The end is nighe, it’s coming thick and fast now, only two chapters left to proofread for the raw version of the manuscript. I’ll probably chop it all up later because some of the chapters are a little too long. I call it ‘Dan Browning’ for the people with short attention spans as my audience most certainly is. To quote the loveable Donald Trump “I love the uneducated” haha.
I know I said I hate having these chapter excerpts side by side but I’ve been too busy submitting to indie publishers and literary agents on top of being enthralled in a new synopsis for my next book (which is almost done, shaping up nicely) to think thoughts unrelated to writing.
So a ridiculous blog about current events or things I’ve raid and enjoyed is hard to fathom. Even a rant about a knife I like would be pale in comparison to the passion I feel for my latest creation pre-creation.
I’m really happy with it, the synopsis is really taking shape, making it mine, reminds me a lot of true detective, the first season of which I loved. I’m not sure if I’m excited or scared to actually start writing it. Am I ready for what could be a real success? Or will I ruin it just despite myself? Regardless I’m pushing forward with GS. I was reading bios of agents and trying to pitch to them and I literally had to social justice up my pitch to sell to some people. Threw a little lgbtqrstuvwxyz-sploitation in there to get their tumblr accounts hot and bothered. It’s true people, Sunday is now ‘Gender non-conforming’ whatever that means haha.
I have officially sold my soul haha.
Ok enough of that bullshit, I’ve got shit to do. So as usual you can find the rest of the chapter on inkitt by following this link I am about to post below.
An old fashioned touch tone phone rang on a ratty looking desk.
The small messy office filled with the tinny analogue ringing sound of the old phone.
Mojang clung to the grenade launcher the wooden sawn off stock firmly poking his ribs. He ducked behind the desk taking the small phone with him.
He took the phone receiver out of the cradle with a plastic clicking sound. He pressed it to his greasey looking ear.
“Hey boss!”
“Bernie, you double crossing pinche’ puto!”
“Come on, it’s not just me”
“What are you talking about you fat lousey fuck?” Mojang spat into the receiver.
“It’s the fans man”
“The fans?”
“They’re bored Mo, we’re winning too much. We make it look easy, there’s no drama, no suspense. Long story short they’re replacing you”
“What the fuck, with who?”
“Ahem”
“You? Your fat ass is replacing me? No way, put me through to the top guy, there’s no way they can do this, this is our last game, we’re out, we’re clean. They promised-“
“Sorry Mo, this comes from the top. Our approval ratings are tanking, they thought they needed to shake things up”
“No you motherfucker you put him on no-“
Click
The phone went dead. Mojang bit down on the receiver. Snapping it in half over the desk and throwing the rest of the phone on the floor.
He cracked open the grenade launcher, seeing there was a hot grenade still in the chamber. He clapped it close and stiffened his lip.
“Fffuck!” He threw the heavy grenade launcher across the desk and hurried over to the window. Barred, on top of that it was covered in a heavy mesh, impossible to remove, there was no way he was getting out. He clanged the cage mesh looking like a kid in a playpen too long for his nap. His face welling up with sweat and nervous tears.
“FUCK ME! FUCK ME!”
A clatter outside hushed him as he ducked behind his desk again. He scrabbled for the grenade launcher on the desk.
“No please, no, I’ll suck dick, I’ll suck your dick” A muffled woman’s voice said behind his door. An angry banging “FUCK MOJANG, LET ME IN YOU LIMP DICK MOTHERFUCKER!”
The noise quickly stopped after a brief gurgling sound. An ominous silence fell on the garage, not a croak or a death rattle to be heard. All the blood was already on the floor.
Then a dull banging noises started against the thin door. Accompanied by stifled whimpering noises. The noises got quieter as the dull banging sound against the thin door got wetter sounding. Each banging noise accompanied by soppy slapping noises.
The pathetic bolt lock popped off, screws popping out and rolling on the concrete floor. The door swinging open on just one hinge.
Mojang peaked over the desk and saw the door way was empty from his angle. The flimsy door itself was pasted in blood and brain matter with a big crack down the middle. Strands of long hair sticking out of it.
He recoiled as a mass like a dead animal was slung hard across the desk like a deer hitting the hood of an suv. His face was splattered with blood and brains as the girls body was tossed with some force. Her limp limbs twisted around in every direction, her head was caved in, using it to open a door will do that.
Mojang winced, using the barrel of the grenade launcher to turn her face around. He used his other hand to move her hair out of her face. Her eyes were half open, they rolled loosely around in her head like dolls eyes. He swallowed and closed her eyes feeling bad for a minute before he remembered he locked her out.
The Lancer stepped into the door, his feet made a metal stiletto sound. They were covered in some sort of skin tight metal sandal. On the concrete floor they sounded like tap shoes or a dog with long nails on a hard wood floor.
“We can talk about this, I’ve brought in a lot of business, we’re the best, we win, we can do better. Fuck man we can do whatever you want, I’ll learn to fucking juggle if that’s what you wa-“
“Sorry, you’re cancelled.” The Lancer said a cold chill riding his words all the way down Mojang’s spine.
He squeezed the grenade launcher with it’s wood inlays. He fingered it delicately as he looked at the girl sprawled across his desk like a tigerskin rug.
He took a deep breathe and scrunched up his face, ringing out vicious tears from his one good eye.
“Fffuck you silver surfing faggot!” He lifted the grenade launcher up and turned his body so he was pointing it at the Lancer with one arm out stretched. His face twisted into his death mask, what would be left of it.
The Lancer let out a breathy laugh and wicked smile with those strange eyes. He dropped into a pounce closed the gap with a murderous intention as fast as falling.
Mojang fell back, his heart leaping to meet the challenge. His feet stumbling over a broken phone cord. His finger squeezed the trigger and he proceeded to make an even stupider face.
The building popped open like a giant shook up soda can. The sheet metal peeled back and curling up with the flames licking them. The explosion viewed by an indifferent drone flying overhead. The flames reflected in its ambivalent lens.
~
Darkly Dreaming Demographic. 
Leave a Reply