Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Are You Sick?

Today I bring you my entry for yet another installation of the now-weekly flash fiction writing contest held here, hosted by last week's winner, Hannah.  Like last time, the word limit is set to 150 and new random words have been chosen.  They are as follows: Preliminary - Yellow - Contrary - Dying - Draw.

I don't like the look of that yellow bile you've been coughing up, a real bad color. It's a preliminary sign of upset digestion. Has something been stressing you out lately? Please, I'd wish you'd just tell me what's wrong.

Here, draw some water from the pump, splash it on your face, you need to get that gunk off your face. There you go, feels good doesn't it? Nice and cold, drink some, I'm sure you're dying of thirst, tastes like freezing liquid metal, doesn't it? Just like blood.

Now contrary to what you might think, I'm not a bad man. No, not at all. Sure, I might have hurt people before, but I haven't hurt you yet, have I? And I know that you think I'm being mean by not letting you go outside, but really it's just because I don't want anyone to take you away from me.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Just Unproud

Over the past few days I've been doing some thinking.  This happens from time to time and is no reason for alarm.  However, what I've been thinking is that I'm not entirely happy with the direction my little novel has been going in.  I like the basic story that I've laid out in my head but I'm just not too happy with the way it's being told.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Icy Disobedience

This is an entry written for a writing competition hosted by Stories, Inc. and taking place in The Coffee Shop, which is where you can enter if you so desire.  The bold words are those words required to be in the story as per the competition rules.  You can gather more information about the contest by clicking on either of the two preceding links.

The boss was yelling about something again, something to do with the monthly sales report. Nothing new and nothing interesting. Mallory watched the older woman's face contract and expand, doing her best to elicit fear and discipline from an employee that couldn't be forced to care about the “future of the company” even if a gun was placed up against her jugular.

That's when the subject of personal appearance came up, the boss lady making some smart crack about the way Mallory did her hair, calling for a swift remedy to fix the “rat's nest sprouting up there.”

That was far enough. Mal wasn't about to let the hag think that she had the monopoly on bitchiness. Waiting for just the right pause in the breathless ranting, Mal took one last casual sip from her iced coffee before putting the whole of the concoction down the woman's disgustingly low-cut blouse.

Friday, December 10, 2010


What follows is not so much a labor of love as it is of necessity.  What follows is the piece I have been working on for the past few months in my Advanced Fiction Writing class.  Anyone who has been following my blog will know that I am not wild about this piece but I would hope that now, in it's final form (the form which I will tomorrow turn in for credit) the piece has become respectable and, above all, readable.  Really, I hope.

Soft flakes of snow followed Simone inside the car as she plopped down into the passenger's seat up front, quickly leaning over to push her lips against those of the driver. Andrew's face grew warm as he felt the girl's hot breath force itself into his own mouth, her cool hand gently touching the back of his neck, pulling his head just slightly closer to her own. Awkwardly his hands fumbled for a place to lay, falling tentatively the small of her back, feeling the cold smooth texture of her down coat until she pulled herself away from him.

“Hey baby,” she said with a smile as she fell back into the well-worn seat. Andrew squeaked out a reply that could have almost passed for English. She laughed at him, running a hand down still flushed face, “Drew, calm down, it's me, just me. You don't have to get all red with me just because we can kiss now.” For a moment it looked as if she were going to push herself against him again, saying instead: “Nothing's changed, okay?” smiling again to reassure him.

Everything had changed. Returning her look with a forced smirk, Andrew wished things were the way she saw it, he wished she made him shiver inside, wished he felt something when she kissed him like that. All he felt though was the wet, fleshy bulge of her lips pressing against his own, nothing more.