Month: November 2015

NaNoWriMo excerpt – #3

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Rough draft, the protagonist, experiencing a triggered memory flash of an unfamiliar event and a girl she doesn’t know…

Her palms were slick red, almost black in the moonlit woods. Droplets pulled at her skin as they let loose and fell to the pine needles and dirt. The sound of the rushing creek filled the air around her, barely audible over her pounding heart and desperate breathing.

Twigs snapped behind her. Needles and branches brushed on someone or something coming toward her.

A girl stumbled from the trees into the break. She wore ragged jean cutoffs. Her plain black t-shirt was torn from her left shoulder down the front far enough to expose the brightness of her white bra. Dark hair was matted to her face. She dripped sweat as she panted. She bent forward resting her hands on her knees. She looked up at Lissa. “Spence, what the fuck happened?” she asked when she saw her friend’s hands.

“I don’t know,” Lissa answered, still trying to control her short, quick breaths. She held out her hands, palms up, like she was trying to give them to the other girl. The other girl backed up, shaking her head in refusal.

“She was like that,” Lissa’s voice trailed off as she turned her head slightly, looking toward a small tight grouping of trees.

“Like what?” the other girl asked.

“I tried to help.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I was too late,” Lissa started to cry, adding to her breathlessness. She pointed to the trees, a trickle of dark liquid snaked down her wrist. She wiped at it with her other hand, smearing more of the stickiness on her forearm. She let out a sob.

“Is that blood?”

Lissa nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

(Part of) another random scene

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Lucas looked at the place where Irene’s left pinky and ring finger had been attached to her hand. The skin was discolored, shiny patches surrounded by scaly flaking skin. She rested her hand on the table. She was sensitive about it, but never hid the hand. Her mutilated hand was the only exposed evidence of the ordeal.

Lucas thought about the word “ordeal.” It sounded like a cop, doctor, or school teacher type of description. An easy label, for someone who hadn’t endured what the victim had. The word sanitized it, made it more acceptable and appropriate for polite conversation. Each time he heard somebody use it, he’d picture himself smashing every tooth out of their fucking face. But he’d continued to hold himself in check, straining to keep the tremors in check. Every bit of this new disease, caged anger and frustration, would travel through every nerve, muscle, and bone of his body on an unrelenting search for release.

People would see the missing fingers and think it was the extent of her injuries. Lucas had seen the rest, just once, when she had a momentary lapse and left her bedroom door open. Hundreds of scars from small cuts and stab wounds covered her torso.

NaNoWriMo excerpt – #2

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WP_001616

Another rough draft excerpt from my NaNoWriMo project:

Luna slid the hallway door open, it led to the the bedrooms and the master suite. She heard giggling and the murmur of a deeper voice. The sweet, pungent aroma of marijuana filled her nose. The giggling stopped and the murmur changed, quieter, urgent. The sounds and smell were coming from Simon’s room. He should have been at school.

She walked down the hallway. Simon’s door cracked open as she passed. His eye peered through the opening. Beyond him, Luna caught a glimpse of a girl she didn’t recognize, sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing only panties. The girl’s long brunette hair draped over her bare breasts.

Luna kept walking as the door clicked shut. She dropped her purse on the bed in the master suite and opened the door to the walk-in closet. The closet was about twice as long as it was wide. The mirrored wall opposite the door made it seem larger than it was. The left side was filled with business suits in black and varying shades of blue and charcoal. Some were jacket and pants, most were jacket and skirt. The floor beneath the rack was a jumble of high-heeled shoes of every color imaginable.

To the right, a row of white shirts and a few cocktail dresses hung above a built-in padded bench. A shelf above the clothing was packed full of boxes and more shoes.

Luna stepped to the end and picked up a gym bag, a promotional gift in a plastic wrapper which she tore off. She looked the bag over, trying to remember where she got it. She couldn’t.

She looked at the mirror, admiring the blue suit tailored to accentuate her figure. Her impeccably shined high heels sunk into the the high-pile carpet. She shook her auburn hair free as she loosened the tight bun. The soft angular lines of her face sharpened in the shadows of her hair.

She kicked a shoe from her foot at the mirror. She was about to kick the other when she heard Simon behind her.

“Mom?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t turn, instead her eyes locked with his reflection in the mirror. He looked panicked.

“Mom, I can explain.”

She stood uneven, bending her ankle side to side, driving the lone high heel into the carpet. “Go back to your room.”

“I can explain.”

“Go.” She pushed harder on the shoe.

“What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be at work?”

“And where are you supposed to be?” She jerked as the heel snapped. Simon flinched.

“Uh…”

“Right. Go, now.” She turned and faced him. The lines of her face grew sharper as the muscles tightened.

Simon glanced at the gym bag and turned and left, leaving the master suite door open like he’d found it. His bedroom door clicked shut.

Luna kicked the broken shoe from her foot and undressed, dropping the jacket, skirt, blouse, and camisole on the floor. Freed from the skirt, she squatted next to the bench and slid open a panel. She moved aside two shoe boxes, revealing a safe. The keypad illuminated when she pushed the star key. She entered her code and the lock unlatched. Inside there were two neat stacks of banded bills, ten bundles. The bills were hundreds, crisp and new. She dropped them in the gym bag.

NaNoWriMo excerpt

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Heat from the candles warmed her face as she leaned over the cake. The tang of sulfury smoke mixed with sugary vanilla filled her nose. A camera flashed off to her side, momentarily brightening the dim single bare incandescent bulb lighting of the dining room.

Chocolate was her favorite. She’d requested chocolate when asked what kind of cake she wanted, but she knew it was a plain white cake beneath the white frosting. Again. Even yellow cake would have been better.

She’d made her wish and blew, but the stupid candles wouldn’t go out. Everybody around her laughed as she blew and blew, but each time the thin green candles would relight. The camera flashed again, somewhere behind her. The laughs floated and danced, living beings, circling her like evil clowns in a macabre fun house. She blew harder, but the candles magically burned again. Black flecks of ash from the candle wicks sprinkled the undecorated frosting. A tear ran down her cheek.

Her dad noticed and stopped laughing. He locked eyes with her. His face took on a look she knew too well, a combination of pity and disappointment. He licked his thumb and index finger and pinched and held the wick of one candle. He repeated this until all of them were extinguished. The camera flashed again.

“Stop the goddamn flashing,” she yelled.

Her mom, whose laugh had changed to a sporadic self-conscious giggle, froze. “Lissa, watch your language.”

“It’s always that goddamn flashing, always,” Lissa said. “If I ever get my hands…”

Her mom’s hand flew faster than Lissa could react. Lissa was caught by a full open hand slap across her face. Her cheek stung and burned as blood rushed to the surface.

As Lissa stood up, her chair tipped backward and fell over, bouncing on the worn wood floor. Lissa swept her arm across the table, pushing the cake onto the floor. It landed top side down, breaking open. She stared at it for a second, taking in the sight of the white cake beneath the frosting before she ran out of the room. Her twelfth birthday had turned out just as bad as all the rest.