedly with pride when Aaron talked about his work, or roll her eyes and give a smirk like a woman who had been married to a workaholic long enough to understand the latest overnighter wouldn’t yield anything more impressive than the last. She just sat, perfectly still, knees together, hands resting in her lap, existing in the way only something that doesn’t quite exist can.

Bekanator's picture
Bekanator from Kamloops, British Columbia is reading Ugly Girls by Lindsay Hunter April 11, 2013 - 8:41pm

I love that last line, Renee!

Devon Robbins's picture
Devon Robbins from Utah is reading The Least Of My Scars by Stephen Graham Jones April 12, 2013 - 8:41am

Faces. Bodies. Subordinate little monkeys pulled along by invisible leashes into office buildings, taxicabs. Fin stands in front of Karen's car smoking a cigarette, watching the mechanical dances of the living dead. A godless landscape. Shoe soles scraping concrete. Horns blow. The hypnotic whop, whop, whop, of helicopter blades somewhere in the distance.
Hell is a state of mind.

voodoo_em's picture
voodoo_em from England is reading All the books by Tana French! April 12, 2013 - 8:54am

My blood’s thick and dark and puddles on the duck feather duvet beneath my body. No doubt it’s ruining the damask pattern bed set that matches the curtains; that matches the entire bedroom color scheme. Probably it’s sinking right through, into the deluxe mattress we bought last winter. And here’s me in the bad books again, because no amount of un-Godly scrubbing or miracle-cleaning detergent is going to get this stain out.

Dwayne's picture
Dwayne from Cincinnati, Ohio (suburbs) is reading books that rotate to often to keep this updated April 13, 2013 - 11:18am

B.H.O. was shaking my hand, the two of us standing in front of his desk in the Oval Office. He congratulated me on all the accolades, the billions I made off my stock options, and turning my life around. The last time I’d been in this office Ideal beat me up for impersonating the Senate minority whip. I had millions in stock in construction companies that would have got the contracts, but I really do think my roads bill would have been a great idea. I was getting bi-partisan support.

This is my book on a supervillain. 

ReneeAPickup's picture
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup from Southern California is reading A truckload of books April 13, 2013 - 10:50am

Thanks, Bek!

Devon-- that paragraph is great. Reminds me of some of the stuff in Rollins' earlier collections.

Voodoo-- NICE. 

Dwayne-- interesting.

Dwayne's picture
Dwayne from Cincinnati, Ohio (suburbs) is reading books that rotate to often to keep this updated April 13, 2013 - 11:26am

Thanks, I'm writing it backwards. 

ReneeAPickup's picture
Class Facilitator
ReneeAPickup from Southern California is reading A truckload of books April 13, 2013 - 11:32am

Oh? You mean like you are writing it in the reverse of how it will read, or that the reader will get the "end" first and go toward the beginning?

Dwayne's picture
Dwayne from Cincinnati, Ohio (suburbs) is reading books that rotate to often to keep this updated April 13, 2013 - 11:53am

Writing in reverse. 

Courtney's picture
Courtney from the Midwest is reading Monkey: A Journey to the West and a thousand college textbooks April 13, 2013 - 12:03pm

Wow, Em, that kicks ass. And Renee, Dwayne, those both made me want to read whatever you're writing.

I can't post a paragraph because I spent all last week working on my Thunderdome story...

Strange Photon's picture
Strange Photon from Fort Wayne, IN is reading Laurie Anderson lyrics April 13, 2013 - 12:35pm

Fucking A, Devon, your last two paragraph posts were goddamn brilliant. The last one on the second to last post of yours ought to be breathe, not breath, but I only mention it becuase the whole thing is stellar and I want more!

I'm stealing the phrase, "Subordinate little monkeys..." I want to make an underground news and current events blog and call it that. I'll give you half of all the money I earn from it (so, like, zero, since I never follow through on anything) and give you credit somewhere in small print.

Courtney's picture
Courtney from the Midwest is reading Monkey: A Journey to the West and a thousand college textbooks April 13, 2013 - 12:48pm

Oh, wow, I somehow missed Devon. That was fucking A+ material.

Courtney's picture
Courtney from the Midwest is reading Monkey: A Journey to the West and a thousand college textbooks April 13, 2013 - 12:52pm

This is a paragraph from the revision of the story I originally posted in here. It's what I was working on before my Thunderdome battle.

When I was younger, I didn’t know that she locked herself in her bedroom smoking pot for three days after my aunt was murdered. I didn’t know that her father, my favorite grandfather, beat his wife. Her mom. I couldn’t have known back then because no one looks sad in old photos. I didn’t know that her constant apologies weren’t for slights I knew about, but the ones I didn’t. I didn’t know that she wanted to be an architect or that my father was an artist. I just thought they were my parents.

Devon Robbins's picture
Devon Robbins from Utah is reading The Least Of My Scars by Stephen Graham Jones April 13, 2013 - 8:57pm

Thanks guys. I appreciate the love. This is from the novel I'm working on. I'm 25k words in so far.

Dwayne's picture
Dwayne from Cincinnati, Ohio (suburbs) is reading books that rotate to often to keep this updated April 14, 2013 - 10:04am

@Court - Thanks.

This is two paragraphs because I missed posting a few weeks.

I nodded. “Should I go help?”

The vibration stopped. “No, you can’t. The star that gives this world life is literally fighting an abstract concept of a type of killing. They are using rips in reality as bladed weapons. There is nothing you can do until he reenters. No mortal could.”

simulacrum's picture
simulacrum from Las Vegas is reading shit April 14, 2013 - 6:10pm

This post is going to be abridged because the entire scene would be much too long; abridgement denoted by an elipsis.

 

It was the oneiric nature of the tryst- the lovers beneath blankets of dream- that had delivered him from unconscious despair into conscious affirmation. The affair, having been dreamed and thus divorced from context, was no longer a cause for panic as it was in the subconscious drama, but Henry could not sigh with wholehearted relief. Indeed, he acknowledged, it was a dream. Regardless, he had given audience to the surreal scene of his girlfriend's being willfully possessed by another man. The stranger had taken her atop the base of a cushioned triangle turned downward; smoke filled the room (which the two lovers had failed to regard), although there was no accompanying fire; and a turkish van cat with a severed tail napped next to the cadaver of a German shepard whose ears were backwards. Yet, his continual acknowledgment of the morbid and obtruse ridiculousness of the motifs gleaned from the dream failed to inculcate a sense of comfort.

Henry shovelled the debris of his quaked state of mind in search of a psychological foundation on which his mind architected the dream, and he trembled before his findings- things that perhaps should have remained buried. He shuddered to think that the dream and his subsequent obsession was borne of a lack of trust in April. He wished he could barter all of his memories for the chance to forget- to have forgotten his dream upon waking, to wake from his nightmare into the lazy haze of a lethargic mental mindscape from which Mnemosyne flees, but wishing, Henry woefully realized, had never turned to fulfillment. 

...

These thoughts, coupled with her neglecting thus far to call on him, were turned to assurance, and, the moment his wondering became his confidence, he then entertained thoughts of her coming home and calling out his name. Her excitement to return and recount her trip for Henry (omitting, he was sure, her intrigue) would decline each time her calls were met with silence, and she, precious scared little animal she would become, would search every quarter of their house confusedly. He would be found lying in a filled tub in the guest bathroom (the last room he imagined she would search) with ravines carved into his arms and blood flowering from his submerged wounds. On the counter would be a note ironically reading, 'I'm sorry. I know you have never loved anyone but me.'

Mandi Rei Serra's picture
Mandi Rei Serra from NorCal is reading Treasury of Royal Scandals April 14, 2013 - 6:15pm

Treatise on the Ethics of Vampires:

 

More years have passed than I can remember it seems, as I was born over six hundred years ago. And yet, here I be, facing the change of time, the advent of technology and my own immortal roots while the twenty-first century beats its chest like a posturing ape defending its territory. I sit here, in the light of a goose-neck lamp picking letters out on a laptop computer instead of scratching away with quill on hempen paper in the light of a tallow candle, as is my natural inclination from over six centuries of practice.

 

.

Bekanator's picture
Bekanator from Kamloops, British Columbia is reading Ugly Girls by Lindsay Hunter April 15, 2013 - 10:56am

This is from a new story I started last night. It was inspired by this note that a guy in my townhouse complex left in our mailbox a couple weeks ago:

I'm hoping to write a real "man's story" set in my complex, a "suburban noir" if you will.

The cigarettes were purchased as an afterthought, but Luke unwrapped the package on the patio in the middle of the night, gasping for breath. He brought a cigarette to his lips and he dug the new lighter out of his jacket pocket. Frayed nerves twitched through his fingers, igniting the lighter, igniting heat. He drew in a breath and exhaled smoke, the tobacco easing pressure in his lungs. 

Two years, it had been.

He stared out at the dark complex parking lot, but the kid on the bike was long gone.

Devon Robbins's picture
Devon Robbins from Utah is reading The Least Of My Scars by Stephen Graham Jones April 18, 2013 - 7:58pm

The motel room has been vacant for far too long. Antique dust covers everything with a flat surface. A single, full size bed draped with a flower print comforter lies abandoned in the center of the room. Nightstand accommodating a broken lamp and a bible, unread. The television is an old bubble-screen with a VCR built in. We've stepped back in time. It's a place I could call home. Karen comes out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her waist. Her bald head still shocks me. Fresh blood slithers from the cut on her face, and her left eye is blacked out now. She flops onto the bed and drapes her arm over her bare breasts. Touches a finger to the cut and licks the blood away.