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boy meets girl

Green Sunday Chapter 6 ‘Smooth Sailing’ (Edited)

Another day another edited chapter, it’s almost over people, almost over and almost I mean never and by ‘over’ I mean bitches. That doesn’t make sense.

Ok well day job grinding and shitty and deadend as it is has given me the desired resources of my condensed wasted time to allow me to have more of this silly ass zombie novel I’m not entirely sure why I wrote edited haha. Of which will be coming soon.
I’ve only got one chapter left to proofread and then it’s all downhill from there.

In other news I’m reading some cool noir shit, some grade Richard Stark shit and it’s starting to show in some of the recent stuff I’ve done. I’ve actually made a start on one of those novellas I was toying with to keep me busy until nanowrimo when I unleash the beast of my next hurried giant word salad hah.
It’s turning out really nicely, I mean I actually gave enough of a fuck to open up google maps and plot routes for the story, research locations and plants and other such real life shit. I virtually walked the route of this story I’m doing and I think it’s turning out really nice, my style is evolving and it’s a lot of fun. It still has that evocative bullshit I like but it’s framed by this anal attention to detail which really nails the tension down.
Anyway the first chapter of that should be ready soon enough so you can ignore it at your leisure haha.

As per usual you can check out the full chapter on inkitt.

Chapter 6 ‘Smooth Sailing’

Peace out.

~

Roy held the camera low, trying to be discreet. It created a shaky low shot of TJ’s front door. A doorbell ringing sound; a cool morning mist starting to creep up on them.

“Who’s there?” TJ’s mom said from an upstairs window. The camera panned to the window as she leaned out in her yoga gear.

“Oh hey, Mrs Kincaid, a lovely morning, am I right?” Zed said with a tinny laugh, like he was selling Jehovah.

“Oh you’re those nice neighbour boys. TJ’s not home right now; he’s out getting milk; he can’t come out to play.”

“Err, yeah, you see… TJ kinda said we could come and borrow some of his stuff for our show, for the Internet”. Roy stumbled over his words, his frantic nerves stripping all charm from his voice.

“Oh well, he didn’t say anything to me about it. But I suppose, since you only live next door, and it’s for the Internet, you said?” TJ’s mom ditsily mused on what that might mean as she leant out the window.

“Err, yeah,” Roy said, a tired indifference climbing into his voice as he realised he’d been up all night. Was he holding up the camera or was it holding him up?

“The door’s open; his room is at the top of the stairs. How’s your mother doing, Teddy? You boys want some green tea and rice cakes?”

“Err, no, we’re good, thanks; she’s fine,” Zed said, surprised at how easy that was.

A brief cut and it was a shot of TJ’s stairs as they climbed up towards his room. All TJ could see was a POV shot of the back of Zed’s legs as he went up, followed by Roy.

Zed stopped on the stairs and turned to Roy with an odd smile on his face, the camera uncomfortably close.

“Dude, why’d you stop?” Roy said, behind the camera.

“How much you wanna bet the fat fuck’s a brony?” Zed sniggered childishly, forgetting the blood under his fingernails.

Another brief cut and whoever held the camera was elbow deep in TJ’s drawers. “Where the fuck is it?”.

“Dude, I found it.” The camera panned impatiently to Zed who stood in front of the closet, smirking.

“Friendship is fucking magic.” Zed chortled as he spoke. Parting the clothes in the closet, Zed revealed a secret ‘My Little Pony’ poster on the back of the wardrobe. “I fucking knew it.”

“Yeah, that’s great; the dude’s a fucking faggot who wants to fuck a horse. Can we get back to finding the weapons now, so, you know, we can fucking live through the night?” Roy snapped, gripping the camera harder, until it was audibly creaking.  He span the camera around and it fell on the red toy box at the bottom of TJ’s bed. “Here we go.”

“Yeah, I’m betting porn and an inflatable pony.” Zed chuckled in the background as Roy lay the camera down on TJ’s bed. He knelt in front of the box. Zed went through TJ’s action figures and miscellaneous cosplays, giggling fecklessly in the background.

Roy opened the box. “Look at this shit – fucking mall crap! Gotta bag this shit up.”

“Then what?” Zed said, some ice closing in on his voice.

“We gotta deal with Gil. If he’s bit, we gotta cut his head off; that bitch too, just to make sure.”

“I don’t know-”

“It’s fucked. It’s so different from how I thought it would be.” Roy sighed as he started to pack the weapons into a ‘Naruto’ duffel bag. “Fucking otaku pussy.”

He put his hand on his knee and eased himself off the ground.

Zed sighed; the character he had created had crumbled and he felt like a kid. His skin sticky and dry from where he had washed off Christie’s blood. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

Roy fumbled as he picked up the camera and turned it off.

Another cut. The camera seemed to be resting on the edge of a sink, turned on by mistake as if placed there in a hurry.

Scuffling sounds, sounds of muffled whimpering. The camera was out of focus. A blurred figure came into frame and snatched it up. Fumbling sounds of plastic creaking. It was still being held low, around waist height; there was nothing to see just yet.

“You’ve got to do it.”

“Why do I have to do it?”

“Because I’m holding the camera,” Roy said, a cold smile in his voice.

Roy raised the camera, like a shield, to put the spotlight on Zed’s pale and drawn face. Zed sat on the bed in his room; he knew it had to be him. He swallowed hard, took TJ’s crappy mall sword in both his hands and unsheathed it a little to check it didn’t stick. He hesitated. “Oh, fuck it,” he said as he unsheathed the sword all the way. He threw the cheap scabbard across the room and held the handle as if it was a machete. The sword wasn’t quite a katana; it was one of those cheap ninja swords with a straight blade and no guard. He grabbed at his knee a little, rose with a jerky jolt of energy and began to march out of his room. Roy struggled to follow him out into the hall.

“Wait up, dude.”

They got to the inner door of the garage and Zed stood sullen with his hand on the doorknob.

“I thought he locked himself in?”

“He did, but I’ll try the door and then we can go around the front and open the garage door. He might be OK. Garage door makes a lot of noise,” Zed said.

“Yeah, best episode of ‘Zombie Stump Fuckers’ yet.”

Zed sneered and a sickly smirk passed over his face. He swallowed hard again and twisted the knob. The door opened with an uneasy jerk. Zed froze. He stopped breathing and then breathed out. Then in again with a low, shallow, silent breath.

He began to open the door wider, inch by inch, praying for it not to creak. It did. He took a deep breath and launched himself into the garage. Roy followed. The camera fell on Zed as he swung the sword awkwardly, nerves and adrenaline making it shake in his hands, creating an annoying rattling sound.

“What the fuck?” Roy said as he panned the camera up to a tense close up of the garage, lined with black bin bags. He zoomed out to Zed in his uneven warrior stance, a small pool of congealed blood on the floor. “Where’d he go?”

Just at that moment, a clichéd woman’s scream rang out and they both knew where he was.

“Mom?” Zed’s voice broke as he spoke, the sword shaking in his loose grip.

~

 

Green Sunday Chapter 16 ‘Kill too hard’ (Raw)

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.

Chapter 16 ‘Kill too hard’
~

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.

~

 

 

Chapter 14″Legendary Weapons” (Raw)

Bonjour chaps and chappetes, or all the three people that read this shit. As you may have noticed I haven’t posted for a while. I’m not sorry, life and my day job has been on top of me like a horny silver back that thinks my ass is full of bananas. And I went on holiday, I know woe is me, I went to Barbados to drink drinks with tiny umbrellas in them. Also been doing a lot of baking and cooking like a manwife but that’s neither here nor there.
Well I’m back on track now for a couple of months so I should be posting regularly again until July. As you can see, got a new raw chapter of GS and a new edited chapter which I’ve yet to work through but I will. Also got a lot more money at the ready, what with all the day jobbing so I can afford a lot more chapters to be professionally edited and maybe a few more knives to review so hold out for that.

Without further ado I’ll get on with schlocking the new chapter. Lots of lovecraft in this one, lots of action. It’s a pretty fun set up to probably the most fucked up action/gore wise the entire book goes into. So it was pretty fun to write, a lot of my heart and baby batter went into it and I hope you enjoy it. As usual for copyright/paranoia purposes this is just an excerpt and you can check the full chapters in order on inkitt linked below.

Chapter 14

~

An obnoxious beam of light perforated the dry dusty dark. Translucent fingers of light fumbling over burnt play mats and wooden toys. Simple wind up toys melted and disfigured by a burnt out fire. Frilly petticoats of little cotton dolls, singed beyond repair. Cheap plastic action figures curled into a praying position by a burst of intense heat. Grey and black ashes making a shifting carpet of despair. The light brisk morning air breezed through the holes in the roof of the burnt out nursery.

Bodies strung nonchalant from the buckling ceiling of the single storey building. The beams of which were melted and twisted. But remained the only thing keeping the building together. The bodies, some of which were burnt, most of were not. Fresh looking ones, some with biker gear indicating how disposable they were, some without. Their heads crushed or missing or pulled apart like soft pizza dough.

The bodies swayed in the delicate breeze, suspended by their feet to the steel beams in the ceiling. Exposed as they were by the collapsing asbestos tiles. Tied there with skipping ropes and belts and ties and anything on hand. Clear tape and shoe laces worked well. Despite the noisey crinkling sounds it made as the bodies swung.

As the bodies parted, swinging free. An inhuman gargantuan figure appeared. Hunched over a toybox turned altar for some obscure obsession.

Whispering, whispering, hoarse whispering. A sudden shrill whistling sound. Followed by sharp clap and a low rumbling shook the foundations of the building. Tossing up sickly plumes of grey and black dust and ash.

“It’s time Lamby.” Jeff said as he picked up the plush lamb off the toybox altar and shoved it gracelessly into his fanny pack. Zipping it up litigiously, he began to walk out of the crestfallen building.

~

TJ lay on his back on the floor of his living room, his eyes open but seeing nothing. The room spun around and he felt black wings circling. The ceiling fan getting closer and closer and he couldn’t move. He was frozen in place, a three hundred pound greasey paper weight staring into nothing.

“TJ can you hear me? We don’t have time for this.” Sunday knelt at his side, pushing the coffee table off at a jaunty angle making a loud screeching noise. “TJ, I need you to wake up” She took one of his sweaty hands and cupped it in her cold palms. “I need you.” She placed his large hand with its chubby digits on her chest. And delicately probed her humble breast with the large clumsy instrument. “Shit if that didn’t work” She said as she dropped his meaty forearm onto the carpet.

“I didn’t tell you anything about myself. I know this isn’t the best time.” She turned around on the floor to sit beside him. Lifting her knees up to rest her forearms on and cradle her head as she spoke. “But I get it, it hurts, I know that more than anyone.” She turned her head away from him, resting on her forearms across her skinny knees. Her face becoming drawn and moist “Losing someone, sucks, fuck that sounded dumb.” She laughed at herself as she sniffed back a few tears.

“I came from a town just like this, it wasn’t exactly like this, close enough.” She lifted her head up and looked at the catatonic TJ. She smiled as she wiped her nose on the sleeve of an old disturbed hoodie she found in the closet. “I was pretty normal, went to school, most of the time, went for walks, took out the garbage.” she took a sharp inhale of breath.

“My parents died when I was really young. Me and my brother spent most of our childhood in foster care. Oh yeah forgot to mention, I have an older brother, Adam, Adam Evens. That’s my last name, Sunday Evens, pleased to meet you.” She said as she smiled reaching over to shake TJ’s limp hand before dropping it back down onto the carpet.

“He pretty much raised me, taught me how to fight, don’t know who taught him. Taught me how to fix cars, I’m pretty handy with a blowtorch. That was the first job he got, worked in a body shop. As like an apprentice to this skeezy old fuck who was always trying to pick me up. I was like fourteen, he wasn’t a bad old guy, just kind of a freak” She looked straight at the wall “Aren’t we all?”

“It was hard, but we made it, we were something close to happy. Didn’t have anyone to tell us to get up or go to bed or do our homework, but we did it. We had to, we were all we had in the world, an island in a sea of shit.” She slid her forearms off her knees putting her hands on the side of her calfs and began to squeeze them tight.

“Then all this shit happened, exactly like this. The zombies, then those weirdoes appeared. Started rounding people up, they took him, he tried to protect me, he died.” She squeezed her calves even harder, digging her fingers into her legs. “I swore, I fucking swore, to god or odin, or Krishna, that I would never, NEVER! Let anyone protect me ever again.” She bit her lip and kept her eyes locked forward. Her heart started to race her breathe became heavy and laboured. “I would use people, I would become a freak, I would kill, but I would never let anyone die to protect me.”

She turned to TJ who hadn’t moved an inch other than deep rhythmic intakes of breath.

“Didn’t hear a word I said huh?” She sighed “It’s probably for the best”.

~

Thanks for checking it out, tried to get a little heart more than meat in this one. Give a little glimpse into the character of Sunday. Anyway if you liked the excerpt don’t forget to check out the full chapter on inkitt and to read the corresponding chapters.

Chapter 14

Peace out!

First attempt at a pitch synopsis for Green Sunday

TJ is an underachieving tubby neckbeard in his early twenties still living with his mother in their suburban home in a rural Midwestern American mountain town, in which he’s convinced will be infested with zombie soon.

Unfortunately for him, the zombie apocalypse already came and went with more of a hiccup than a big bang. Happening in a small isolated town, it was quickly isolated and contained by the army and a government contractor which referred not to be named. But TJ still holds out hope that the apocalypse will get a sequel in his lifetime collecting various weapons and zombie paraphernalia with his meagre pocket money.

A chance meeting with an obnoxious green haired girl sets his suspicions into high gear as she seems to be the cusp of a series of strange visitors which begin to put the small mountain community on edge. Men in chemical suits block the bridges. Armed mercenaries line the woods making escape impossible. All lines of communication are cut off as the town is flooded with the living dead.

TJ unaware of the horror that has gripped his town goes down to the store for a quart of milk only to come face to face with the living dead completely caught off guard he faces his own death but is saved by the same green haired girl who had previously snubbed him. All his planning and fantasising had proved ineffectual coming face to face with the real thing completely out of the blue caused him to rethink his fascination with the living dead.

TJ rushes home to find that the fantasy he’d imagined the zombie apocalypse to be falls completely short and he’s unwittingly stumbled onto a deep web reality tv show where real lives are on the line.

The green haired girl follows TJ, revealing that her name is Sunday, a survivor from the previous town that was, as he now realises intentionally infected for the purposes of this sick game.

The game takes place over three days and is fought for points, each day sectioned off into different rounds. The first day/round covers the initial outbreak, each zombie is designated points for kills, the second round is open season on survivors, combatant human’s become double points, the third round is the endgame, weapons and strange mutants are air dropped to wreak havoc on the remnants of the town. The audience paying to watch and take bets on the outcome, spectating through a series of drone cameras flying above the small town.

The aim of the game is to live, the winner with the most accumulated points wins, winning three consecutive games in a row wins the survivors freedom.

Sunday decides to take TJ under her wing and teach him what real apocalypse survival is about and actually help him to kill his first zombie, something he didn’t consider would be so hard after watching all those zombie movies where people decapitate them as easy as breathing.

Together they take on cheese grater wielding zombies, an insane biker gang and monsters right out of greek mythology to fulfil their modest goal of staying alive nothing more.

TJ learns that the way he saw himself up to this point was a lie and he stands on a precipice of whether to shatter that lie or embrace it and become it, take the girl and say to hell with reality.

He’s taken through the ringer as his life as he knew it is completely eviscerated and everyone he knew and loved is killed, his childhood home decimated, all bringing him closer to this strange girl and learning her boundless secrets and the mystery behind the sick game they find themselves trapped.

He has no choice but to fight and entertain the audience to secure his position as a returning character on the show. Using his hours of imaginary training in his back garden with his cheap novelty swords, he squares off against the living dead in a vain attempt at uncovering the mysterious group behind the annihilation of his once peaceful town.

Having survived the three days thanks to Sunday, TJ and Sunday seeing an opportunity to escape in the chaos of the endgame, seek out a series of tunnels in a missile silo some conspiracy nut turned into a survalist bunker. Coming face to face with the man that brought them here Mr. Evergreen.

Green Sunday Chapter 12 ‘Live through death’ (Raw)

Been critically retarded in the classical french usage of the word ‘to be held back’ by intense insanity workouts. I’m not in pain, I just feel like I’m dying, like I slipped into a coma and I’m trapped in a nightmare world of tiredness coffee cannot cure. Into the second month and my pudge be quelled, those lovehandles taking a pounding like an inflatable in Michael Barrymore’s pool.
 Been banned from facebook for excercising my freedom of speech a little too much so my social media presence is that of a nat at this moment but I dunno, fuck facebook, if only twitter didn’t look like the fast scrawling matrix code I’d make a full transition. But with their new speech codes I really don’t know where freedom of speech can hide on the internet anymore, soon we’ll have to go underground to be total assholes without repentance haha.
Anyway, still I find the strength the write and somehow to edit and proofread. So here is the first proofread of chapter 12, this is where the feels start people haha. Some action, some laughing some crying, some awkward boners, all that good stuff.
Actually working towards the end now, getting to the real shit soon, should be all done and ready for proofreading by the end of next month, maybe later. So it’s all speed ahead to nanowrimo and maybe a novela in between now and november.

As always this is just an excerpt, I put the whole thing up on inkitt so you can read all the chapters in order from start to finish without having to trawl through this inane collection of ramblings and brainfarts I call a blog.

Read it here for free, all of it, no catches, no scams or add revenue, I don’t think, well be happy in the knowledge if there is, the money isn’t going to me, so add block that shit hard haha.

Chapter 12 Live through death

~

Candle light flickered on the counter top in TJ’s kitchen. A weary flame tossed back and forth by a careless breath or a sigh. TJ, his mother and Sunday huddled around the small kitchen table and ate in silence.  A restrained rattling of cutlery hid polite coughs and awkward glances across the table. No one dared utter a word.

TJ’s mom just smiled at whomever would cast an eye her way, but it was a little cracked on one side.

They finished a humble meal of just some frozen pork chops and a garden salad from a re-sealable pack. Which his mother put back in the crisper at the bottom of the fridge. She cleared their plates “Mom let me help you”.

“It’s fine, you two wash up and get to bed. I set you two up on the couch until we can get your room tidied up” She sighed “It’s such a mess, you said an animal got in?”

“Yeah” TJ said as his hands slipped from the plates. he turned his head away and felt a cold steel ringing in the emptiness that was growing inside him.

She smiled as she took the plates to the dishwasher and loaded them in “It’s ok. I didn’t like any of those posters anyway, we can get it cleaned up in no time.” A weak laugh tried to escape her diaphragm but it didn’t quite make it and instead came out like pained hiccup.

TJ sat back down and looked at Sunday anxiously. She sat with her feet up on her seat poking at a very dry piece of lettuce trying not to be noticed. “I’m done.” She said as she pushed the table away and hopped off the seat. She swam through the tension in the little kitchen and escaped to the cosy solitude of the living room.

TJ bit his bottom lip and swallowed a dry lump, his chest feeling tight and hot.

“Goodnight” He said as he got up from the table and walked away. His footsteps light, barely made contact with the floor. The image of his mother at the kitchen sink got smaller and smaller as he left the room. That image of her burning into his memory.

~

“It’s almost time.” Evergreen sighed as he felt a strange elation washing over him. He kept it to himself inside his stoney exterior. “What do we have in stock?” He said through gritted teeth. A closeted eagerness eaked out in his voice as he leant against a high back chair in the operations van.

“Err a couple of chimeras, one of those big bastards and that new one.” The tech said as he handed Evergreen a small tablet computer over his shoulder.

Evergreen took it from the tech. He seemed to be getting a contact high of Evergreen’s steely excitement. He sat in his chair craning his neck to watch. Evergreen smiled flipping through the pictures on the tablet as it lit up his dark sharklike face. The mobile command centre was kept dark. Only lit by a series of monitors monitoring god knows what. Which covered the inside of what looked like a large tanker truck from the outside.

Noticing the attention he was getting from this eager little welp. He cast  disparaging eye towards the tech. He was a younger guy maybe late twenties early thirties with shaggy blonde. A set of boxy glasses perched on a sharp nose. His name tag said his name was ‘Murray’. tossing the tablet in his lap. “Fuck it ‘Murray’, use’em all”.

Murray feeling a little exposed. Tilted his eyes down clearing his throat and adjusted his glasses and got back to work. “Yes sir, t-minus two hours to full release of specimens”.

~

Thanks for reading to check out the rest of this long ass chapter go to;

 

 

Chapter 12 Live through death

Green Sunday review by Knicky Laurel

Got a lovely new review for Green Sunday from someone I’m totally not sleeping with, faerie author of delightfully whimsical fiction, Knicky Laurel. You can check her out at her fancy author page on facebook Knicky Laurel, and you can read Green Sunday for free on inkitt Green Sunday.

 

Something Special
I recently finished reading the first eight chapters of Ryk Brink’s Green Sunday, and one of the first of many things to hook me hard was his writing style. It’s metaphoric and pointed laser focus deeply analyses the story’s subject matter, and its razor-edge imagery is hauntingly precise – in other words, the unique way in which he describes the story as he tells it leaves you unable to unsee it that exact way, and you can’t help but agree with his word choice and direction. And I think that is the impression I came away with the most – Ryk is a director, but of words rather than movies, and while every directorial style isn’t to everyone’s taste, his just happens to be one I favour.

I think this style is deliciously juxtaposed with the irreverent, open wound that is Ryk’s sense of humour and is what gives this particular zom-pocalyse novel such a refreshing feel. From the mean-spirited manner in which it depicts our proxy, TJ Kincaid, to the lovesick relationship it clearly has with nonchalant but gratuitous violence, it is apparent that this work is not for the overly-sensitive reader. That said, if you have the balls to stomach it, it is a story that has many elements anyone with an open mind for a different kind of story can appreciate, including some very real human moments, as dark and serious and quiet as they are by turn light-hearted, playful and a little silly.

My favourite aspect of this novel, and it would seem that I am not alone in this, is the relationship between TJ and Sunday. There is something so appealing about the ebb and flow between her hardness and his innocence, and the nuances of the role reversal featuring her as the protector with him as the virgin sacrifice or the atypical dude-in-distress. The space between them is filled with the overtone of the entire work, the loud cheesy camaraderie with death TJ has in his imagination versus the one that permeates the very bleak, sordid reality that Sunday herself occupies.

All in all, there is so much to enjoy here – the style, the voice, the themes and how they all work to tell a story about characters you can really care about. You know the elements that comprise a work are promising when you find yourself reading ahead simply because you cannot take the tension of what you are presently reading in the moment any longer. I found myself doing this consistently throughout my read, which tells me everything I need to know. That no matter how, gruesome, silly and depraved it may seem on the surface, there is definitely something special about Green Sunday.

Green Sunday Chapter 3 Step right up (Edited)

Yo humanoid followers of this blog, been down with work and other various forms of illnesses. But I have the latest fully edited chapter of Green Sunday ready for your viewing pleasure. As opposed to your agonized clawing through my many heresies against grammar and spelling.

As usual this is just an excerpt and I have the full chapter up on inkitt because you can’t copy and paste on that site haha. I know I’m that paranoid. It’s a good site, my girlfriend loathes it for all the nepotism but that’s the name of the game unfortunately, what can you do?

Anyway, here’s the link to the latest chapter all suited and booted; Step Right Up.

~

“I despise your killing, and raping.”

“You’re… despicable.”

“Are you my judge?”

“It’s just… you should be punished.”

“I’m going to chop off your arm, so are you ready?”

TJ sat on his bed, half-watching a kung fu movie, trying to learn kung fu from osmosis. He polished his sword, checking for minor imperfections left by the douche in the knife shop, before wiping it off. He lovingly slid it back into the sheath and placed it in a red trunk at the bottom of his bed.

TJ’s bedroom was the standard, unashamed man-child room every man secretly desired, but had had taken away from them at some point by age or shame or usually a woman. TJ seemed immune to all. He was happy to like the things he’d loved all his life, with only a slight sour tinge of regret rolling around on his tongue before he swallowed it down with some mountain dew.

His room was a boxy affair in a reasonably-sized two storey house. He had chosen the room when he was a kid because it had one of those cool sloping roofs. It had a little skylight window that let in all the moonlight. And he could put posters on it too.

Movie and anime posters adorned the walls in no particular order from Dragonball Z, in pride of place above his TV and PS4, to Cowboy Bebop, over his bed, the one where Faye Valentine had her ass facing out in those little yellow hot pants. Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood, Samurai Champloo and Attack on Titan and Berserk. His door hid a cute, pink Elfen Lied calendar that was way out of date. He had a  Gantz wall hanging on the wall behind his desktop monitor that his mother sneered at. The tight black uniforms looked sort of ‘bondagey,’ she commented once, to which TJ, red of cheek, informed her that this wasn’t the case and it was his room and she should always knock before entering.

Then you had the zombie-related paraphernalia. You had your Walking Dead shirts and cap; Evil Dead bobble heads, which made various chainsaw noises and spouted the relevant catchphrases when tapped; original Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead posters, both signed by the Tom Savini; a Return of the Living Dead tarman ‘action figure’; Return of the Living Dead 3 playing cards; Shaun of the Dead air freshener; Zombies on a Plane travel sweets. You get the picture; ‘nerd likes zombies trope’.

His real pride and joy lay dormant in the red trunk: an assorted collection of crappy fantasy knives and cheap knock off kung fu weapons that he had picked up at various flea markets and gun shows that rolled through town. He didn’t get much of an allowance to splash out on any one piece, or even a reasonably priced but painfully drab, cold, steel machete. And the thought of working some nine to five job just to buy something better seemed antithetical in a world that he believed would be all teeth and rotten flesh by the end of the year.

So he just picked up what he liked the look of, not really knowing what he wanted or what he wanted them for. They were all tacky wall hangers. His mother wouldn’t let him hang them on his wall though because they made him look like a ‘weirdo’. There they remained in that box under his bed, ready to be viewed with a satisfied smile as soon as he looked inside his little man-crate full of toys. When he closed it, he felt a hollow, little thud inside and felt maudlin. He stared at the bluing sky as night crawled out of the caves and crags to blanket the horizon.

TJ’s house was in a secluded part of town. The town itself was rural and mountainous, a small town lined by high trees and cliffs with a whole lot of nothing in between. Think Twin Peaks meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Nightmarish small town America in all its horrible banality and tremulous quiet beauty. Only ruined by its noisy stereotypical inhabitants.

He took to staring off into the trees, trying to imagine hordes of his dead Facebook friends tearing through the undergrowth, and himself savagely cutting after them, sword flashing above his head like a Hun on heat. Then he started to think about them, their frozen stock photo faces, twisted and rotten, coming at him through the trees. And it was real for a second and he wanted nothing more than to buy a big gun and hide under his window, drinking and peeing in the same bottle, Waterworld-style, for fear of moving. It came in waves and he settled back into his fantasy, comfortable at the thought that it was an unlikely occurrence. But he also wanted nothing more than to have his mundane existence upended by throngs of the flesh-nibblingly inclined.

Well what little existence there was he thought to himself as he stared off into those dark esoteric woods. If only they’d come then he could be who he wanted to be.

~

I hope you enjoyed it if you read this far, as usual here’s the link again to my inkitt page where you can read this chapter and more completely free.

Step Right Up

 

Green Sunday Chapter 10 ‘Romeo is bleeding’ (Raw)

Latest chapter of GS proofread, as usual rough as shit, still having it edited, I should have chapter 3 back by next week. So hold your breath for that haha.
As usual you can check out the rest of the chapter on inkitt, which I will link to at the top and bottom. I do that because you can’t copy and paste any of that and it’s easier to read on tablets and stuff and you can read it in order.

Green Sunday Chapter 10

~

“There he is!” Dave said as he pointed over his Sikh billionaire boss’s shoulder. Standing erect with a pair of expensive looking binoculars.

“You littal cant!” Pete said as he cranked the pressure gauge in his custom air arrow launcher. He narrowed his eyes to keep track of a wiley moving target.

The scope flitted around trying to keep track of ragged green form as it darted from cover to cover dipping. “Keep still you little barstard!” Pete spat.

“Think you can outrun me you little facka!”

“He’s over there!” Dave screeched as he leaned on the raised lip of the gunstore roof.

Pete tried to steady his breathing as he tunnelled his vision down the scope of the rifle. He tried to hone his concentration on this vagrant target eluding his gaze. A quick flicker of light and a sharp piercing feeling of murderous intent. Pete was sent reeling off his makeshift perch on the roof.

“What was that” Dave said.

Pete looked over himself patting down for injuries “Something came right at me”. Pete readied himself again at his perch. “There!” Dave screamed. A lithe figure slipped through a gap in a wall of milling living corpses. Completely oblivious to this quick witted sewer rat of a man breezing past them.

“You fuckin what!’” Pete said as he gritted his teeth pulling hard on the trigger of the arrow launcher. A quick bolt and satisfying release of pressure. An arrow was thrust into the crowd as the figure disappeared.

“Did you get ‘im?” Dave said.

“I dunno” Pete said as he lifted the rifle up and rested it against the wall.

“Who the fuck was that?” Dave said standing in an awkward pose. Feeling a little buzzed and drained from the excitement. As if for a fleeting moment the shoe was on the other foot. He glanced back over to the spot the cornered animal was last seen with his binoculars. he had to catch his breath despite not having moved an inch. “Hah does that one kinda look like Burt Reynolds to you?” he said as he looked out over the shambling corpses on the other side of the street.

“Another c’ant like us, I reckon. Didn’t get a good look at ‘im.” Pete said as he leant against the lip of the roof. He took out a hunting pipe and filled it with tobacco. He lit it and took some measured pulls on the horn lip piece with a faraway look on his face. Listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. As he put pressure on the wall, the other side cracked a little and little pieces of mortar and brick crumbled. Following the cracks in the what was now seen as a hastily and shoddily built raised wall around the roof. The owner probably used for his own late night target practice. Lodged a good four or five inches into the mortar was a shiney and very sharp looking butterfly knife

~

A sickly light trickled through the gaps in the shutters of an upmarket house on the more affluent side of town. The house was still and looked vacant in the bluing light of the evening. The night on its way bringing a much needed stillness to the ‘busy’ town. The house was old looking, reminiscent of some older new England town houses. A two storey affair made of retouched white wood and roofed with grey tiles. The windows were partitioned with the same white wood. All with drawn curtains and shutters.

Inside the house a deathly cold gripped the anterooms and the hall. A musty smell the owners must have gotten used to living in such an old house permeated the rooms. And the floorboards creaked like an old haunted house.

The stairs were fairly grand, made of an elegant hardwood. Leaving them cold as century old bone to the touch. The faded blue light gave them a dreamlike quality, still as if out of time entirely. Like the whole house were some sort of display or diorama meant for looking but not touching.

Nevertheless something was living there. Something stirred in the dull blue light that probed the dank house. Little feet slapped the icy staircase as they descended the large steps. Creating the slightest creaking noises on the old steps.

A little girl, maybe five or six in a frilly night gown descended the stairs like a ghost. She held a stuffed iguana close to her little chest. She peered into the inky blue stillness of her home and saw a spark of light. There was a warm glow building in the furthest corner of her house. Followed by whispers and hissing sounds through gritted teeth and a strange smell.

She tiptoed down the stairs trying to make as little noise as possible. As she got closer the angered hissing noises continued. She could hear a few choice words and laboured breathing as she approached the light source.

The light was coming from her living room. A small fire stoked in the old wood burning fireplace. There was a man sat down in front of the fire talking to himself angrily.

“I’ll get you, you asshole, you just wait, I know where you are! I’ll get you and I’ll-ergh!“ The man muttered to himself as he nursed a wound in his shoulder. A bloody arrow tossed on the hardwood floor by the fireside. He sat on a large green army coat in front of the fire rocking back and forth like caged animal. A blood stained kitchen knife clutched in his hand as he held his arm, pressing it against himself.

“Santa is that you?” The little girl said as she saw his scraggly beard and long hair. “It’s a little early, where are all the presents?”

“Presents?” Carpenter said furrowing his brow in a confused daze. Caught off guard by the little girl in her pyjamas, he gripped the knife tighter. “I don’t have any presents”

“Oh” The girl said, taking it surprisingly well. “Well could you help me?” She said as she tightened her face a little. “My mommy and daddy are sick” Her voice raising slightly at the end catching herself.

“Shhhhh” Carpenter said as he smiled and put his finger up to his mouth. “Take me to them” He smiled broadly exposing his yellowed teeth. “Santa has something for them” He said as he stood up shakily, sliding the knife underneath his belt.

~

If you like what you read so far of this excerpt go check out the full chapter on inkitt completely free.

Green Sunday Chapter 10

Cheers.

Green Sunday Chapter 9 Cobra Clutch (Raw)

Ok here’s the latest chapter straight from proofreading, it’s just the first proofread, still rough as shit but it’s a fun chapter, lots of action and fucked up shit.If you wanna read the full chapter and all previous chapters head on over to my inkitt page and read it for free.

Green Sunday Chapter 9

TJ squirmed on the back of the bike trying to lock his pudgy fingers around Sunday’s lithe frame. Fear overpowering his natural inclinations for tact and subtlety.

The engine of the Harley continental coughed and spluttered. It roared like a rambunctious kitten. It was no huge feat for the bikers to catch up to them after finding their dead friend. Their bikes engine noises rolled over the hills like thunder. It sounded like a storm coming that no one could get out of the way of.

TJ looked back and saw only a cloud of smoke and dust. He half expected a haunted pirate ships to emerge from it with jet black sails. Crewed by stop motion skeletons. But as it cleared, only a parade of shiney chrome and black leather remained. A tide of ill fitting pants and boots with lots of buckles on them moving gradually closer.

“Can we out run them?” TJ yelped.

“No” Sunday said without even looking back.

“Then what are we gonna do?”

“This” Sunday said almost whispering. She stopped the bike with a sudden anguished screeching of the continental’s tires.

“What the fuck are you doing?? They’ll kill us!” TJ squealed.

“They might” Sunday said. She propped the bike up with the kickstand and dismounted with the grace of a duchess.

TJ dismounted almost falling as she dismounted first. This brought back horrible memories of riding in a bike seat with his Mom when he was a kid.

“We’ve gotta hide” TJ said breathelessly clinging to one of his sweaty moobs. His sword in his other hand shaking in its cheap faux lacquer sheathe.

“Where?” Sunday said as she took up a batting stance squeezing the grip of the bat in both hands. She took a few practice swings at that mean old air.

TJ looked around a full three sixty and realised they were on the edge of town. They were on an open street with no cover.

“Looks like we’ll have to reason with them” Sunday said. A wry smirk peeling across her face as she walked past TJ with the bat across her shoulder.

The bikers didn’t speed up or slow down, they kept their solid droning pace. They knew there was nowhere for them to run. And the building sounds of the engines would fill the entire town with a primal dread.

They were on them like vultures, two at first, circling, the rest hung back a little to see what they’d do. The bikers were armed with pipes and chains and anything they could get their hands on. They dragged the chains behind their bikes and the scraped the ground with their pipes. Which in a different situation TJ would find pretty cool. It kind of reminded him of the opening scene of Akira. But that was beside the point because they were probably trying to kill him.

Sunday breathed out slowly, closing her eyes, digging her feet into the cold dry tarmac. She squeezed and released the grip of the bat as they circled, laughing and whooping inaudibly.

One of them tore in front of her as the other watched. His tires screeched in pain as they turned to face her head on but she didn’t move. He charged screaming for her but she remained still. He raised his pipe above his head as he angled his bike to give him a good swing. With an instant ferocious finesse, she stepped forward into the arch of his strike. Sinking her bat straight across his chest he bounced off his bike. The bike came to a stop scraping along the concrete.

Sunday breathed in calmly closing her eyes again. Squeezing and releasing the handle of the bat as it hummed in her hands. Sending shivers of pain all through her arms and down her back.

“You fucking bitch!” The bikers friend screeched pulling down the bandana covering his mouth. “I’m gonna fuck you up!”

Sunday wasn’t paying attention. She picked up the other bikers discarded pipe without looking at him as he circled back to strafe her.

She looked it over, as he closed the distance. Tears and snot streamed from his eyes, rage pounding on the accelerator.

She idly tossed the pipe and the biker was too angry to notice it fall right in his path of destruction. By the time he wiped the snot out of his face it was too late. He ran over the mangled pipe and it got caught up in the front tire. The front wheel twisted bringing the bike veering to one side and down into the concrete. It squealed to a stop and Sunday walked towards the downed biker. The bike stopped a good few feet away from where she was already standing.

He was pinned under the bike. Both of his legs broken for sure, coughing up blood, screaming “You bitch, you fucking bitch!”

She was slower for some reason, she dragged the bat now with one hand squeezed her arm with her other hand. She brought the bat up and split his head effortless. It made a mundane wet imploding noise like a watermelon dropped on concrete. His mouth went slack and his eyes rolled back in his head.  She pulled the spiked monstrosity out of his head with a soggy sucking noise.

Then silence, a slow deafening silence. Then a thunderous clap breaking the silence apart like thor’s hammer on the clouds. A man on an enormous bucket seat Harley sat as if on a throne watching. Surrounded by his cronies, a fine looking biker chick on the back of his bike clinging to him. He slowly clapped with his huge gloved hands.

“That was cute, I really dug that” He said as he leaned forward across his custom handlebars. There was a cobra design on the front of his bike and his breaks and clutch were ornate snake heads with a brass finish. “Oh you’re finished, allow me to introduce myself” the man said as he stroked his fu Manchu moustache. A large latin man with tattoos covering most if not all his arms. He was adorned with mayan tribal art mixed with a tinge of Japanese rip offs. He wore a loosely cut denim waist coat the back of which was emblazoned with their insignia. An angel in a straight jacket with the words ‘los ángeles locos’ written below it. Completed by a pair dark red leather pants and agressive looking combat boots.

“My name is Mojang, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” before he finished talking the bikes fired up again. Before she knew it Sunday was surrounded by ten maybe twelve bikers. Clouds of smoke encircled her, a maelstrom of twisted metal surrounded her. Her hair sweeping across her face. She raised he bat with a bitter defiance ready to swing at the next one that came close. She hoped to take them one at a time like balls in a batting cage.

If you enjoyed this excerpt head on over to my inkitt page to read the rest for free.

Green Sunday Chapter 9

 

 

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