Dudley Do-Write

bruku @ 2007-11-28T19:52:00

2007-11-29T02:19:19Z

Absolution, Chapter I:

Objectives:

(1)Introduce Mark and Emilio
(2)Introduce the fact that Emilio is an arms dealing priest and Mark is a "behind the scenes" type of "fixer"
(3)Introduce the idea of "magic"
(4)Small conflict (external) with a resolution
(5)Set up a type of hierarchy? Perhaps M+E are part of some agency (E more than M)

Objective 1:

These pages are meant to show the first meeting between Mark and Emilio. The two men are going to be walking/going through their routine/etc on the way to their first handshake (objective 1 ends in such). The pages start with narrative text and the images and text switch between the two individuals, and narrates a general opening for each of them. I am unsure if this text is "inside" (thought) or not.

Example:

Emilio: The corruptive force of sin lies everywhere around me. Once my eyes were opened to see it I can see nothing else. Men pushed to the brink of action because of the dark grip on their souls. Their cries for salvation fill my ears, always.

Mark: I don't know why in a world filled with men some are so (eager?) to decry that demons live amoung us. You don't need to live to 100 to see the evil that exists in men's hearts. I say the world doesn't need these demons; we do a good enough job on our own.

Emilio: Unfortunately, not all can be saved. It is my burden to relieve them of their suffering.

Mark: Kill 'em all and let god sort 'em out, I say. (Perhaps not a Mark saying)

Emilio:

Nano #19, "Absolution: Genesis"

2007-11-20T03:42:49Z

Absolution: Genesis

They say that the closer you get to God the more extreme the trials your soul is put through. That thought had eternally cursed the young priest because he knew it was true. He knew that this would be the hardest decision he'd ever make, not because the initial step was difficult, but because each step afterward would take him even closer to his Lord; each step afterward would necessarily be harder than the previous one. Every moment after this would be the most difficult trial of his will and faith he'd ever face.

He was no longer sure of what he feared more, failure or success.

The young, chiseled face of the South American priest became pale and taught. His hands trembled as he tried to support himself on the edge of the small, wooden table. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he fell to his knees.

He didn't want this blessing, he didn't want this curse; he didn't know if he could handle it. Why did God think that he possessed this kind of strength? How could he possibly endure all the struggles and temptations that the future was to hold? He showed his true lack of courage and shame by yelling to God to let him go, to release him of this vocation.

He began to sob wildly, not because he was thinking of refusing the calling that God intended for him, but because he knew all his resistance was in vain; his faith would not let him say no. Despite what his body and mind wanted, he had already committed his soul to the One above. The sounds he made were not of true lament, but only the gnashing of his teeth.

In that moment, bathed in the pristine light of the moon, he discovered humility before the Lord. He heard God's whisper in his ear and his turmoil ended. In that moment, his fear became not his greatest enemy but a constant reminder that he was doing what was Right; he was fulfilling God's Word.

There, kneeling in front of The Almighty, the priest made his peace. He silently rose and reached his hand to the table. He ran his fingers along the smooth chrome finish of the .45 that lay upon it. No longer was the gun his torment, but his salvation. It would be God's divine retribution. It would be His flaming sword. It would be his path to deliverance.

He picked it up and went out of the room.

The Monseigneur walked down the stone hallway, his footsteps falling heavy with sin on the stone floor, their echoes sending shivers through the walls of the narrow corridor. The Monseigneur stopped when he saw a familiar figure in front of him, now somehow changed and dangerous. The Monseigneur stared with eyes of fire and bellowed with a voice from deep within.

"I see you've chosen your path, father Chavez."

Emilio raised His gun and spoke with true faith, "Whoever strikes a man so that he dies, shall surely be put to death." *

* Exodus 21:12

[509 words]

Nano #18, "Windows to the Soul"

2007-11-18T23:43:31Z

Windows to the Soul

Laura laid in bed trying to remember the face of her husband, her lover, her everything. It had been over a year but she still stayed awake every night.

It was his eyes. It was his eyes that she missed the most. The sudden hit of recognition in them when he saw her walk through the door, the way they narrowed ever so slightly when he whispered a secret, the way she could see straight through them when they made love. Yes, it was his eyes she missed the most.

"Ma'am...ma'am, you need to help us," she rememberes the officers saying in-between her sobs. "Ma'am...Christ Tony, give her your handkerchief or something.... Ma'am, do you remember who your husband was talking to last night?"

It was over nine months of that. At least once every couple weeks they'd show up again with more questions and she'd relieve that horrible night over and over again. "Ma'am...do you know anyone who had a grudge against your husband?"

And then, "Ma'am...did you have a grudge or any other reason to be angry at your husband?" The implications of this had thrown Laura into a fit of rage. She had thrown the officers out that night. They came back again in another two weeks, but they never made straight, uninterrupted eye contact with her again."

"Oh, his eyes..." she sighed and whispered, "How I miss seeing them in his perfect face." Larua placed a single, gentle kiss one each eyeball and then closed the lid to her little keepsake box. She placed it gently underneath her pillow and laid her hed back down. "Yes, it's his eyes I miss the most," was her final thought before she drifted off to sleep.

[287 words]

Nano #17, "Inspired by True Events"

2007-11-17T14:46:22Z

Inspired by True Events

"--weapon scattered bomblets on the desert floor. The interviews I've conducted--"

It was 8:00 and Guy Sullivan's alarm clock sprang into action. He laid in bed for precisely another ten minutes before he got up and headed to the shower. He turned on his shower radio.

"--up to over 3,000. The most recent attack was said to have been carried out by local warlords in a power struggle for the fields of opium that represent the unofficial cash crop of the country. Many of these warlords enlist children--"

Guy continued showering, which took anywhere from 7 to 9 minutes. He got out and shaved, still listening.

"--local wildlife has been devestated. The cleanup is said to stretch at least early into next year and officials say that they are only expecting to be able to recover half of the pollutants--"

Guy dressed himself and headed downstairs to the kitchen. He had a radio tucked under one of the cabinets. Next, he turned that one on.

"--found in a trashcan, burning. There was another victim found in a trashcan 6 blocks south in the same condition, though the fire had been put out--"

Guy fixed himself the cold ceral and two pieces of toast he always ate. He sat at the kitchen table and stared blankly out the window as he ate.

"--cyclone which has already killed hundreds is expected to cause more havoc further to the north, a death toll reaching perhaps 2,000--"

Guy finished his breakfast and got into his car. When his car started:

"--these individuals said that they had created the internet networking account in an attempt to see what the girl was saying about their daughter; they stated that they did not intend for the 13 year old to kill herself. They were unavailable for comment--"

Guy went to work and, during dinner, he had an epiphany. He went out to his car and turned the radio to smooth jazz. He set his kitchen radio to the local gospel station when it was turned on. He walked upstairs and fiddled with his shower radio until he found a classic rock station. He set it to that and shut it back off. Finally, he made sure that his alarm clock blasted oldies come 8:00 AM.

Guy woke up at 8:00AM sharp the next day. He took a 23 minute shower and didn't shave. He fixed himself bacon and eggs. He called into work and went to the beach.

[423 words]

Nano #16, "Like Father, Like Father"

2007-11-17T01:11:27Z

Like Father, Like Father

The samurai gripped his sword, still in its scabbard. His enemey was rushing at him, but he remembered his promise to his daughter many years ago. He would not strike. He could not strike. His word was stronger than the seven layers of steel that made his sword. His word was stronger than his own sun, who was now only 10 yards away and closing fast. His word was stronger than death.

The samurai felt nothing as the blade cut into his neck; it stopped only when it struck bone on the opposite side. A sudden rush of sensation. The pain was intense and his hands tightened on his own sword, but only for a moment. His grip loosend and the weight of his own body was crushing him and forced him to his knees. With a final look skyward, his body fell forward onto the bloodstained dirt, his head still attached by a thin flap of skin at the front, just as he taught his son.

The son ruled the province for many years after that, but all samurai who served under him whispered amoungst them about this moment. While he had his father's house, he did not understand until it was too late that the respect that went with it could not be as easily inherited. He had failed to live up to his promise to his sister. While the son had gained the victory in battle, even the lowliest of his servants knew who the stronger man was.

[251 words]

Nano #15, "And Shove It"

2007-11-16T00:54:50Z

And Shove It

Fred Astaire came tumbling in dead drunk again. Mother Theresa ran out of her room, covering herself with only her sheer bed sheet, and not too well at that; two men could be heard in her darkened room cursing quietly. "Fred!" she shouted, the bed sheet falling slightly. Another door opened and a Great White Wearing Boxing Gloves came out and said, in a poorly emulated Hispanic accent, "What's the problem, mang?!"

Mother Theresa, exasperated at the constant follies of Fred Astaire, threw her hand to her forehead and let out a small, distressed, "Oh!"; her bed sheet fell to the ground. "Now that's what I'm talking about mang!" the Great White Shark Wearing Boxing Gloves said. Fred Astaire lifted his head a little bit, "Hurrrrrrr..." was all he could muster before what used to be on his insides quickly came to the outside. His head fell back down with a wet sound.

Mother Theresa slammed her door shut, the bed sheet still on the floor. The faint sound of cracking leather were the last to escape her room. The Great White Shark With Boxing Gloves, being the kind soul that he was, went over to help Fred Astaire up. As The Great White Shark Wearing Boxing Gloves walked Fred Astaire to the couch he spoke, "Why do you always gotta do this to yourself, mang?" Fred looked up and tried to speak; his lips moved but no sound came out. They did make a small smacking sound, however. The Great White Shark Wearing Boxing Gloves was about to put him down when in walked Bambi the prostitute.

Bambi the prostitute being the head of the network completely dressed in drag, smoking a cigarette, and with scabs on hi... no, no, her face. Yes, it was definitely a her. You can tell by the exquisite breasts. "Hey, big boy, do you like to party?" Bambi asked in a gravely voice that eerily resembled the Man With No Name when he's angry. Bambi stuck hi... her but out and smacked it lightly, "$10 for a pony ride big boy!" The Great White Shark With Boxing Gloves let out a whoop and lifted up a boxing glove clad hand with a $10 bill. "Party time mang!"

Fade to black.

Smithy left a copy of the new episode on the CEO's desk along with a lovely note that started out, "Dear esteemed members of the board" and ended with two words and seven letters, plus an exclamation point. It was the best resignation letter he ever wrote.

[424 words]

Nano #14, "The Man Behind the Curtain"

2007-11-15T01:32:18Z

The Man Behind the CurtainCold, hard retribution is what he wanted. No, not even that. He wanted the fucker to fry. He wanted him to get lit up like a Christmas tree and watch him writhe in pain that was hopefully at least a fraction of what the dead girl went through.

"My daughter" Richard spoke, inaudible to everyone but his wife next to him. Laura grabbed his hand and squeezed it. She didn't want to do this, but Richard had insisted on it. Words like "closure" didn't seem to mean to Richard what they meant to her. She siged deeply and squeezed harder.

The curtain was pulled back and revealed a man in an orange jumpsuit walking in, chains being unshackled, and him being strapped into a chair. To him, the curtain being pulled back revealed nothing but a mirror image of himself. He started at it intently, wondering.

The preparation seemed to go on for hours, though it was actually only 12 minutes and 37 seconds; Laura counted them on her watch, hardly able to look ahead. Words were spoken that she couldn't hear over the sound of her own breath, but Richard got noticably agitated. She squeezed as hard as she could.

Then the inevitable. The switch was pulled. Even through the thick glass cracks, pops and moans could be heard. Moments later a doctor came in, stuck a stethescope to the man's chest, nodded, and noted the time on a pad he carried with him.

The curtain fell back again and the people were lead out of the room. Richard and Laura sat there, his hand still in her grip. He got up silently and walked out the room, having seen the ending and rejected it. Laura sobbed to herself in the dark.

[293 words]

Nano #13, "Magic Markers"

2007-11-14T02:42:59Z

Oh it felt so good to do something you knew was wrong. Isiah had spent his entire life coddling other people, never realizing how much was to be gained by just...not. It just took reading the exploits of one man and how he got whatever he wanted by just taking it to change Isiah's mind.

Not that he's doing anything actively wrong. He knew he wasn't. He just erased lines that used to exist. Like the line that prevented him from saying the right things at a girl in a bar, from saying the right things to get someone to buy something. He got rid of all of them, they just held him back anyway.

He realized that people really want certain things and if someone doesn't realize that it's not good for them then it's their fault. It's not his that someone's defense mechanisms are flawed. Hell, he wasn't even manipulating people, merely nudging them slightly. If they're too weak to resist then they deserve to get pushed.

Sure, LSD in the water supply may be taking it a bit too far, but fuck 'em, he thought. He was erasing lines for EVERYBODY tonight.

[195 words]

Nano #12, "Only a Problem if You Don't Want to Get Wet"

2007-11-13T04:47:14Z

Only a Problem if You Don't Want to Get Wet

Ken walked home down the crowded sidewalks. He was one of the few who wasn't carrying an umbrella and bustling about in a futile attempt to keep purses and briefcases dry. He put his hands in his pockets and smiled as he walked.

A man in an overcoat walked past him with a phone up to his ear, his other hand covering it so it wouldn't get water in it. Ken heard only the tail end of the conversation, something about needing to sell something something so you could buy something something and probably make a million bucks. For a man who was about to be a millionaire, Ken thought overcoat guy didn't look too pleased. He shrugged to himself and kept walking.

Two pairs of women brushed past him in the other direction, giving him a dirty look as he completely unavoidably bumped elbows with one of them. "Well exxxxcuuussseee me?!" one of them shrilled as they walked away, "Can you believe that, the wa---" she was drowned out by a sudden clap of thunder. Everyone looked up for a brief second as the rain suddenly started to fall in buckets. Everyone ran.

Ken kept his hands in his pockets and continued walking. It wasn't a short walk home, but he liked it.

On the way there he passed a man arguing with a shop keep about the price of an apple, a woman on a cell phone talking about cheating on her boyfriend, a man on a cell phone talking about cheating on his girlfriend, two guys who were cursing as they tried to move a piece of furniture and countless people trying to wave down taxi cabs only to have them buzz by.

Ken put the key into his downstairs apartment lock. He shook his head, not to get the water off it but more as a sign that he was leaving that crazy world behind. Ken was greeted by his wife with a kiss and a cute nose crinkle as she told him to go get into dry clothes. "OK..." he said with an innocent boyish smile.

"Seriously, honey, I don't understand why you insist on walking on days like this."

"Yes you do," Ken said as he unbuttoned his shirt. His wife paused for a brief moment, smiled and said, "Yes. I suppose I do." She blew him a kiss as he went into the bedroom to change.

[404 words]

Nano #11, "A Job Well Done"

2007-11-13T04:26:45Z

A Job Well Done

"You do realize that we're sending in a completely unaware, unarmed civilian - hell, a sheep - into the wolves' den, right?"

Sargeant Uwey exhaled cigarette smoke through his nose, kicking up two distinct clouds like a bull about ready to charge. "Yes," he said coldly and calmly.

"And this doesn't bother you?"

"It's not my job to be bothered Detective Fletcher, it's my job to do my damn job."

Fletcher knew he got one curse word before he was told in less uncertain terms exactly what it is he needed to do. He turned back to his monitor. They had been sitting in the back of the van for four hours and considering the amount of heat-generating electronic equipment jammed in the back had given up on being comfortable a long time ago.

"We're coming online and we're hot," Fletcher said. Uwey grabbed a headphone and pressed one cup against his ear. His eyes focused on the small black and white monitor in front of him. On it were the silhouettes of the heads of two of the largest crime families in Chicago. Two people who were responsible for at least - at least - four hundred murders, three quarters of a million pounds of heroin and more rapes, burned storefronts, death threats and bought politicians than anyone could even imagine.

Both Detective Fletcher and Sargeant Uwey pushed the earcup to their ear, straining to hear the whispers.

A shot rang out and the camera went to fuzz. Sargeant Uwey exhaled his bull-charging cloud of smoke again. He saw Fletcher's face and knew what he was thinking.

"No, kid, it's not my job to feel, either."

A gang of men rushed the van which was parked a half block away. Sargeant Uwey was surprised at their speed. He didn't even both calling for backup, he knew they had been sold out and it was useless to even try.

Through the barred window in the door across the hall Detective Fletcher could hear the torturous fate that awaited him. Every pound of the fist. Every blow with the crowbar. Never once did he hear Sargeant Uwey make a sound other than instinctive grunts and the occasional spitting of blood. He could her Sargeant Uwey's tormentor grow angrier and yell something; the sound of Fletcher's beating heart drowing out any possibility of understanding the words.

But he could hear the door open, heavy footsteps coming toward him, and a man standing leveling a gun at him. What was left of Fletcher's head fell limp. Uwey smiled. "Quick and painless," he thought, "I've done my job." Uwey laughed and, as his chest lifted up and down, he could feel pain for the first time. Another shot rang out and he laughed no more.

[461 words]

Nano #10, "A White Place"

2007-11-13T03:58:23Z

A White Place

The feel of the air rushing past his face made Alfred smile. He had always wanted to go surfing and here he was, in the middle of a wide ocean beach, doing his best to hang 10. He was actually pretty good, too, considering that this was his first time. Alfred fell off his board, popped back out of the water, and started laughing.

Suddenly, and without any notice from Alfred, he was now standing outside, in the middle of large field, next to a small house. The sun was shining and the sky was big, clear and blue. Alfred called out to the house "Prudence?!" He bounded up to the house happily, peering in the windows for his mystery girl. The day felt warm on his shoulders and the air felt clean and crisp in his lungs. The smile never left his face.

Alfred found a curious bed of tulips and as he stepped through it he was in another place entirely. A new, strange place where everything seemed to flow, as if he were looking through a curved piece of glass. He walked down the street and passed a Walrus; he saw a small house on a hill.

Then, dancing.

Alfred's mother looked down on his face. He looked so peaceful laying there with his headphones on, despite the myriad tubes and machines that were currently keeping him alive. Alfred's father opened the door to the hospital room. "How's he doing?" he asked only so that his wife could say what she always said during this time. "He's always loved this album," she replied, smiling through the forming tears.

[271 words]

Nano #9, A Vote of Confidence

2007-11-10T04:49:34Z

A Vote of Confidence

Frederic had heard other people doing it, so it wasn't such a big deal, right? He just had to click the "Submit" button and $1,432.29 would be deposited into his account. It didn't seem like much, but it certainly was better than everyone else was offering.

Then he thought for a minute, "You know, I really don't like this Mayberry fellow." "Still," he continued, "It's over $500 more than the next guy is offering. Hell. I might as well just do it."

Frederic hit the "Submit" button. A new screen appeared on his computer monitor.

"Thank you for allowing Dwayne Mayberry the opportunity to serve you! As President, Dwayne Mayberry promises to represent you on the world stage. Thanks to your support, by this time tomorrow the papers will read "President Mayberry wins by a landslide!"

And that was it. No balloons falling from the ceiling, just an small, empty, guilty pang in the bottom of Frederic's stomach. It wasn't something he was used to, but he figured he could be. Frederic was relieved when he picked up the morning paper and read "President Gentenberg wins by a landslide!"; that was who he had wanted to win all along. Besides, the extra $500 came in handy when he went to upgrade his TV.

[213 words]

Nano #8, "Safe and Sorry"

2007-11-09T02:58:15Z

Safe and Sorry

Once there was a man named Chester. Chester liked to play it safe; and by "it" I mean "everything". Chester would never go too fast or pull out hastily in front of someone while driving. Chester would never chew his food any less than 23 times. Chester would dare not ask out the cute girl behind the counter at the supermarket even though he saw her every other Wednesday. Chester would never go out past dark. When Chester read books he always read non-fiction. Chester didn't understand people who liked to race cars. Chester watched only prime-time sitcoms on TV. Chester didn't own animals and would never even think about drinking pop.

One night while Chester was asleep a great Earthquake shook the entire world and destroyed it except for Chester's little house. When Chester got up in the morning he looked outside and saw nothing but burning trees and an orange sky. Chester sighed and said to himself, "Well, I better not go outside until that's finished," and then prompty closed the curtains. The last man on Earth died just past noon six days later. The last woman on Earth, the checkout girl, died shortly thereafter.

[197 Words]

Nano #7, "Surprise"

2007-11-08T04:38:00Z

Surprise

There was a note taped to Shelby's dorm room door: "Meet me at noon at the cafe on the corner of campus." is all it read. Well, here it was, almost noon, and she was standing just outside the door looking around nervously. She had a couple friends sitting in a car in a parking lot across the street, watching her in case the note was from sicko or some malcious prankster.

All day she had been anticipating this moment, danger be damned. She didn't know who had left the note. All her friends swore it wasn't them and, being the excellent judge of character she was, she could tell they were telling to truth. She couldn't concentrate in any of her classes that day, which was especially bad for the Renaissance Literature class she had a test in, instead day dreaming about who and why the note was left on her noor.

Shelby nervously looked at her watch. She looked up again. A man in a bright yellow coat was walking down the street; he stood out from the rest of them. Their eyes met and locked instantly. Shelby knew this was who had left the note on her door. She involuntarily stiffened as she waited. The man's gaze never left her. He paused briefly at the cross walk across the street, instinctually knowing where the cars were, and continued walking right up to her. He stopped.

"H...hello...?" Shelby spoke, "Are you the one that--"

The man pulled a hand out of his coat pocket and pointed two fingers at Shelby's temple. He brought his thumb down in a hammer motion. "Bang," he said and instantly started walking away.

Shelby stood there not knowing how to respond. "Wh...what...what is this all about?!" she said anxiously. The man turned around to face Shelby, hands still in his pockets, but kept walking. "That's what you gotta figure out." he said.

[320 Words]

Nano #6, "Moving Mountains"

2007-11-07T04:37:44Z

Moving Mountains

"Jesus Christ just do it...just fucking do it!"

Bill Everston was a man who had lost part of himself in a robbery gone awry, namely any movement in the bottom half of his person. A bullet struck him near the base of his spinal cord. To doctors told him that he was lucky it wasn't two inches higher or a quarter inch more to the left. His "luck" meant that he could get back 10% of the feeling in his lower extremities if he was lucky, 25% if a miracle happened. He had figured to himself that it wasn't even worth feeling anything at all at that point, walking would still be near impossible. So Bill Everston did the only thing he knew how to do.

"GOD DAMNIT FUCKING DO IT!"

The physical therapy nurses were used to his shouting by now, and specifically scheduled all his appointments at a time when others who cared weren't around. They had a couple people complain about the crass language once, an older woman in after their hip surgery, but when the nurses explained to them that the man currently holding himself up between two metal bars and dragging his feet along the ground was making the most remarkable recovery they had ever seen, she shied away in embarassment because she knew Bill was doing more than she even dared.

"You...mother fucking shit fucking mother...."

Bill trailed off. In the weeks since he'd been going to therapy he'd been told nothing but that he'd be lucky if he could put socks on himself in the morning. He didn't like that one bit so he started doing things his own way. At first the nurses were reticent, thinking he'd hurt himself. And he did, too, but he kept on trying to walk. Eventually the nurses gave up trying to stop him and started giving him pointers as if he had a snowball's chance in hell. It was then that it started working.

Bills foot came up six inches off the ground and got set back down with a resounding thud six inches further than where it had left.

"Ahhh...that's right you little bitch, not so tough now are you?"

Bill's recovery was so remarkable that all the other patients new about it. It gave them hope to see someone trying. Far too often all young athletes with football injuries and all the geriatrics with debilitating arthritis were told that they would only be able to recover to a certain point. No one, up until Bill came along, had the nerve to question that. Instead they just accepted their plot and moved along. Now they had a celebrity. Bill was pushing the envelope for them all. Bill gave them hope.

He even had his own cheering section. Friday nights it was only Bill and one other patient, a senile older man who had a knee shattered. On those nights the halls of the hospital's physical therapy rooms would be filled with Bill shouting curses, followed quickly by an echo from his biggest fan, "Yeah, FUCK!" More than a year later, they ran into each other while walking downtown.

[523 Words]

Nano #5, "Measured Response"

2007-11-06T05:56:14Z

Measured Response

"You can't do it, Joe, you big dumb weirdo. Why don't you just give up?!"

The moonlight night showed beads of sweat running down Joe's brow as he concentrated on the task in front of him; a wooden box big enough for a pair of shoes, half sticking out of the ground near Central Park east packed with precarious looking wires of different colours and enough C4 to send him and anyone with 200 feet to whatever great beyond there was.

Joe clenched his teeth around the spare wire that he had brought for just this occassion. His hands griped the wire clippers with determined precision. He took a deep breath and went back to the insides of the box.

"Look at fatty dumb face! FATTY FATTY DUMB FACE CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!"

It was like Joe was reliving every taunt from every person that he'd ever come into contact with. This is how it always happened. He was in grade school now, in 2 minutes he'd be in high school. After that it would be the face of every woman who laughed at his awkward advances. It took all his strength to stay calm and there was nothing he could do about it.

Well, almost nothing.

In that single moment where all the memories came flooding back Joe's intensity focused into its pureset sense. His hands felt light and time slowed down. He calmly clipped the end of a wire and reattached it to a different contact.

Joe let out a deep sigh and wiped his brow for the first time since he began. "It's over he thought."

Joe quickly gathered some leaves in his hands and set it atop the box, making it look like nothing more than a pile of detritus. He light a cigarette and inhaled sharply, keeping the smoke in his lungs for several seconds before exhaling. It felt better every time.

"Let them laugh now," he thought to himself. The morning paper read "4 Dead".

[331 words]

Nano #3: "Thought Crime"

2007-11-05T02:34:10Z

Thought Crime

Jason...that guy with the lampshade on his head was named Jason.

A few thoughts started to pierce the remnants of the whiskey haze that was left from last night. The morning sun - god, what time is it? - made me squint as I looked at street signs, familiar with their names but still having no idea where I was.

Right then and there I made a vow to never drink the stuff again, any of it. Being unable to reconstruct the past 8 hours of your life will do that to a guy. Hell, I could have killed a guy and not know it. The cops could be after me right now and I would be oblivious until I felt cold steel on my wrists and I was staring at a man in a black robe, telling me I was guilty of first degree.

The morbid thought made me laugh. The quick winter's breeze made me shiver. Where the hell did my coat get off to?

I could imagine it now, how I would have killed a guy in my drunken rage. It would have to have been with something just mean as whiskey. A knife. Yeah a knife would be perfect. Probably impromptu, from the kitchen of whoever's house I had just left from. I could almost see myself, heading out the backdoor of that place - that place did have a back door, right? - almost stalking my prey before I slipped the knife inbetween shoulderblades, his only crime having been hitting on the girl I had been talking to all night. It would almost --

The sound of a cop's siren being turned on and then off again started me; I turned around. The officer pulled her car up next to me. Her eyes scanned my figure as if she was looking for something familiar. My startled gaze couldn't have helped my case of innocence.

"A bit cold to be out without a coat, isn't it?"

"Yes, m'am. I lost it last night."

"Headed home?"

"Yep...."

"Well be careful, we had a stabbing victim in this area last night."

My chuckle must have disgusted the cop because she scowled at me and pulled away. It wasn't my fault, I couldn't help but laugh. I reached for cigarettes and my hand felt only empty air where there should have been a pocket with sweet menthol relief inside. I cursed silently under my breath. Damn, justice is a bitch.

Nano #3, Going Away Inside

2007-11-04T00:22:34Z

Delores Weaver opened her eyes. The bump in the road, where old pavement met new, had jolted the ragged blue bus headrest she had been sleeping on. She blinked, her eyes half hurting from the rays of the morning sun. It had been night when she finally closed her eyes. The bus must have stopped in the middle of the night because she saw only four other passengers instead of the six that were there when she finally fell asleep.

The body of the old bus shuddered again as it passed another seam in the road.

Delores leaned back and stared out the window. Clay brown mesas, clouds of dust and sand were all she could see. The solitude of it looked so inviting. She wanted to be swallowed up in the dunes and rocky cliffs. She wanted to sleep underneath the moon and be kept warm by a blanket of stars. This was what she wanted, she wanted to get lost in desolation of this magnitude. A small cmile crept from the corner of her mouth.

The bus came to a stop along the side of the road where a lone bench sat underneath a metal and glass enclosure pasted with advertisements long since forgotten. The doors to the bus opened without a word. The other pannengers looked to the forward part of the bus curiously, wondering why they had stopped.

Delores reached underneath her seat and retrieved the floral patterned bag which kept the other half of her life in it. Her smile had made its way across her entire face as she walked up to the front of the bus. When she got there she paused briefly, coat draped over one arm and the other holding onto her bag. She stole a look at the driver.
"M'am." he said, a single finger tipping his hat. Delores beamed and nodded back, then made her way down the worn stairs and to the waiting outside world. The driver reached for the handle to close the doors and saw Delores standing just outside, her face still full of happiness. He inhaled sharply as if to speak but then stopped himself; should he finally say something?. He let these words cross his lips:

"If you ask me, m'am... you're going nowhere."

Delores's smile grew even bigger and she looked at the driver with the loving compassion a mother has for her son as she said, "Perhaps nowhere is where I want to be."

The doors to the bus closed and the metal hulk shook as it pulled off of the shoulder and back onto the road, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and a sole woman behind. Delores dusted off the bench and sat down. Two hours later a bus stopped and picked her up, the driver smiling a familiar hello. Delores got on, laid her head on the raggedy red headrest, and shut her eyes.

Nano #2, Trouble Spelled with a Capital "Dame" (Dwight Nash 1/2)

2007-11-03T05:59:07Z

The tip of Dwight's cigarette flared as he inhaled deeply. "Dwight Nash," spoke the sultry redhead bombshell that just walked in his office door, "I'm glad I found you."

Her voice was heavy with sin and here eyes glistened with lies. Dwight knew he was in for trouble, but he also knew she could probably pay for it.

Dwight exhaled a cloud of smoke at the immobile ceiling fan above him. "Are you now?" he said with a sarcastic smile and a cock of his head. He rested his elbows on his desk and sat up straight. Dwight knew he wanted to hear everything this dame had to say.

She gave a story that would make a dime novelist ask for change. The details didn't matter; half of them were fabricated by her and the other half were fabricated by whoever was pulling one over on her. Dwight knew this could get messy.

"One thousand dollars," he said, "plus expenses."

"Agreed," said the redhead with a nod of her head and a smile

"Shit!" Dwight thought to himself. He knew that there are only two types of people who accept a price like that: those that are obscenely wealthy and those that are desperate.

"I'll start down at the warehouses," Dwight said as he stood up, "I know some people down there...if a boat or something come through that wasn't on the logs, they'd know about it." He put on his hat and overcoat, covering the subnosed .38 in his vest holster. He opened the door for his guest.

The redhead got up and walked towards her exit. "I appreciate your help, Mr. Nash, and...let me know..." she stopped and her gaze fixed on Dwight, "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you.... Anything."

"Will do, doll." Dwight said feinging cheeriness and patting her on the cheek. She walked out the door and into the darkened streets.

---

Dwight's ever dimming flashlight illuminated nothing but stacks of boxes marked with vague outlines of fish, numbers and foreign letters. He had sworn he chased the guy into here. He could feel it in his bones. He could also feel the dull thud of a blackjack as it made contact with the back of his head. In the brief instant before higher brain functions gave out, all he could think about was how he'd always been a sucker for redheads. Dwight was unconscious before he hit the floor.

NanoWriMo #1/30, "Quarter Till Nine"

2007-11-02T03:23:35Z

Quarter Till Nine

The footsteps fell heavy around him and he could feel the vibrations course through his hands and knees, their intensity increasing, as he silently slid across the ground unnoticed. His eyes scanned the dark, hoping to find some sort of hideaway that would offer respite. The footsteps grew louder; he felt they were close.

He moved quickly, keeping close to the ground, hoping that the pocket of shadows he saw out of the corner of his eye would be enough to cover his form. The footsteps fell heavy like that of a rampaging giant’s and they came to a stop right near him. Then, nothing but silence.

Gripping a handful of the surface beneath him he waited for what was next. He anticipated. He feared.

He was halfway to his feet before he even felt the hands at his side pulling him up. One swift motion was all it took and he found his legs dangling, toes unable to touch the ground. He was in their arms, in their control, and he could do nothing about it. Their shrill cry ringing in the air as if they were the last words he would ever hear:

"Come on, little man, it’s time for your bath."

[204 Words]

http://community.livejournal.com/nano_wrimo/

bruku @ 2004-06-17T22:53:00

2004-06-18T03:53:17Z

I am too lazy
To change the layout right now
So, fuck it I say