Been a kinda meh week, writing wise specifically, I couldn’t seem to get into the groove until yesterday really. I just sort of muddled through it a little bit not quite sir where I was going but it’s getting there, it’s taking shape.
Specifically in part two I started getting into it and feeling the story a bit more. I think the plot overall is pretty good, you have like an A plot and a B plot and then they progress separately and then intertwine and come together at the end. I think this one might be better received because there’s a lot more stuff happening and maybe it’s more or less convoluted than the first one haha. More characters more villains, tonnes more villains.
Remember this was meant to be two books so it has as many boss battles as a fucking videogame haha. Villains coming out of my ears, I ripped one right out of a lovecraft story while I was writing the synopsis so you know he’s racist! No, he’s a weird zombie thing, his personal opinions on the other races will not be divulged. Although I have a sneaking suspicion he hates fish people but so do most people in this book.
Come to think of it this whole series is about literal race wars, in fact most fantasy books are, jesus fantasy is racist haha.
But I still have a fair bit to proof read, I’ll clean up a lot of it there but I’m happy the direction it’s going, we’ll just have to wait and see. Now here’s more of this fill- I mean great content from Diana in the dark again but better.
Whatever the esoteric message of the photocopy meant, I didn’t have enough time to make any sense of it.
A tight popping cracking noise of a microphone being tapped and tested sounded, then a nasally voice filled the whole room. “Folks, can I have your attention please?” Principle Maria Petro said. She stood looking down from the balcony, dressed a little like a character from the fifth element in a leopard print onesie?
Cat suit? What are those called? It actually fit with the neon space jungle theme.
She was a short stodgy woman with a nest of badly dyed hair that resembled ramen noodles. She stood under what looked like a brightly-lit star gate or arch, her hair done up as high as it would go.
Thankfully it was a high ceiling, without any fans or low hanging lights. Her face was a perfect mask of confidence and years of stored up aggression from dealing with the most spoiled kids on earth. All the make up in the world couldn’t cover up those frown lines.
“Ahem, good evening, everybody, I hope you’re all having a great time.” Pause for effect. Looking down at her subjects, expecting an answer or maybe an uproarious applause. Ms. Petro cleared her throat and continued on without it. “It’s my pleasure to announce this year’s senior prom queen and king.”
I made my way back over to Paul, strategically elbowing people in their solar plexuses. Solar plexi? Swimming through the crowd, only spilling about half the contents of each cup on other people’s rented shoes. I handed him one.
“Thanks.” He smiled for a moment, then stood bolt upright and his eyes got a little wider.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Don’t say shit!” a coiled voice hissed.
“No, it’s the fucking tooth fairy!”
“What are you?” Paul asked looking over his shoulder, but keeping his neck stiff.
Wendy stepped out of his large shadow and poked him in the side with that deadly DG purse, her hand inside it.
I imagined not clasped around her lip gloss. Her hair was coming undone, rogue strands now sticking in places to her patchy fake tan, running from the sweat.
“Brodie stood me up!” she said, shooting me a glare like it was my fault. “They’re about to announce it now, and the queen needs a king, got it?” She spat through her expensive bridgework. “So I’m just gonna borrow yours, you got a problem with that?”
“Err…” I said, eloquent as ever.
“It’s okay, it’s cool,” Paul said as he tried his best not to look as stiff as Frankenstein’s monster with a hand up his ass.
“Walk.” Wendy was still glaring at me.
Paul seemed as if he was resisting the urge to raise his hands like a hostage and started to pad slowly toward the balcony stairs.
There was no direct access to the stage.
Wendy poked him through a set of doors, and they disappeared—hopefully to reappear on the other side of the star gate in one piece. There was an awfully long pause and silence that followed.
“I’m happy to announce—” Principle Petro unsealed a sparkly envelope, very glamorous. She unsheathed a gold piece of card. “This years prom king and queen are…” Sudden sounds of a scuffle could be heard behind her, then a dull pop and another before a shrill scream.
The room froze trying to recognize the din.
Wendy burst out onto the stage, the small pistol in her hand. A ruby red stream of blood flowed from an obviously broken nose.
Paul was nowhere to be seen.
“Gimme that!” She snatched the studded prom queen tiara from Principle Petro’s hand, and shoved the woman out of the way. She tried to pin it to her head with the gun still in her hand. Once it was level, she scanned the room of all the faces still frozen in stunned silence.
Her existence was now a morbid curiosity, a downward spiral, a car crash happening in slow motion.
She saw me looking up at her. Part of me wondering if Paul was still alive, but the other was distinctly darker, and couldn’t keep my smirk at bay. Here I was, a peasant in the crowd watching a debutante fall face first in the mud, and I couldn’t stop the muscles in my face tensing into something like a smile.
“Fucking bitch! This is all your fault!” Wendy screamed and aimed the small weapon. She started firing wildly into the crowd I happened to be mingled in. The tiara drooped down and tangled in her hair as she cried.
Luckily this was probably her first school shooting, in her hands that little pistol was about as deadly as a spud gun and there was just far too much confusion to hit anyone in particular.
The crowd predictably woke from their frozen morbidity, erupting into a flurry of fight or flight lizard brain comprehension. They stampeded toward the nearest exit. Climbed all over each other so as not to become the lucky recipient of a nine millimeter kiss blown from a killer queen.
My first instinct, unlike that of a mere prey species, was not to fight or to flight but to hide and wait. Watch and see. I told myself I couldn’t leave without knowing what happened to Paul. He wouldn’t abandon me, and I couldn’t let my mask slip off completely without at least trying to save face. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I just ran and melted into the maddening crowd of lurching farm animals, leaving him to bleed to death?
The exits were currently expurgating a constant stream of furious humanity. The true meaning of an ancient Roman vomitorium now fully realized. Another fortuitous exit was marked out for me with a sign above the alcove that read, “The glow zone.”
I broke from the herd and darted for the exit, looking up to make sure she noticed I was distinct from the throng. She cursed in Spanish and fired a warning shot over the bow of the balcony, missing and chipping the horsehead ice sculptor. “Go Trojans!”
Wendy banged the guard rail of the balcony and disappeared into the back.
I pushed past a door with a porthole in it; it flapped shut behind me like a saloon door, screeching loud.
In the laser arcade equipment room, racks of laser tag sets hung from multi-colored racks glowing with the magic of LED. An instructional video on game safety was playing in a loop. A middle aged Hispanic man with a shaved head and set of terminator sunglasses appeared on screen, instructing me on how to safely clip on one of the vests in a succinct monotone.
Thanks but no thanks, a glowing piece of plastic on my chest wouldn’t do me much good in a gun fight.
Never bring a glowing plastic laser gun to a gunfight, Diana.
Back again with more fill- I mean excellent content haha.
Yeah you’ve seen it before but this time it’s new and improved and you can only see some of it because of copyright reasons I guess haha. Also why I call this Diana in the Dark when the actual title is probably Diana After Dark but I haven’t really decided, I go between either. But I don’t want people just copy pasting my chapters when I’m trying to sell this book if I ever sell this book and it doesn’t just go nowhere and I start giving it away for free like I did with my last book haha. That sucked but I guess people liked it. Not enough to fill my mailing list with thousands of emails but eh, better than some people I know and at least I’m not getting rich off weird werewolf/vampire fetish books because having all that money would suck haha.
So mostly been wrestling with the ending of 3 ring part two and reading this latest Parker book which seems much longer than the previous books. Because a lot has happened already and I’m not even half way through it which is great because what’s happened so far was pretty good and I like the power dynamics at play right now and how all the characters are shaping out.
There was also this great scene where this mob boss who doesn’t know who Parker is calls another mob boss who’s had dealings with him and instantly just tells him to pay nomatter what. It was really satisfying, because when you get down to it the only real power a mob boss has is fear and when you encounter someone like Parker that is incapable of feeling fear he’s unstoppable. And the reason Parker is incapable of feeling fear is he really has nothing to lose. Up until now he had nothing but a fake name, and you never actually get to know his real birth name, but he has no mother, no father, no family or friends at all he wouldn’t abandon in a heartbeat, he has no address or car. He’s a ghost, you can’t take anything from him because he has nothing, he loves nothing and he can be anywhere and nowhere because he doesn’t exist. Which is something I think Westlake is trying to weed out, introducing a love interest in Claire so he has some motivation other than money and some fear of losing her.
But when you encounter someone who has no fixed address or anyway of tracking him or hurting him you have to look at yourself and see all the ways they can find and hurt you, so even if your a mob boss someone like Parker with no real life at all other than the job is terrifying because you have so much to lose and he has literally nothing to lose but his life. Which makes a great dynamic, between real power and imagined power. The power of someone with connections and money versus the power of a boot on your neck right now. I really like that. It’s almost I wanna say ‘faustian’ but I don’t know if that fits, I guess it doesn’t, could delete that but I wont. Like an ancient fantasy, someone going up against a dragon and winning against all odds just from sheer grit and strength and perseverance.
It’s almost like a superhero story in that respect, but good haha.
Was gonna talk about sneaky pete because I’ve been watching more amazon originals that are decent while working out but I’ve spent too much time faffing about with my alt accounts on facebook haha. I’ve just been used to being banned for so long I forgot how much of a timesink facebook is. But I’m unbanned on my main now so I can do something with that now I guess.
But I have to bid you farwell as I have more proofreading to do today.
He took me back to his place in French Court, about a two minute drive from Starbucks. It was a nice little bungalow that looked like it should have a picket fence but it didn’t. It was small, red brick with white trim and a brick chimney. The small patch of lawn in the front was, of course, neatly manicured.
I suspected the bushes were tested with a spirit level. The house was pristine, it looked brand new, could’ve single handedly raised the property value of the entire neighborhood.
Paul lived directly opposite the elementary school he’d gone to as a kid.
The area wasn’t too bad, well-kept palms, and lawns. It was quality middle-of-the-road Mediterranean style housing; home to some of the best seafood in the OC.
There was a restaurant called Ambrosia he seemed very proud of. It was a beacon in the least shiny part of Orange County. The birds chirping on, resilient in their fortitude for this too, to be a slice of paradise.
Nonetheless they all had wrought iron fences guarding their lawns, except Paul’s house. Just a small white porch with roman style pillars. There was something about it sitting on the corner like that, looking like a model house.
Like a house sitting on a nuclear test site about to be blown up, full of wax fruit bowels and mannequins sitting at dinner tables. It didn’t look lived-in; it looked like it was a trap house begging for someone to step on that carefully trimmed lawn. Teeth gnawing and clicking and tensing against each other. Praying the mailman would plant a foot off the path and then something could be unleashed, some dark righteous fury bottled up just for this moment. But that never came. The birds just chirped on incessantly.
It was Sunday, so the elementary school was quiet and still, which was a welcome change, I imagined.
He parked in the lot behind the house and led the way into his cool house. “Come on in.” Paul smiled.
It was a show house all right. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been here. I didn’t spend a lot of time with Paul; despite us being girlfriend/boyfriend. We didn’t really know what that meant. We appeared places together; we were together at school but when the curtains came down, the actors went back to their trailers and rested. Nothing more.
That was really as far as our interactions went. A pantomime for an audience of slack-jawed watchers, probably begging to be us and having no idea about the truth. We just liked our own space.
He cleared his throat and threw the keys down on a Formica top kitchen counter. “Well?”
I smiled back and took in a lungful of the cool musky air in his house. It didn’t smell bad or like dust, just old leather and new plastic and rubber. “Well what?”
“What was that all about?” he asked, almost stuttering.
I sat at a small functional kitchen table and sighed. “Some weirdo just tried to grab me, it’s nothing.”
“Some guy tries to grab you and that’s nothing?” Paul almost coughed and screeched. His face became a shade redder and his tone was strangled off by some violent shifting of gears in his throat. “How are you—I mean, how is…?”
I arched an eyebrow and massaged my temples. “I’m fine.”
The house was dark even though none of the blinds were drawn, it seemed shaded somehow. It was pleasantly cool, like the underside of a rock. Probably just the position of the house relevant to the sun.
I took out my phone, completely ignoring his concerns; they seemed too banal to even want to press. Why should he care if Voldemort tried to grab me with a boney claw? What could Paul have done to prevent it? He most certainly couldn’t make me un-see the heads with a back rub or a sonnet. I wouldn’t want him to.
Did the posturing and planning make him feel better; should I entertain him just for his own peace of mind?
Wasn’t I the one who’d been through two supposedly traumatic events? Why should I be responsible for setting things right in his world?
Humans, why did I bother?
Who was that strange metal pincher man? My mind drew back to one of those toy grabbers you got at the beach arcades. I guess that made me a hapless stuffed animal.
Deer in headlights Diana.
Did he really know about me? What was there to know? A naughty search history, a little amateur hack magic…hardly seemed enough to raise the dead. Hardly the most alarming thing to happen to me all week.
I swiped on my phone back to Twitter and I pointed the screen at him. “Do you know this guy?”
Paul took the phone with a curt urgency.
What had my phone done to him?
He turned the screen back to me and pointed. “Is this the guy who grabbed you?”
“He lives around here?” I asked.
“Yeah I know this scumbag, deals dope out of a house in Central City; has these wild parties…” He trailed off.
“How do you know him?” I asked tilting my head to one side.
He tilted the screen back and looked at the picture again. “We went to the same elementary school” The look on his face was hard to decipher, sadness and anger, possibly regret, what do I know? “He dropped out.”
“He dropped out of elementary school? See a future in orange sherbet or something?”
“Or something.” Paul sighed. “He’s a pretty bad dude, heard a lot of—rumours, I guess.” He shook his head and scrunched up his eyes as he said it, as if he really wasn’t sure.
Central City was the unofficial gang hub of Orange County. A veritable hive of scum and villainy. Surely every nice little berg had one. One could get almost anything down there, drugs, unlicensed guns, prostitutes. Maybe even human lives and knock-off Levi’s.
The kind of place someone went when they hadn’t discovered they could get all that stuff on the internet without having to leave their mom’s basement.
“So?” I asked in my best pixie-dream-girl voice.
He held up the phone, then caught himself. “You wanna go there?” He gaped, ruffling that long handsome brow of his.
I nodded and kicked my feet like a kid on a swing set. Trying to hide a rising tide of dark angel trumpets calling me. A shrill laughter in the stygian depths, a shock doing a Mexican wave across the invisible microscopic fine hairs I failed to pluck. I waxed too, hairy pits in California heat? No thanks.
“Tonight?” Paul asked, his voice almost shaking, with something I couldn’t quite fathom.
Was he afraid, or was it something else?
The way he’d said it, it was almost like a challenge.
“Is he having one of the parties tonight?” As soon as I’d said it, I felt dumb again. Getting to be a bad habit today.
He made a hissing sound in his mouth and shook his head. “Every night, these people don’t have jobs to go to, or school.”
It was a school night.
Of course I knew that. I was just awash with some new profound feeling of the unknown and the fact we had school in the morning made it seem twice as delicious to try tonight.
Why would I go there? Just to see him for myself, and then what? ‘Hey Antoine, have you been leaving a trail of body parts for me to follow?’
Was it even him? I didn’t want it to be him; the Twitter activity alone had shattered a lot of the mystique around him.
If he was the one I’d be…deflated. What would he do when he saw me? Would it be ‘off with her head’ or ‘Hi, friend, you got the message, let’s play’?
Either way if I could get Paul to go along, it would be to my advantage, if only to be a distraction in case I needed to run far and fast away.
Was I really that callous? Maybe, maybe not.
“Okay?” I said, rising to this illusory challenge.
He shook his head and let out a breathy laugh. “Sure.”
Cloistered in his mother’s bedroom I got ready. Her room was perfectly preserved from the time she left, or had she died? I forget. All her makeup was neatly arranged, but her clothes were unfortunately a few sizes too big. The whole room was a mute seventies baby sick brown color that was actually quite charming with the blinds drawn. A few slivers of dying light poking through the cracks.
Undressed, standing in a black bra and panties I looked at myself in her long hanging mirror. . It wasn’t particularly glamorous, but I hadn’t been expecting to go to a potential serial killer’s house on a school night.
Pulled my hair back and made a puffy duck face. I was pretty good looking, genetically speaking. Long and lean in the right places, and round in some other places, those places being my boobs and my butt, skipping euphemisms. Wasn’t especially endowed but I had a desirable shape. I kept fit, green smoothies and all that, but mostly it was just luck and genes. Turning to my side I continued to inspect myself.
A stern knock at the door had me jumping away from the mirror.
The knock I imagined imitated his father doing some kind of room inspection. Maybe I should stand at attention in my underwear.
Through a crack in the door I could see Paul’s dull soft face was waiting with a sad lilting smile.
He shied away bashfully.
“Come on, Paul, you’ve seen me naked.” Putting my hands on my hips and doing my best tinkerbell impression.
“Not, recently,” he said with a sigh.
I shrugged it off as I took the stack of clothing he had in his hands “Well it’s just been so hectic with finals and all, you know. Soon.” But where ‘soon’ fell on the calendar was any bodies guess. He looked at the clothes I was trying to take from him. “Err, these are from…you left them the last time you were here.”
Was it really that long ago?
My boyfriend released the perfect square block of pressed clothes. He’d clearly taken a lot of time and effort to clean and iron them, or maybe it was just a routine he couldn’t shake.
I took them and laid them on the bed, leaving the door open a crack so he could see.
It was nothing too flashy, or too slutty. That’d never really been my style; I was more of a boutique-chic kinda gal. A little like my aunt, but without the mumbo jumbo, none of that Native American head dress feather hippy crap. It was either that or pressed blues for her, nothing else.
The shirt was just a low cut flowing top with some lame skull pattern in black and gold. It was kind of corny; maybe I’d been going through an emo phase I’d forgotten about. Paired with it were a pair of regular tight jeans with rhinestones along the sides and a pair of strappy shoes I didn’t recognize, but fit all the same.
I dolled my hair up the best I could, somewhere between hooker and transvestite hooker. Basically trying to get it as high off my head as possible, which was easy with the pixie cut. Just a little gel and a little elbow grease and my hair could cut glass.
A black choker with a little gem charm completed the look; badass without a clue. I looked in the mirror and sighed. My makeup was okay, but I still looked like I was doing a cameo on an eighties cop show. Too much eye shadow, was I planning to kill this guy or join his harem? So much of this seemed to be the stumbling’s of a homicidal Hannah Montana, just falling over myself to dissect or be dissected. I pretended I had a plan, told myself what I was going to do, but I really had no idea, and that was half the fun of it. Feeling my pulse rise, thinking about the variables I couldn’t control. All the use careful planning could be, dashed on the rocks of pure impetuous impulse.
Sorry eh-guy, you’re gonna have to buy the book when it comes out to get the full edited chapter haha. But you can read the unedited raw version right here.
Ok so right off the bat this is just shameful filler, not even hiding it haha.
Not to say I’m not proud of it but it’s padding because I ran out of Green Sunday chapters and I don’t have any 3 ring chapters proof read right now, just pure laziness haha. But I’m having a great time going through the chapters of Diana again (the fourth time now I think) with a fine tooth come just making sure every I is dotted and every T is crossed for when it goes out to agents which should be soon, before the end of the year at least.
I know there will be people that want the full manuscript because there were people who wanted it for TOTCB and that was a piece of shit I wrote in 30 days haha (not a piece of shit, by comparison haha) so I don’t want to fuck around this time, I want it to be the best it can be. Not perfect because then I’d never get it sent out but damn near as close as I possibly can get it.
So that’s what I’m doing today haha. And despite it being proofread multiple times and edited, still finding minor errors, doing some reading out loud, things like that. I’m getting excited for it but also really impatient.
Personal life as usual in the toilet, might be looking to get a new job maybe cut back on my writing/gaming/jerking off haha. It’s like I’m straddling the fence of destiny and I either fall off or get on that ladder, if Diana gets zero attention I’m pretty much fucked. I mean I invested a lot of hope in Cur for a back up because my ex was telling me that Diana wasn’t me. Something I disagree with, but I get what she was saying, because I was inspired by Dexter but the reason I loved Dexter was because it resonated with me, it was me. So in a lot of ways Diana is me, maybe the best of me, it’s still definitely the best thing I’ve ever written to date. I was so inspired writing it.
Cur went well but I feel like I kinda lost it towards the end, the subsequent chapters fall short of the fire in the first chapter and I think it requires a lot of work to attain the same level of greatness. A lot of time needs to be spent going over it I think. Maybe my expectations of it were a little too high.
Anyway, Parker novel I’m reading right now is kinda ok, I don’t really feel like I’ve got to the meat of it yet, they’re kinda just faffing around and I haven’t had much time to read it lately because my body is still wrecked from doing the exercise thing haha. And every time I get down to read I want to sleep instead haha.
Ok, I gotta finish this otherwise I won’t get any ‘real work’ done today.
I squeaked my chair back an inch. I felt…numb, like I was vibrating, happy, satisfied, complete. Like lighting up a cigarette and leaning against the board of a four poster bed.
What was this, what was that?
Could it have been real?
It could’ve been faked, easily. Movie magic and all, clever editing, a fake head. Something in her eyes and something, that thing, deep inside, deep in the dark well told me it was all too real. Its tinny little laugh rang like a hunchback swinging on a church bell screaming ‘sanctuary’.
My skin was damp, a refreshing tingling sensation going up and down. Working up my spine and down my legs. My heartbeat slowing, breathing going back to normal.
I’ll have what she’s having, or what he’s having.
Dazed, tension working loose on my muscles, making them slack, weak, shaking as I logged off and stumbled goggled-eyed out of the library.
My arms were like limp noodles, useless pieces of string pulled along by a runaway kite.
I almost ran through the halls, tripping over my own feet; hearing only my shoes screeching against the cool silence in the empty school.
I meant to get printouts of the newspapers, and some of the juvie records but I forgot and it was already nearing closing time. So I decided to drop off the rest of my stuff in my locker and walk home.
Tomorrow is another day, Diana.
The lock on my locker came off easy, like I hadn’t locked it. I must’ve forgotten, in my daze. Not like I kept anything valuable in there, unless futures in deflated volleyballs had sky rocketed in the last couple of hours.
I unloaded my satchel into it. Put the notepad and pens back in their rightful place.
Casting a wanton glance at the volleyball, almost like a mascot, I might as well paint a face on it and start talking to it. Something caught the corner of my eye.
There was already a face on it.
Someone had drawn a big smiley face on the deflated ball, complete with eyelashes in black marker.
Then there was a strange noise, the creak of a pirate skull’s lower jaw opening, then the feeling like a giant boulder was going to roll down the hall. As if I’d stepped right on an X someone had carefully placed just for me.
The noise was coming from Wendy’s locker, to the left of mine.
I closed my locker and locked it this time.
Wendy’s locker was ajar. The lock was sheared off, as if it’d been cut with a set of bolt cutters.
Why use those on her locker and not mine? Maybe I really had left it open, or he knew the combination.
This was getting to be too much, I was getting carried away. This was silly, all in my head.
Not everything is about me. I’m not the center of the universe.
I was going to open this locker and there was going to be absolutely nothing inside it because this had been a simple robbery.
Maybe someone saw Wendy leave a MacBook in it and just had to have it.
A simple explanation for a simple buttoned down world.
Was I going to open it?
That was what he wanted me to do.
Does that mean I should?
Should I play his game. That was what he wanted, he wanted to play.
I want to play, too. I really do.
A shiver danced up my spine, as my true intentions became known to me. The darkness inside stretched like a cat, clawing the inside of my head playfully pricking my brain.
I put one finger inside the tiny dark opening and nudged it open, then let gravity do the rest.
The door swung open slow, creaking all the way, giving me that long lost pirate ghost laugh. Behold ye, not-so buried treasure.
I wanted to gasp but all my breath was stolen.
There it was.
There he was.
“Hello, Benjamin,” I said. My voice had an echoing that vibrated through me.
Both voices coming together and smirking as a puzzle piece fell into place.
A man’s head, bisected at the neck sat atop the top shelf of Wendy’s locker.
There was no blood, the head was clean and perfect, it looked like a mannequin head.
A ghost remained of the color it once had.
The cut was clean and even, one fast perfect kiss, and it was free. It looked like it could be reconnected, or it might start reciting Shakespeare.
I wanted to touch it, wanted to keep it. The head was for me, wasn’t it?
I knew what I had to do.
I called 9-1-1.
The cops were there within the hour. The Orange county sheriffs department were notoriously laid back. Unless it was an active shooter or a terrorist bombing, a dead body—not even a full one didn’t get their juices going.
How terribly anticlimactic.
But what else could I have done?
They wouldn’t all fit in my locker.
All four of them to be exact.
It took a step back to really see the full glory of it, what was it called?
Four lockers, four heads.
The four lockers in a row, on either side of mine. It was on odd scene, all four open, with mine closed in the middle.
Evidence techs in full body suits went over it like they were searching for Barb from stranger things. Looking for trace evidence and dusting for prints, spraying for blood and shaking their heads.
Needless to say, I took the time to remove the deflated volleyball with the face on it; that was mine after all. Of course they’d search my locker eventually, so anything that could link me to this had to be disposed of.
What good would it do me to call this in and put a big red X over my name?
That was assuming there wasn’t already a big red X over my name just for finding them.
One was missing, the woman’s head; the German barmaid without a name.
Well I’m sure it’ll turn up.
“What’s this girl doing here?”
I heard a nasal voice say off to my right.
“She’s the one that called it in,” One of the techs in the mask said without looking up.
“And why is she still in an active crime scene?” He didn’t wait for an answer. His eyes landed on mine. “Come with me, Miss, you shouldn’t have to see this at your age.” The man stepped to my right. He was a tall slim black man with a shaved head and a light complexion. A sort of dull friendly expression on his face, like he’d forgotten how to frown. “Would you mind coming with me and answering a few questions? Has anyone called your parents?” He made one of those fake-concern faces news anchors made when they were pretending to care about tragedies. But the dim smile was still there, as he made deep lines appear on his brow.
“Err,” I said, eloquent and erudite as ever. “I live with my aunt.”
He led me outside like I just came off the short bus, with a light but firm grip on my upper arm. Told me his name was Detective Cantwell, and repeated he was going to ask me some questions.
“What were you doing when you found the…umm?”
“Diana! Are you all right?”
I heard my aunt’s voice.
She rushed to my side, her legs looking like they were chaffing against her little bike shorts. Dharma grabbed me in a really uncomfortable hug, like she’d just seen my face on a milk carton. She looked up at the cop, then back at me. “I heard your name over the radio, and I came as fast as I could.”
I believed her, because she was still wearing her pointy cop bike helmet and shades.
She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder to look at Cantwell. “Is she all right, can I take her home?”
The detective made a noise in his throat, like a punctured bicycle tire and sucked his bottom lip. Then he looked at me again. “Yeah, she can go.” His tensed jaw betrayed his reluctance, and he exhaled loudly again.
I’d already left my name and address with the arriving officers, so I was only a hop skip and a jump away. Slipped the net once but the pool was small enough, and they could trust my true blue aunt to wrangle me in if need be.
Before I could make any sense of the day’s activity, I was back in the front seat of my aunt’s car, like I was coming home from an especially stimulating field trip. For some reason, she wasn’t saying anything.
Dharma held the nervousness of a getaway driver as she hunkered over the wheel. She backed out of her crude parking spot, and back onto Campus Drive.
The rest of the drive wasn’t much different. I watched her keep her eyes locked straight forward; only glancing up to check the rear-view mirror once in a while. Her muscles only relaxed as we pulled out of sight of the school.
I was still feeling sort of buzzed and happy so I didn’t feel like popping that bubble, silence it was for all of the two-minute drive home.
It was darker now, the sky bleeding red and orange, one way to waste a day.
It seemed like a jump cut in a movie and I was standing in the entryway of our house, bouncing on my heels as my aunt dithered locking and dead bolting the door, top and bottom.
I wanted to collapse on a chaise lounge.
Dharma disappeared into the kitchen without a word, and I heard frantic dialing of the kitchen phone.
The receiver was missing, and she was behind the locked door of the bathroom in the laundry room.
My mental capacity was in tatters at this point and for all intents and purposes, used up.
Kicking off my shoes I stumbled into my room ready to crawl under a pile of dirty clothes like some sort of happy insect who’d been rolling dung uphill all day.
A glance at my phone, revealed lots of missed calls from Paul and Wendy. I had it on silent for the library. After narrowly missing two awkward conversations in a row, I decided to quit while I was ahead and turn my phone off. Not like I was going anywhere. I didn’t really want to know how they’d found out so fast, but word gets around easy enough here.
Body parts start turning up around someone, and people find things to talk about, and have to tell all their friends.
I went to the door of my bedroom and there was an odd jolt of electricity from the door handle, not just static.
A warning, from the deep depths. The dark sea from my dream bubbling.
I opened the door cautiously.
My hovel of a room materialized one piece of trash at a time. It looked the same, but it had a different aura, like I was playing a game with the Mad Hatter. As if everything had been picked up and swapped around and put back exactly in their places again. Only to give the illusion of things staying the same but keeping that static energy of a wicked prank.
The room hummed with potential. A cloistered violence clinging to the sheets. I could almost smell it. The pheromones of another monster stalking through, poking into the dark crevices and laughing.
It wasn’t a dream; it was real.
I’d seen the heads, almost took one home. Where would I have even put it? The pictures would have to do. My only souvenir. To come that close without even a picture would’ve been a crime.
Someone had been here.
No, I was paranoid, tumbling down the rabbit hole of my own narcissistic personality disorder.
Did that mean the heads were a fluke? A cruel coincidence?
Someone just happened to pick the day I went to the library and specifically chose to skip my locker when they were giving out heads?
I grabbed my laptop from my bed and smirked. All those articles from all those ‘real journalists’. They couldn’t dream of pictures this good, this rife with meaning.
Clean and crisp, without their tacky headlines and small minded narratives or nicknames. Out done by some amateur hack, some nobody on the internet, scooping them and mounting them as the tired beasts they were.
I set my laptop on my desk and booted it up. I found my computer chair on its side; just where I’d left it, and wheeled to the desk as the computer took its sweet time to fire up.
That feeling came rushing back, long cold and pointy fingertips working their way down my back.
The wheel had rolled—the sock was gone.
I jumped off my seat and let the chair fall. All the wheels spun.
I scanned my room, waiting for some ghost-faced killer to spring up out of the pile of clothes on my bed with a hunting knife gleaming in the wicked dim daylight.
No such thing came, just a cool quiet calm, and the incessant song of crickets outside.
I searched my room for my own peace of mind, turning over wrappers and empty bottles. Nothing was taken, there was nothing to take. My laptop was the only thing of value in the room, and evidently he found value enough in it to take a peek at it. My closet was in the corner. I rarely used it, as my bed and floor seemed to be working just fine.
I opened the door and clicked the light on, the magic clicking of the lamp dispelling all evil spirits and cleansing the dark dingy space.
On the floor was a Malibu Barbie I got when I was eight. It was naked and missing its head, but admittedly, that was probably me.
However, I remembered it being in a box with my other ‘victims’. Old toys in varying stages of dismemberment.
Silliness crept over me again; I was getting caught up in coincidences. My aunt probably moved the sock—or I did and forgot about it.
But who took the doll out, and who put its head on the top shelf to stare at me?
If you want to read the rest the of the chapter you’ll have to buy the book when it comes out sucka haha #trolled. No seriously though you can find the raw unedited copy on my inkitt if you’re that impatient and cheap haha.
Hello again, back with the exciting, enthralling, exhilarating conclusion to Green Sunday 2 haha.
Yeah right, ok well this is it, I probably won’t be doing another installment any time soon, I’ve sort of been focusing on serious stuff more lately and just sort of pawning off my silliness with 3 ring instead of sinking so much time and energy into nonsense books about zombies. The irony being that there are zombies in 3 ring haha.
Not gonna be too longwinded today because I have way too much to do really. I want to completely go over my Diana pitch stuff ready for agents and gonna get that filler in with some 3 ring proofreads and it struck me that I should probably give TOTCB another looksie actually. I was thinking about how much attention it gets on inkitt and I thought I might give it a once over with new eyes and maybe improve it a little and rehash some of the pitch stuff. Because I actually did get some interest for this when I pitched it but I jumped the gun and the editor I was using at the time wouldn’t let it go and it took too long to actually deliver a full complete manuscript.
Which is why I’m currently pulling my hair out waiting for the edits of Diana to come back and not doing what I want to do which is email every literary agent in new york and london with my pitch right now haha. Because if I did that and they liked the pitch but I didn’t have the manuscript ready I’d have fucked up.
This is why I’m currently losing my shit haha. Spiralling between depression and mania constantly. But there’s really nothing I can do about it just yet. I can’t make my editor edit faster but I can make sure what I have is perfect and ready to go the moment it’s all done. And I do think TOTCB might need another shot, because the story is solid I just fucked it up doing it in 30 days haha. It needed more time and attention and to feel less like a documentary. In a lot of ways I wanted it to be stripped down and real like a pulp noir story but I guess that’s not as appealing to something more grounded.
Anyway fannying about here isn’t helping
A fat hand grabbed for a seafoam green office phone in the back of the shoe store. TJ took the phone out of the cradle and put it to his ear.
“Is that any way to greet me? ‘What’. I’m only looking out for your best interests and that’s the tone you take with me.”
“What do you want?”
“Ok well obviously there’s too much sand in your vagina for us to have a productive discussion. I’ll call back later when there aren’t zombie furfags crawling up your ass.”
“Wwwait, ok ok, cut me some slack here.”
“Ok ok, now that’s better, you know I’m really digging how this turned out. You two put on a great show, fat samurai on ice. That was really surprising. Like some real weeb shit. The drama, I laughed, I cried, some of it I’m not gonna lie, got me a little hard. That heartfelt moment you had a little while ago, truly boner-inspiring.”
“Can we move this along?”
TJ grit his teeth and said “Nothing”.
“Ok because I thought you were being crabby again, I mean I did reunite you with the fap of your life here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh come on, anyway, let’s get back on track here. Final goal or quest or whatever, this one’s an easy one.”
“let’s hear it”
“Cool your heels hotshot, I just need you to get up into the control centre of the mall. There’s a radio up there, just turn it on and I should be able to pick your signal, so it’ll be like you’re calling me for a change.”
“And then we’ll get you out of this mess, no problem.”
Evergreen made it to the roof through the service elevator. The chopper was already prepped, ready to take off. An aid came to his side with another jacket and he swapped it out for the torn one. The aid then took the old one away and handed him a cellphone. He took in his other hand as he got on the chopper with Rigby bundling in beside him sliding the door of the chopper shut.
“Out” Evergreen said cupping the phone.
“You what?” Rigby said as he just got comfortable.
“Loose ends” Evergreen said.
Rigby unbuckled his seatbelt in an indignant way and slid the door open muttering to himself. “Bloody zombie game show, absolute shite”. He got out and slid it shut behind him.
“It seems our towel headed friend made a move”
“You got under his skin it seems.”
“Hahaha, that’s what I do, I had no idea how much until now, caught me by surprise, I didn’t think he’d play his hand so soon.” A thoughtful breath. “After this he’ll have no choice but to act, that Lysander pussy included. No more games in the shadows, no more backroom bullshit or spying. They’ll have to face me in the light on my terms.”
“I hope you’re right” Evergreen said.
The call ended and he banged on the window for the pilot to start and the helicopter ascended and Evergreen dipped into the minibar.
It was relatively quiet in the mall now. Only the intermittent sound of it’s super structure crumbling and creaking. A few fires crackling, most of everything was dead or double dead. The mercs had pulled out about the same time as Evergreen had so it was almost as still as when they arrived. But that stillness is what set TJ’s teeth on edge. He tore out of the shoe store to look around.
“Sunday?! Sunday?!” He called.
“Yeah” A little voice said to left.
There she was, just like before. Standing in front of him dressed a little like she was trying to be little red riding hood or going to a toga party commando.
“Oh” He said, sounding a little deflated “What happened to that crazy girl?”
“She had to split- I guess?” She said raising an eyebrow as if she was asking a question to herself. “I guess she split, I can’t really think of anything better than that, it’s not like I get a script, fuck. Can we go now?”
“Er yeah.” TJ stammered.
Wings flapping, the sound of snow and grass crunching under foot, brush separating. An ice cold breeze and a strange a-tonal beeping noise.
A haggard figure looked back over the their shoulder down from their incline on the town slowly burning town. Muted gun shots and explosions, winding down into irrelevance.
He looked down at the strange device in his hand beeping and kept going up the hill following the sound of the beeps.
“What is that?” A little girl’s voice asked.
“Our way out” Carpenter croaked. He stumbled up the hill, holding onto the leaking hole in his shoulder. His back was soaked in blood and getting colder and colder by the minute.
“Is that it? It’s so weird” Laura said running into a clearing on the peak of the hill. “It’s like a pod, or an alien space ship.” She squealed touching the odd egg shaped pod with a windowed front, a parachute drapped behind it.
“Must have come down in this, might be a way to get back up, something coming to pick it up.” His breathing was shallow and laboured and visible in the cold. His limbs getting heavier and heavier. He smirked and said “All this trouble for little old me” He coughed and shook and grimaced at the pain in his shoulder.
Read the rest of the final chapter of GS2 on inkitt Un chien andelou
Cur certainly needs that, I’m thinking of almost rewriting it entirely before I even hand it over to an editor because I dunno along the way I think I let it wonder off the mark a little bit. And I haven’t too clear headed these last couple of months what with the sleep experiments which are sort of working but also not because I keep fucking them up and on top of that the weighlifting messes with my sleep even more. So a lot of the time it’s like I can’t even think straight or I’m too tired to put it together and make sense of it.
In other news, thinking about the new Diana book has already begun, implying I don’t have a plan/have it half written in my head already. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile waiting for the mood to be right and for lightning to strike.
(Shit so I wrote this blog and forgot to post it so haha so like none of this makes sense, I blame too much weight lifting and creatine powder for turning my brain into mush. And I got new pictures of green haired chicks and everything fuck me right hahahahaha)
Been a pretty interesting week, got unbanned and rebanned on facebook in like the space of a day so that’s another 30 days in Zuccerberg’s gulag for me haha. And it was for such a lame reason. It was for a mildly edgy joke, I mean it was obviously a joke comment on a picture of someone I’m friends with. And it was one of a series of memes and jokes, we were all making harmless slightly edgy jokes just trying to make eachother laugh. None of it serious, no hate speech or anything, not targeting anyone or bullying anyone or threatening anyone, all in good fun, bam banned for thirty days for hate speech.
And this was a post on a fairly edgy friend of mine on facebook and I doubt he would be friends with people who would report on people for mildly offensive jokes. So that means either someone on my friends list is stalking me and has a grudge against me and is just flagging anything I say in an attempt to get me banned or it’s someone who actually works for facebook trying to get me expunged from the platform.
And it could even be both because I’m actually ‘friends’ with this really ‘progressive’ douche who actually works as a mod for facebook. This is someone I use as an ideological punching bag regularly haha. He’s a far left guy but not really smart enough to come up with his own ideas. He’s left wing because he likes letting others think for him, he likes having a script whereas I have my own ideas, I’m not just reciting an ideological framework, which is why it’s hard for me to say I’m one ideology or another because my opinions are evolving constantly. I think about all my positions before I engage in debate. So when I argue with someone like this about politics it’s boring because I already know everything they’re going to say. It’s like playing chess when you know every move the other person is going to make and it’s easy to destroy someone working from an established play book.
So I could see this guy using this tiny modicum of power he has to come at me in this most balless of ways haha. Not being able to best me physically or ideologically/mentally. This guy is soy personified, I saw an unironic post where he was proud of like doing ten pull ups on like a jungle gym, bruh. So needless to say, he has years of stored up beta orbiter rage haha.
But I went and got myself a paid Vpn and I’m using a secure email and a secure browser and I have burner numbers to use for phone verification so I’m trying to russian hack my way back on to the book of faces haha. Because every attempt at making a new sock has been thwarted and I can only assume it’s because they’re tracking my ip. Just gonna try and transition to this new account and if I can’t use my same face and name I’ll just make a sock to manage my like pages when I’m banned, maybe spam new work.
My post schedule was unusual this week because I just had to get out that spiderman review, it was burning me up inside, that game was such trash I actually returned it. Because you pay fifty quid (well I didn’t, my brother bought it, I haven’t bought a game in almost a year due to extreme brokeness, been playing free games like a peasant haha) for a game that’s essentially been gutted and stuffed with cotton wool, then they have the gawl to ask for eighty quid to get the ‘deluxe’ edition which is basically just the full game. It’s just disgusting practices lumped onto an already mediocre experience and it just keeps going on because idiots will pay it.
I finished my latest Parker book and it does not end well. I mean it was good, but damn my boi Parker cannot catch a break haha. I’m getting worried how he can survive. Because in my head he has like a money meter that’s ticking down as time goes by and he has had no winners for a couple of books now, he must be getting desperate and nervous. But that really ratchets up the tension for the next book, this next job has to go right or he’s gonna have to rob a liquor store to eat, he must be broke as all hell by now. This was the third job in the book, all the others botched and abandoned and then this one goes completely tits up in every way imaginable and it was glorious to read haha. Because the actually robbery goes down without a hitch, but the problem was with what they stole, it was paintings and everything basically went wrong when they tried to fence them. So hopefully next time Parker will choose something that’s just straight cash.
I hope the next book is just as strong as this one and he actually makes some money this time. Because these books have a great sense of catharsis, balancing between ‘crime doesn’t pay’ and ‘money money money’ haha. I just love them, I will be heartbroken when I finish them all, thankfully there are a shit ton of them and then spin offs with my favourite side character too. Also I found that collection of graphic novels I have to read. Maybe I can even get my brother into it through the comics because for some reason he refuses to read the books. He just prefers sci-fi.
Ok so that’s most of my day gone, trying to sneak back onto facebook and ranting about it haha. Got a bit of a surprise except not really lined up for tomorrow, some fresh spicey content. Not that my spidey review wasn’t fresh spicey content. So gonna get to work on that make sure it’s ready for tomorrow and bid you far thee well.
Across town the town the donut shop continued to burn. The giant donut on top creaked and moaned as it strained against it’s metal struts. It groaned and heaved against it’s restrained as the bolts loosened with the heat. The sound like a ship about to burst a bulk head. The bolts flying off with the weight of the giant metal donut bearing down upon them.
The thing lumbered forward and broke loose. Popping off almost like the button on a torn blouse and rolling down the hill.
Smoke rose from the barrel of the oversized anti-aircraft cannon. The sound of sizzling and heavy breathing.
“Who the hell is this now?” Rigby yelled from across the mall.
The panting gave way to a swallowing sound, dry lips clicking and licking as the newcomer tried to speak.
“I’m-“ panting “Juanita” panting “Horker”.
“Who?” He called out again from across the hall.
“Juanita Horker!” she spat.
The fat green haired girl looked a mess. She was sweaty. Her makeup had shifted across her face like a landslide. It made it look like she was wearing a weird mask or she was looking in a funhouse mirror.
Her tights were torn and she was bleeding from her head. Dizzy maybe from that but probably more from the fact she walked all the way here.
Her oddly cut green hair was stuck up in places and now looked more like a bad costume shop wig.
“I’m here to chew bubblegum and Kill Sunday Morgan” She paused to catch her breath and continued “And I’m all out of gum.”
“No one gets that reference, that movie is like thirty years old” Rigby called out again.
“Fuck you!” She screeched as she lifted the cannon firing vaguely at where she thought the voice was coming from. “FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKFUCKYOUFUCKFUCKFUCKYOU!
The shell hit the balcony a couple of feet away from Rigby and Evergreen. Evergreen unmoved said “Now it’s time to go.”
“Couldn’t agree more” Rigby said.
They started across the walkway to the service elevator when a voice came from behind them.
“Where do you think you’re going?” They turned to see Sunday standing behind them. This one was wearing a long t-shirt that had a picture of a smiling banana split on it. Her bat slung over her shoulder.
“Leaving so soon?” Another one said climbing over the balcony wearing a torn up furry head.
“Oh jesus” Rigby said. “Where are they all coming from?” He said looking over the balcony. He saw a human pyramid of Sundays in various stages of dress climbing up to the balcony. “Shit” He said taking out his pistol and shooting the one that came over the balcony in it’s furry head. It crumpled to the floor only to be climbed over by two more.
“Bet you regret making me a freak now huh?” The one with the bat said. As she sauntered over to Evergreen.
Evergreen smiled baring a sharp canine and started to roll up the sleeve of his right hand and said “Not at all”.
“Fughk you!!!” Juanita screamed as she fired wantonly at everything and nothing. Her heaving bosom and gut lurching up and down as she flailed the huge gun incinerating furries and Sunday clones alike. Cutting huge swaths through the crowds. Holding the gun between her thighs and humping it everytime she fired. Sweat beading on her forehead.
She huffed and puffed and paused for a moment to comment “I’m pretty good at this” Quaking.
“I’m literally shaking.” She took hold of the gun tightly, “All I needed was a big hard, gun” She panted.
The donut was still rolling. It picked up some pace coming down the hill. Parting cars and crushing parking meters as it rolled on it’s path of destruction, down the mountain. People watched through their curtains as it rolled past and made a sound like thunder or someone moving a heavy dumpster down a cobbled street.
Rigby was covered in naked Sundays. One had him in an headlock with her legs wrapped around his waist giving him a noogie. Two more grabbed his legs and were biting him through his pants.
He angled his gun up and shot the one that had him in a headlock in the head and it fell off. He kicked away from the others annoyed. The large man wading through the slight under dressed girls.
“Sir, I think we should start getting on don’t you” He said dryly.
“The chopper will wait”. He said not taking his eyes off the Sunday in front of me. “Come at me Sunday-girl, if that is the real you.”
The Sunday with the bat scoffed “You think I give a shit?” She said as sauntered over to him swaying her hips and letting the bat fall by her side, dragging it along the floor.
“You think you’re the real you?” He said smiling with those dead button like shark eyes in that flat featureless face. “The girl that was Sunday is probably in a vat of semiotic fluid somewhere in our vault. Or chopped up for parts.” He paused and smiled and waited for a reaction. He watched as her brow scrunched up and the bat scraped the parquet floor. “You’re a by product, a mistake, a copy of a copy. The real Sunday probably never existed, your ‘persona’ if you’d like, is a concoction of a marketing team.” Her face got red, he smiled wider. “You’re an amalgamation of keywords and hashtags. #Greenhair #hairypits #feminism #girlpower #strongfemalecharacter #gamergirl #nerdgirl #femaleempowerment. All just designed to get more clicks. To stir up constroversy” Her face was hot now and he knew he was getting to her. “You’re human clickbait.” He said with a gleeful clicking with his tongue.
“Fuck you!” She cried out with a wobble in her voice like she’d been stood up for the prom and brought the bat up fast and down hard with a dull thudding crack noise.
Check out the rest of this chapter and my other stuff on inkitt Marilyn Monroe