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Wrting for a change

Perfect Porridge

Yo, just want to first tell the people who will reverse image search the header to go die in a fire ha-ha. (You’re doing it now aren’t you?)
Ok this is just a little update/buffer before I post a new chapter of GS, I dunno I just hate the look of two chapters together in my blog postings. It just looks lame.
So just gonna give a quick update on my writing. My brother recently came home for a visit, and brought with him an idea I thought I’d written down but seemingly did not.
He had mentioned this great documentary to me maybe a year ago but I never got around to watching but for some reason he felt the need to recant the story at the perfect timing of Green Sunday coming to a close.
Hearing it again just clicked perfectly with the timing. For at least a week I’ve been agonizing on what to do next, rifling through the cavernous files of all my ideas and loose story synopsises. Feeling a little like Goldie locks; ‘This is too short’ ‘Too long’ ‘Too weird’ ‘too stupid’ ‘makes no sense’ ‘oh that’s just an empty word file with a cool title’.
At that point I’d resigned myself to the idea of doing a few short stories or novelette just to pad out of my repertoire while I shill for GS and build on whatever I had planned for nanowrimo which was probably that Dexter fanfic I had rattling around in my tormented little head bowl. And I’m still probably going to do that just to pump up my views on inkitt page and what not, just to keep my head above water, maybe enter them in a few writing contests. I’m just dying to do something completely different and not have to be locked into this possibly yearlong commitment like with GS.
I really enjoyed writing that but towards the end I started to think if it really had an audience, and I sort of came up with all my best ideas for social commentary while writing it but it was too late to put them in so just pushed them off onto a sequel, that might never happen.

Anyway so I watched this documentary and instantly had before me at least 13 pages of raw notes and ideas of how to further the story and really make it my own. For anyone that hasn’t searched the image like the little Miss Marple’s you are, it’s a true story about a boy that goes missing but is then discovered in a foreign country years later.

The bones of the story are all lined up for a perfect faux murder mystery psychological thriller conspiracy story akin to the changeling. I just need to add the meat, my own characters, sub plot, the life and soul of the story. I’m going to breathe life into it and make it my own the only way I know how. Maybe add a little true detective/twin peaks “magic” ha-ha.
It’s something I’ve longed to write since I started, something dark and gritty and also melancholy and suspenseful with a truly captivating plot full of twists and turns and danger and intrigue of which I will add.
A gripping thrill ride that will have people’s head scratching weeks after and give them pause in their beds before they lay their heads down to sleep.

It’s still in the planning phases as yet, I only have 16 pages of rough synopsis, I’m going to go over it and see if I can double it, adding my own sub-plots and characters as the weeks progress. Alternating between writing the novellas I already have synopsisized (That’s a word) blogging and plotting this potentially award winning airport novel ha-ha.
Honestly I think GS taught me to not be so self-indulgent, I ned to focus on stories that will really make my mark, that will give me a voice and put my name on the map before I can re-visit ridiculousness of that calibre. It’s why I chose to side line the Dexter fanfic, it’s too self-indulgent, I can’t just finish a series I love and just think I can jump into writing the next wave of those books just yet. And even if I did, what am I going to do just ask Jeff Lindsay to endorse it, hope he’ll see that mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery and not sue me ha-ha. It’s something I’d love to do but I think I need to put it off til I get some leverage in the industry as opposed to the zero I have now ha-ha.

Ok so that’s what I’m doing, I don’t really have a title for this next project of which I will be doing for nanowrimo. The working titles I have right now are; “(The)Wanted Son/(The)Wanted boy/boy in the backyard/the boy that came back”.
I didn’t fuck around this time, I googled all those titles to make sure I would be the top search result if it was paired with the word ‘book’. My first title was ‘The stranger’, fucking retard I am. I’m not fucking around this time, I want this to be an original book title, that’s interesting and thought provoking and mysterious without being derivative.

All things aside my life pretty much fell apart a week or two ago, but to be fair I didn’t have much use for one any way, and it was definitely getting in the way of my writing. That’s all I can say on the matter really, I could sit and mope or I could ride the crest of this new wave of energy I feel from these new projects. Onward and upward and all that inspiring shit people say and don’t really believe ha-ha kill me :’).
No seriously, all good, I just need time and maybe prescription medication.
Oh shit, this would have been the perfect opportunity to write something about the Orlando shooting, fuck I’m self-centred, ah never mind, maybe next time.

Peace be upon you…. ALLAH AKBAR!!!!!!!!

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Green Sunday Chapter 15 ‘Strange Eyes’ (Raw)

Finally back in black on facebook, spent all morning trolling people about Trump and getting in various pointless internet arguments to spark the old brain furnace going. I know it’s pointless but it sort of just gets me going, it stokes the coals, gives me a rush, really gets me in the mood to tear some shit up in a literary sense. If it doesn’t consume my whole fucking day. I always like to think that the mind is like a razor and you need to take it out and cut now and then so you can remember how to use it and keep it nice and sharp. Or if you like some ancient samurai quote about swords getting rusty or covered in blood and sticking I can’t be bothered to google ha. Even better highlander two; “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if you don’t take it out and use it, it’s going to rust”. Which now I’m recalling it probably also is about swords since it’s highlander but for some reason has always sounded like it was about dicks. Guess that says more about me than the film. GOTZ D DIKS ON D BRIANZ OOOOOHHH!!!1111

My audience (all three of you, and that’s being generous) will be happy to know as of some time in the middle of the day yesterday or was it the day before? I completed Green Sunday, my steaming pile of something close to zombie satire. Kaloo kalay, I hear you say.
Yeah well still in editing hell despite being completed, here’s the following chapter, I’m gonna keep editing it on the same schedule, no reason to rush that stuff just because it’s completed. Instead I’m gonna keep editing it gradually and move onto writing something else in the mean time to keep me sharp and sane. I’ll decide later today if I want to plan for nanowrimo or just do a short to bump up traffic on my inkitt page and show people I can write more than zombexploitation. Maybe something dramatic, a period piece. I am fucking with you. It’ll be in the same vein, maybe something a little more serious, a little more pulpy or surreal. Gonna start hashing it out after I finish writing this crap.
Ok well long story short, this is the first portion of the next chapter where some crazy shit happens, some resident evil maybe some weeb action who knows?

As usual you can check out the full chapter on inkitt until I find something better. I think inkitt is ok but I might change it to goodreads if I go the self publisher route just because the review system on inkitt lends itself to nepotism. But who am I to complain with my five star rating haha?

GS Chapter 15 ‘Strange Eyes’

~

The brief silence ripped apart like a laminated piece of paper. A red beetle door with garish orange flames spray painted on it flew across the garage. Spinning like a coin flipped by a king kong size index finger and thumb. It hit the wall of the shop pancaking the fat bike. Embedding itself in the concrete and sheet metal load bearing wall.

The fat biker was eviscerated by the force of the door and his body hitting the wall. He looked like he’d fallen from space. His body was only recognizable by garish near human shaped body parts. Hands, feet, an eyeball, a tongue. A limb with bone shrapnel perforating the skin from as many places as seemed humanly possibly. His bodies wet carcass popped like a waterballoon full of dark red jello. Sticking in some places, plastered to the wall. Heavier matter slopping on the floor making a cringe inducing wet slapping noise.

He looked inside out. Grown men who watched people beat eachother to death and fed people to half dead freaks threw up raw hotdogs on the concrete floor.

Mojang shook as he clutched the grenade launcher in his large hands.

The bikers watched without sound as a puckish boy hopped off the rim of the pod. His body size and shape gave him away to be an age range that could have been anywhere between sixteen and twenty. He had a slim strong frame, coming to a short height of only around five foot four.

He scanned around the room. His face wasn’t visible for a carbon fibre helmet covering most of his head. Making him looking something between a paladin from WOW and a power ranger. His body was covered in a skin tight compression suit covered in individual plates of a space age metal. The plates moved and breathed with his body like the scales of a dragon.

A slit in his visor gave way to a penetrating stare and a strange set of blue green eyes. One eye was blue, the other was green.

The boy looked around the room like the terminator, but his eyes had a feint smile to them. As if he was in on the joke. His gaze nevertheless was cold and unfeeling with no unessecary movments. When he’d finished he flashed a cocky grin with his eyes and turned around. He hopped back onto the pod like Peter Pan, dislodging a strange chrome rod. The rod flaired out in the middle in both directions. Leading to two conical points on either end, measuring almost the length of the boys entire body.

Clutching it in the middle by what was now evidently a handle. He crossed his chessed with the strange chrome double ended lance and let out a cocky breathy laugh.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? This clown need to make you balloon animals? GREASE THIS MOTHERFUCKER!” Mojang stuttered wrestling with the volume of his voice as his whole frame shook from the base.

A symphony of gunfire erupted. Small arms fire popping and snapping in the small metal box building. Small machine gun fire, revolvers, pistols. A staccato ww2 bolt action rifles cracking like thunder intermittently. Between satisfying metallic clicking noises of bolts moving into place. The assault rifles slicing in whip like bursts of ecstatic crescendos. Bassy shotgun blasts punctuating the end of a phrase.

“I’m out”

“Me too”

The lancer punctured the cloud of dust and debree. And with one dismissive gesture it was dispersed. Revealing the lancer in his silvery scale armor. He looked untouched.

“What the fuck?”

“We missed?”

“I’ll stick this motherfucker!” An older man with long silvery hair and a black leather jacket covered in patches chimed in. He held a mosin nagant ww2 bolt action rifle. He’d so proudly procured it from a dead ww2 vets house. He could almost see nazi helmets popping off with each satisfying pull of the antique trigger. The fool charged the lancer, bayonet flashing in the air with martial furry.

The man came in at angle to the side of the Lancer, who didn’t even turn his head to the charging man. Despite his loud cries and determination to skewer the young knight.

The man lunged forward with the bayonet like a pike and stabbed at the lancer who didn’t move an inch. The instant the blade made contact with one of the many small plates coating the lancers body. A small sharp explosion like a party popper broke the supple body of the wooden gun stock. The gun shattered lit it had been struck by lighting and sent the bayonet bounding back. Firing like a piece of shrapnel up under his jaw and coming out the top of his head. Blood erupting out of the top of his head and mouth like a science fair volcano before he ragdolled to the ground.

The Lancer struck a pose and cast a cheeky grin with his strange eyes “I guess that means it’s my turn.” A tinny voice said over the rising dust and smoke.

~

Thanks again for checking it out (wait, did I even thank you a first time?) don’t forget to go to my inkitt page if you liked what you read and want to read more of that stuff.

GS Chapter 15 ‘Strange Eyes’

Cheers!

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Chapter 4 Every day is like Sunday

Ok finally got the latest chapter properly edited at great expense to me I may add haha. As always do yo extreme paranoia and neatfreakedness this is but a snippet of the whole chapter which is enormously long. I’m almost finished the book at large, and I may go back and break up some of the chapters so that people feel smarter when they read it “Look ma I read a whole chapter, aint I just Albert Hemmingway junior?”. But no seriously, it’s almost done in it’s delicious raw form ready for editing. It’s shaping up to be around 80k give or take a few thousand words.
Anyway I hope these changes tickle your fancy and if you want to read everything out so far you can find them on inkitt in a lovely mobile format for all your doodads by following this link;

‘Every day is like Sunday’
~

On the edge of town, a sign read ‘Sage Valley – Population 979’. Halogen lights burned cold with a tinny buzzing sound that was both soothing and nauseating.  Early morning was shaking its head and wondering what had happened. It was dark, the air was thick and electrifying. A gas station sign flickered on and off; it was empty, a dead time. The cold concrete forecourt stood bare and desolate and dirty and drab. Cricket sounds etcetera etcetera.

The stale, sterile light inside the gas station lit everything with an off-colour, sickly blue tint. It was just a small town gas station, like the kind you’d see in any crappy slasher movie: a one storey affair with a minimart inside, stocked with essential corn and meat-based snacks and energy drinks, the kind that turned your piss green and soupy.

“Daryl! You better not be sleeping again. Anyone else steals any gas I’m gonna take it out of your ass!” A booming, cigar-scarred voice came from somewhere in the back, through the thin corkboard walls of the gas station. A young man, with his feet up on the counter, slid the magazine covering his pock-marked face off one eye and opened it. He fixed his chair to the upright position, surreptitiously letting the magazine fall into his half-cupped hands. He gave an ever so effortless yawn.

“Shut up, you old fuck! I’m still living! Nobody out here!” he said, in a semi-raised voice, which he then lowered to address himself. “Gotta be four in the morning. No one needs gas in this goddamn town no more. Everyone driving those piece of shit roller-skate cars they got.”

Daryl rearranged himself in his seat and got as comfortable as he could get with his eyes open, reclining only slightly before pausing to look around and take a whiff of the cool night air cut with the smell of disinfectant. On top of the latent smells of puke and piss, there was a definitive lingering scent of cheap booze: burn your gut worse than drinking straight from the gas pump, but it was cheaper to drink from the bottle.

He resigned himself to the fact that nothing was going on. The roads were dead and dark and he rationalised a resting of the eyes, letting his heavy lids close and his vision become hazy as he blinked at the transparent glass doors of the minimart. Just as he hit the point of no return with his dozing, the doors parted soundlessly and then closed again, giving him pause as to whether he saw anything at all.

His eyes opened and rolled to attention as if he were waking from a coma. He could have sworn he saw someone come in. He strained to hear: padding, damp noises. A stray wandering off the street drawn by the smell of stale complex carbohydrates?

He straightened in his seat and stepped back into his body. He looked around. “Err, can I help you?”

A rustling sound, cans rattling; instant foreboding crossed the brow beneath his trucker cap. A cold damp grease formed where he had rested the magazine while he was sleeping. Sweat rolled off his forehead now as he felt the urgency of being alone. “Hello?”

Sounds of gumming and biting, ripping, crinkling: a dog for sure. He curled around the counter, picking up a tire-thumping bat from under his seat. He walked briskly to the front of the counter. Reaching the door, all his nervous energy left him with a cough. And he became lifeless and limp, trying to hold the bat firmly in a clammy palm. It dangled by his side like a twig.

“Who’s there?” Daryl called out, like all those clichés in the movies. And he cursed himself for falling into that trap. But a new, sudden fear of the unknown twisted in his guts now and he felt compelled to ask.

The scuttling sound of bare feet on linoleum sent a cold shiver up his spine and a dry gob of spittle down his throat. The noise moved deeper towards the back of the store. He felt his feet dragging him listlessly in the direction of the sound, the bat swinging at his shins.

“Hello?” he called out again, groping at the wet walls of his sanity, trying to come up with any number of reasonable conclusions to this event. A dog? A cat? A racoon? A crazy homeless guy? A drunk chick? Some hungry pothead or all of the above?

He turned down the snack isle, which was oddly paired with feminine hygiene products. He rested his shaking hand on the side of the metal shelves. He forced himself to look around them to where the noise emanated. His body felt numb. Pulses of adrenaline coursed through his brain and sent shocks all the way down to his fingertips.

Hunched over a small mound of assorted snacks and raw or semi-raw meat products, was what appeared to be a child. He saw its naked back. The skin looked cold and drawn and wet, like a fish or a lizard. It was so pale it looked blue. The child hunched over the food, making soft sopping gnashing sounds.

~

For the rest of the chapter mosey on down to inkitt sil vous plait;

‘Every day is like Sunday’

 

 

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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!

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Green Sunday Chapter 13 ‘Sunday Mourning’ (Raw)

Latest chapter of Green Sunday go figure. I’ve been all over the place recently got back on facebook and I’m just enjoying rustling as many jimmies as I can, trying to get back into a rhythm with my blogging and writing so I can get this done before nanowrimo.

As usual you can find the full chapter following this inkitt link.

http://www.inkitt.com/stories/25507/chapters/13

~
A drone camera buzzes over the scene behind TJ’s house, out of sight, too high up to be heard. It’s ambivalent gaze documenting everything. It’s lens flitting about like that of an insects eye. The monitor feed from Evergreen’s deployment truck glared as he grinned back. The feed reflected in his goggles.

“She got too close to the perimeter of the game zone. Looks like she was taken out by beta team” The nerd at the console said as he looked over the footage again. “Very clean, she won’t have felt a thing.” Murray straightened his glasses on his face with a morbid sense of appreciation. “They really are the best sir”.

“Uh huh” Evergreen’s grin shrunk a few sizes listening to the tech gush “It’s time”.

“Yes sir, beginning stage three” The tech said as he turned back to his console.

~

Helicopter blades cutting through a virulent wind. Casting rain in wide dispersal patterns as the heavy behemoths rocked back and forth.

Military transport helicopters for carrying battlements or vehicles to the field. Four in all, carrying heavy metal containers. They looked like smooth industrial shipping containers. But both the containers and the choppers were completely unmarked.

“Roger that, we’re estimated four hours out of the drop zone. Good morning, if this rain lets up, it’s gonna be a beautiful day” The chopper pilot in front said over his radio.

~

“You kept me waiting.” Carpenter whispered as he twisted barbed point of the arrow under Dave’s chin. Dave grimaced dropping his torch and Kukri.

“Killing me will do you no good, I’m not a part of the game, I’m just his assistant!”

Carpenter took Dave by his shoulders and threw him down on the dirty linoleum floor. He offered little resistance and fell at the side of the dead woman drinking the milkshake. His fall caused her to shift in her seat. Sliding down the bench to rest her face right next to Dave as he attempted to dust himself off. He turned his head in the dark. Just with the dim light of his torch on the floor he could see he was in kissing range of the gaping exit wound in her face. Her hair brushed aside by her sliding down the bench.

“Oh shit!”

“‘Oh shit’ indeed” Carpenter chuckled as he picked up both Dave’s torch and his Kukri knife.

“What do you want?”

Carpenter put the torch under his chin and smiled like a ghoul in an old monster movie “A way out”.

“Why would I know the way?”

“Do you like scary movies?” Carpenter said smiling the torch still under his chin. He poked each yellow tooth with his tongue in turn. “You don’t think there was someone like you and your butt buddy up there the last time?” Carpenter let out a bitter little breathy laugh. He shook the beam of the torch around feigning hysterics. “It’s a sick world we live”.

He marched up on Dave and stomped on the leg closest to him, Dave let out an anguished cry like an injured animal.

Carpenter crouched down next to Dave shining the torch in his face. Dave cowered under the beam guarding his eyes with his hand. Carpenter saw it immediately and snickered to himself. Thinking of something poetic to say at this karmic justice he’d send on its way. “Feeling all right? Fever? Dry mouth? Itching under the skin? E-rectile dysfunction?”.

Dave looked up at him and swallowed a dry gob of spit “There’s a helicopter. North side of town, by the abandoned railyard, but it’s guarded, you’ll never make it alone”.

Carpenter gave him that wide devil grin and stood up turning around to walk away. Tossing the torch and the kukri carelessly on the ground as he left Dave scrabbling in the dark.

“I’m not alone, not anymore.”

~

TJ couldn’t move, his body rooted to the ground by chains of empty regret. His limbs all feeling hollow and heavy at the same time.

“TJ, it’s Sunday, I know we just met, but you have to trust me. I used you, I’m not a good person. But I can make it up to you, if you live” Sunday whispered in TJ’s ear as lay on the cold damp grass of his backyard. A light drizzle approaching accompanied by muffled threats of dull aching thunder.

TJ remained perfectly still. Sunday swallowed and turning him over with much effort he flopped onto his back. His eyes were open, vacant and grey. His mouth hung open a fraction and fluttered. As if he was trying to say something but didn’t have enough energy to move his whole mouth.

“TJ, can you hear me? We need to move” TJ didn’t react, his eyes fixed open in something similar to a silent scream. “You’re gonna come with me, ok?” She spoke to him crouched over him. Walking around the back of the snorlax-like individual. She hooked her dainty little hands under his sweaty pits. Lifting him with some noticeable effort. “Urf fuck you’re heavy”

She turned him around and dragged him in the direction of his house “Ergh! This would be a lot easier if you just hrrff hrrff stood up and you know, walked”

She got him back into the kitchen which felt a lot colder now. Closing the door she looked out the window out at the back of his house. Her body lying there looked almost beautiful. She took a moment and breathed in and out feeling her icy breath swirling around in her chest. “It could have been worse” she sighed as the rain rolled in.

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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

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Green Sunday Chapter 11 ‘Eggs, Hash and Grits’ (Raw)

Fresh from the first proof read, it’s pretty interesting chapter a lot of stuff is churned up, lots of weird shit happens. Check out the full chapter on my inkitt page for free.

Green Sunday Chapter 11
~

The smell of sweat and blood and tears, the sound bare of feet on a concrete floor. Soft flesh and bone colliding. A loud chorus of people shouting and smoking and drinking. The smell of motor oil and leather hanging in the stale air. A group of people were huddled around two half naked men knocking the shit out of each other.

“Where the fuck is Bernie?” Mojang hissed as he reclined on a large broken office chair with a large back. The wheels and stand of which were broken off and he just sat on it as it sat on the floor like a low throne. A sexy biker chick in her underwear straddled him as he slouched back into the chair.

She leant over him with a needle and a trail of dental floss. She delicately sewed up what was left of his eye “Keep still baby”. She said as she pressed her slinky tattooed flesh against his.

Mojang had set himself up in a garage on the far side of town as his base. The smell of motor oil and the tools and spare parts clanging put his mind at ease.

He’d holed up in the dilapidated office and the rest of his crew were getting lit on the garage floor. They took out a couple of scrappy survivors they picked up on their day raiding and set up a little fight club.

There was a ring of drunken bikers on the concrete floor of the shop. They surrounded a skinny office clerk. As he pounded the cartilage of a fat barista against the concrete floor. Until a satisfying greasy wet snapping sound cut a swathe through the loud drunken crowd. The clerk pounded his sweaty mitts into the stubbly fat face of the barista against the grey concrete. Hot wet slapping sounds of meat and bone colliding on the cold wet floor. Rivulets of muddy crimson blood that would make Jackson Polluck cry manly tears. Until he stopped shaking and a viscous red bile started pouring from his nose and mouth.

“We got a winner!” A hairy biker in a leather waistcoat picked up the dazed skinny office clerk up by his skinny slick wrist. Propping him up with his other hand under his armpit wrapping around his chest. The office clerk; almost conscious, panted out a relieved smile just to be alive and to be called a winner. Feeling like he was on top of an anthill as his eyes rolled back in his skull.

Bernie watched from a darkened corner as they took the ‘winner’. They threw his almost lifeless skinny body in the net of half dead twitching corpses. Laughing as they did it.

Bernie perched in the corner next to an old payphone bolted to the wall. He rested the receiver against his ear speaking soft. “I hear you, tomorrow, can’t wait.” He tried to hold a smile back tightening his face as he looked about the dim garage. Lit only by unwieldy camp fires and generator operated standing lights. Hanging up the phone with a tight satisfying clicking sound.

As the crowd got a little quieter, coming down off that wave of excitement. Bernie could hear his name being hoarsely shouted “Bernie! Get your fat jew ass in here!”

Bernie unfolded his arms and sighed with an icey aggression. His eyes dipping out of frustration peeling himself off the cold concrete wall of the garage.

He popped the door of the office open. It was one of those thin plastic doors you afraid to yank right off. He stuck his head around the door like a temp. “You call me?”

“Take a seat.” Mojang said through the girl still straddling him sewing up his eye. He didn’t move from his seated position.

“There isn’t another chair in here”

“Then stand” Mojang said as he moved the half naked girl of his crotch. “Two minutes”.

The girl trounced out of the small office. She dragged a feminine two day old musk behind her as she shut the door with a definitive bang.

“Was there something?”  Bernie said as he turned around looking at the closed door, his eyes careless.

“How does it look?” Mojang speaking to a bike rear view mirror he held up in front of his face. He tilted it down revealing his sewn up eye. It was swollen and bloody, it looked like there was a red baseball stuck in his skull.

“Like shit”

“You talk to him? The man? He called you?” Mojang reclined in the seat and tilted his head to one side.

“Yeah I talked to him”

“You didn’t call me”

“You were busy”

“Uh huh, well what does he want? Do they have the scores?” Mojang seethed, his eyes scanning every inch of Bernie as he sat in his relaxed position.

“Err, yeah but that’s not why he called. Said there’s gonna be a drop. Not even a block away, good shit” Bernie said grinning and rubbing his stubbly face.

“’Good shit’ huh? Ok. We’ll take it, tomorrow. This whole town is gonna burn. That fatboy and his bitch included”.

“I heard about that, some kid did that to your face”

“You heard about it huh? From who? The man?”

“Around” Bernie snorted as he pulled out a candy bar from his pocket and began noisily opening it. “Some pudgy twelve year old fucks you up, people talk about.” He smiled as he took a bite out of the candy bar. Strings of caramel and nougat dangling on his bottom lip as he chewed and snorted.

“Uh huh, yeah it’s pretty fucking funny.” Mojang hopped out of his seat from his almost comatose angle. He stood a good foot over Bernie as he munched the candy bar obnoxiously.

“You gotta see the funny side, you lose an eye, you still got another one. We’ll get him tomorrow, his bitch too, you’ll see, you want a bite?” Bernie snuffled with the candy bar in his mouth. He smiled breaking off a piece and offered it to Mojang as he closed in on him.

“Yeah we will” Mojang said. A vicious smile stitched on his face as he clutched Bernie by his jaw. Forcing him against the chip board walls of the small office with a dull thud. Snatching the candy bar out of Bernie’s hand he forced it into his gaping face. Wiping it all over with a forceful hand. His neck snapping back painfully spitting out the wrapper. He groaned as Mojang delivered a powerful uppercut under his ribs. He slid down the wall stunned by the sudden controlled burst of aggression. “Now get the fuck out of here”.

~

If you liked the excerpt head on over to my inkitt page to read the rest and the preceding chapters in order.

Green Sunday Chapter 11

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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.

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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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