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GS2 Chapter 17 ‘Heavy Hitter’

Well here we are again,

Not much has transpired between now and since my last blog, oh I got banned on facebook again for having wrong opinions but that happens so often it doesn’t even bare mentioning anymore. Also I watched thor ragnarok, stupid jokes aside, I rather liked it so don’t feel the need to write a cathartic review about it. I really don’t enjoy gushing over something I like unless it really highlights something pivotal I think the human experience or something artsy fartsy like that.

I only really want to write negative reviews because it feels like I’m exorcising those bad films out of my system by dissecting them. I’m trying to understand what made them so bad and how I can avoid those pitfalls in my own work. And although I could do the opposite with good movies, it’s less fun and funny and I’d prefer to keep the good stuff secret. So you the audience at home will never know why I liked Thor Ragnarok, I know right, it’s a crying shame, everyone is just clambering to know my opinion of a movie that’s already yesterdays news haha.

Besides that I finished to some degree a basic outline for what are set to be five books so far in the Cur series, could be six, it’s still very rough. Also been playing Gwent again, that cursed addiction and I’m thinking of stopping reading blood and elves or just skipping it. It’s probably the most tedious book I’ve ever read.

I was memeing before when I said I was halfway through and the only thing that’s happened is Ciri got her period. Now I actually am at the 150th page and literally all that’s happened is Dandelion got kidnapped for a bit and saved by Yennefer, then Triss goes to Kaer Morhen has some weird visions then they go to take Ciri to a monastery type thing but Triss gets a tummy ache on the way. 

That is literally what has happened in a 150 pages of the second witcher book. He hasn’t met a monster, Geralt, actually no one has drawn a sword in the entire book. I’m not even counting the kidnapping as a fight. And I think what’s more is the writer who’s name I wont even attempt to spell knew this book was boring that’s why he put Ciri escaping Cintra at the start and the Dandelion kidnapping in. So people wouldn’t think that a sequel to a book about a monster slayer was actually a book about a babysitter or a nurse maid, because that’s all Geralt has done so far. 

But what’s worse is those parts at the beginning aren’t even good, the cintra bit was generic fluff I basically skimmed and the Dandelion bit seems kind of superfluous now that I’m halfway through the book and it hasn’t come back at all. 
I really genuinely just feel no drive at all to read this book and I just force myself for ten minutes at a time to read it, which is why it’s taking so damn long to finish, this is without a doubt the longest it’s taken me to read a book ever.

I’m not someone that reads books especially fast, I like to take my time, I sometime reread parts just to fully experience them but I’m pretty consistently devouring books and I get through a far few. And what with putting them on my phone it’s become even easier just to use every free moment to do so, but I don’t find myself wanting to with this crap. I’m just forcing myself to read this filler.

Nevertheless, I’ll continue to slog it out in the hope the next book can redeem it.

I have rambled enough, time to do some actual work, been dying to do the scene structuring for the first Cur book and fingers crossed I might even start writer the fucker some time this year haha.

See you…

_

Zomnision watched the police station station burn. The fires reflecting in his now glassy expressionless eyes. His face was blown out and distended and looked something a kin to a Spanish omelette.

But he was pleased with himself, he wasn’t a fake anymore, he was a real psychic, a god, a zombie god. Accustomed to such, he’d given up walking. Opting instead to lounge his aching exposed joints to a throne of soft furries. Their bodies interlocked by his will. The base of which took their weight. They crawled along at the speed of a caterpillar in the midst of the thousand strong throng of his cult like followers. A sea of colourful characters wreaking havoc across the small town. Striking in unison as if they were a sword in his own hand, organised and merciless and kind of cute.

“Soon” He whispered “First this town, and then the world shall know my power is real”.

A strange disruption, a silver flash, furries flying in the air like an explosion in a build a bear store. Fluff raining down as this slim flash of sliver cut a path straight forward.

“What is that?” Zomnision said.

The Lancer was fast and precise, moving like a sliver of silver caught in an updraft. A living scalpel to cut out the cancer.

“You dare strike at me?”

The furries moved in a wave, surrounding the Lancer. Thousands of them piling all over him, moving as if connected, forming shapes even. Moving like the waves of an ocean battering against the Lancer. Pulling him down.

Zomnision’s face flaps jiggled as he laughed a cheesy comic book villain laugh.

The light forming in the cracks of the furry horde launched them upwards. A splash of them flying through the air like water particles. Fluff and blood and gore levitating for brief flashes. Silver sparks flashing inbetween brief pops of activity. The Lancer climbed the furries. He hopping them as they floated like stepping stones in some vertical zen garden. Cutting a swath closer and closer, an unstoppable immovable object colliding with mortality. A train with no tracks to rend bones to dust.

Zomnision was overwhelmed. His powers burgeoning on godhood but caught with his trousers down. His full potential a glimmer in his eye. The throne he was sitting on started to subsume him. The furries lifted and covered him. Interlocking like some horrible mix between power rangers and barnie the dinosaur. Forming on him like living armour fluffy armor. But it was too late, the Lancer had no time. No monologue would hold him back to witness some final transformation. This was a hurdle, a hiccup to correct before moving on.

He straddled the furry well, bubbling with activity like a rainbow anthill. He reached his metallic long claw deep into the pile. A crunching snapping noise like he was pulling a tooth and it came out spiked on his three pronged claw.

The head of the fake psychic.

The Lancer looked at it and smiled with his eyes. The pile of furry started to crumble and disperse. He walked down it as it collapsed like a poorly made sandcastle. He took the misshapen mushy excuse for a head. Placing it in some kind of sack made of an metallic alloy and affixed to his hip and continued on.

The furries seemed disinterested in the tall silver man. Their demeanors hadn’t changed. No magical spell was caste slaying the head vampire so easily, the effects were the same. They were still dead, sort of, and they were still furries. But now they were regular zombies, hungry and directionless. That was until an ear cracking explosion caught their attention over the horizon.

Suddenly filled with purpose. The now stringless zombie furries shambled in the general direction of the noise.

The Lancer watched them go and let out a robotic tinny laugh.

–

The donut shop was shredded by a large explosion. The giant metal donut on top was still connected on top just a little singed but still standing. The supports of the heavy donut groaning and shrieking under it’s weight.

The cooling barrel of a clip fed grenade rifle smoked in Juanitas hands. She held it in front of her crotch like a giant metal strapon.

“Nita why’d you blow up the donut shop?” Jaclyn screeched.

Juanita was shaking with her eyes closed. Satisfied sweat dripping down her pasty face as she held the giant rifle between her legs. She shook her head and opened her eyes coming out of it and said “Huh o-what?” She got snotty instantly, reaching back for that nasally vocal fry. “That and places like that victimize people of size like myself. Using their biology against them to make them fat”. She was panting a little and she dropped the guns stock to the ground. Holding herself up with it like a crutch and then said “Oh and I call dibs on this”.

Kat was loading up a mach ten looking down the sights of the compact sub machine gun. She cocked her head to the side and said “You can keep it honey, I don’t want anything to do with that thing.”

“Yeah too phallic, and too- black” Roch said as she cocked a pistol grip shotgun.

Kat looked back at her giving her the side eye but Roch didn’t look up as she loaded the compact shotgun.

Jaclyn looked at the large rifle Junita was leaning on. It looked like a huge sniper rifle, almost the length of the girl leaning on it. She differed to the users manual “Copperhead anti-tank rifle” She recited.

Juanita snatched the users manual off her and threw it into the gutter. “No one looks at these, just take this.” She said as she shoved a small pistol into Jaclyn’s hand.

“Wwwwait, I’ve never!”

“Oh stow it, if straight white men can do it then so can you girlfriend.” Juanita said clicking her fingers still leaning one hand on the large rifle.

“I guess.” She said looking down at it. She lifted her head and said “We need to get moving, they’re watching us for sure now. If we want to complete our mission we need to move fast.”

“Ok, but let me fire off another round first.” Juanita said as she lifted the huge gun with both hands burying the stock into her warm sweaty crotch. Gripping it with her huge thighs. “Ooh” She shivered as she stroked up the long black shaft fingering the trigger.

–

If you liked this and want to read more, head on over to inkitt by pressing on the link below.

Heavy Hitter

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GS2 Chapter 8 ‘Five Fingers of Death’

Yo,

Gonna keep this short and sweet because I’ve been sending out querys to literary agents all day and I have some leftover fajitas I made calling my name. So quick updates, moving forward a little bit prematurely with The One Who Came Back. I don’t really know what I hope to achieve because I’m really that sure of it and I only have three chapters edited so far and trying to rush my editor seems to be in vein, I’m considering hiring someone else but I’m sort of broke and I can’t find anyone cheaper and she’s a really nice person, I don’t feel like an asshole giving money to.

This is sort of a dry tun I guess for Diana, just scoping out the thriller lit agents, seeding the ground before I unleash that insanity on them. Got all my women centric ones bookmarked because they might get a kick out of a female Dexter, I know I did ha.

Not that it really matters but honestly, have you ever googled literary agents? Like literally 90% of them are women, maybe even more so, it’s ridiculous and the amount that are looking for ‘women centric stories’ or just ‘women’s fiction’ is astonishing and you wonder why so many of the big authors this decade are women *Hmm emoji* haha.

Ranting aside, I’m edging my way out of the completionist funk, just by doing something and hopefully tomorrow I can throw myself into a new project just to get the gears spinning again.

That’s enough for now.

See you…

Five Fingers of Death

–

Bobby rummaged around in a large key bang as he entered the station’s jail muttering to himself in the near darkness. Only the orange emergency lights giving off an anaemic glow that lit nothing except the hands in front of his face.

“This is the last straw, he’s lost his fucking mind, fuck. First he’s making me bury bodies in the back lot, now he’s shooting people right in the office, he’s losing it, this is it, this is it!” He panted and took in disjointed slakes of breathes like he was having a panic attack. “Gotta, gotta let you guys out, gotta get out, gotta let you and we can leave this fucking mess!” He screeched.

The back of the cells were in complete darkness. He got closer, the hot nervousness in the back of his throat made his fingers and thumbs thick square blocks of dull round weiner meat. Which made finding the right key near impossible. The jangling of the key bang summoning fits of excited hackles from something akin to a dog.

A shadowed figure uncoiled, a dank smell and a quick fluttering of what seemed like wings and the voice. A hot stinking breath that smelled like raw potatoes and meat said right by his ear “Maybe I wanna be in here.” The voice said. Breath was hot and wet and burning like raw onions on the deputies face. He jumped back, tripping over his own feet and tumbling, the back of his head trying to make out with the corner of a metal desk not ending well.

He lay on the floor twitching, blood and brains spreading like hot homemade jam.

“Oops” Carpenter said as he slipped back away from the bars with a slithering sqeaking noise as his arms retracted into the dark cell.

–

0

GS2 Chapter 7 Happiest Girl in the World

Hey there,

Back again with more shitty news, got kicked off facebook again for a fucking filthy frank meme this time, I’ll post which one it was below. The thing is I didn’t actually direct it at anyone it was just a cover photo so what that means is that someone got so assblasted at something I said on fb about some such liberal sacred cow that nevertheless contained no objectionable speech for which they could silence me over so they instead scoured my facebook profile for any little thing they could report me on and all they could find was this one shitty filthy frank meme which is just edgy, it’s not ‘hate speech’ or whatever it’s just filthy frank, papa franku.

That or facebook actually has it in for me and is just picking through my photos trying to get rid of me and they’re making it harder and harder to create socks, it’s really fucking annoying. I just wish that some fucking body would come up with an alternative that wasn’t charging you to post content and wasn’t on this massive censorship binge. It really makes me sick that’s there’s really no way to stop this bullshit. There is nowhere as big and as user friendly as facebook where you can share your work and ideas and have freedom to say whatever you want, the place just doesn’t exist.

So that fucking sucks and they already destroyed the first two sock accounts I made and they just restricted the one I just made from posting. So they’re either tigthening up their posting regulations to stop spammers and force them to buy their reach which used to be free, now you have to pay to reach your own fucking audiences or they’re just tracking me IP amazon does.

Such fucking bullshit, anyway back to business, enough ranting.

I’ve been kind of in a funk recently, felt like I was treading water with Diana Darkly, thinking of changing the name to just ‘Darkness in Diana’. Something like that, I’ve gotta change the name. I just felt like I was in a dream and nothing really registered to me, a slog, I wanted to get to the good bit and had to wade through some of it to get to it. Which isn’t even true because there really are no slow parts of the book. It’s pretty much solid action and intrigue from the word go.

I dunno, I just felt like I was having too much fun with it and I can’t step outside myself.

Eh enough from me haha.

See you…

Happiest Girl in the world

–

Silence all around, and then as if out of nowhere a crunching of snow and a passing wind. A figure draped in darkness wearing a little bow peep poncho with a hood stepped onto the stage, out of the streetlamps ambivalent glare. Passing back into the darkness of the alley, blued by the moon now high in the sky beaming down. Visceral cold but white hot light like the gleaming teeth of a giant singing fee fi fo fum hungering for the blood of Englishmen.

His vision blurred and she split, she was everywhere all at once like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. His blood ran cold like the rest of him, he could feel little fingers working at the back of his neck, spiders hairy legs creeping up his spine. But then he could hear a voice he recognised and a wry smile danced on the tips of each syllable.

“Can I get that back?” The voice said.

“Huh?” Said no one in particular.

“The bat, I guess I should have said ‘mind your head’ or something” She giggled mirthlessly barely able to finish the sentence.

“Are you?-“ Juanita stuttered raising a fat digit in the direction of the hooded figure.

The hooded figure, lacking all credulity, pulled the hood down, shaking a thick shag of bright green hair in the brittle moonlight. A pixie smile and small razor sharp canines and said “Expecting a pizza?”

“It’s you! Bbb-ut you’re supposed to be dead!” Juanita stuttered.

“Yeah well, you’re supposed to be running” Sunday’s smile got wider and toothier and she tilted her head like a twilight villain.

“Nita, I think we should take her advice” Jaclyn squeaked trying to sound together.

“The fuck are we doing debating this, lets get the fuck outta here.” Kat exasperated.

“Bbbut, she’s right there.” Juanita tittered, lock jawed, her eyes fixed on her pale reflection, soaking up waves of naked of ambivalence flowing from Sunday.

“We need to regroup” Roch agreed grabbing Juanita’s flabby arm and pulling her out into the street. “We can’t fight that thing like this.”

Sunday watched them go and then turned her eye on TJ standing dumbstruck like he’d seen a ghost. She walked around him stepping over the corpse of Garylynn. “Hey aren’t you forgetting something?” She called out to the fleeing possee of angry women.

“You’re, err, whatever the fuck this thing is.” She said as she reeled back her leg like the pendelum on a grandfather clock. Applying a black army boot to the head of the felled giant like she was kicking a field goal. Lobbing it in an arched path into the street. It rolled and bounced in a macabre fashion due to it’s lumpy unorthodox dimensions, the wig getting wet and matted as it tossed up snow and black ice. It’s face frozen in a painless grimace of wordless peace.

The fleeing women watched the head of their champion roll into the gutter and then looked back frozen stuck in a miasma between fight and flight.

“Well come on, you gonna pick this shit up or aren’t you?” Sunday waggled her head mockingly, putting her hands on her hips under her poncho.

They looked at eachother without words, only animalistic nods and grunts. They slowly approached the downed giant dipping their heads. Each grabbing an oversized limb and dragging it out into the street, and around the corner out of sight. Only Jaclyn popping around the corner to pick the head up out of the gutter. First trying with her finger and thumb by the hair but the head was enormous and as heavy as it looked so when that didn’t work. Feeling the urgency of Sunday watching her she balled the head up hiking it up onto her hips hugging the dirty head close to her and waddling out of sight.

Sunday tutted and laughed, turning back to TJ who stared mouth gaped. She cocked her jaw to the side and tipped her head back. “You mind?”

“Huh?” TJ gawped.

She tossed her eyes up and blew a quaff of toxic green hair out of her face.

He turned to look where she indicated seeing the bat still lodged deep in the wall.

“Oh yeah, you want me to-?” He said pointing awkawdly at the stucco wall.

“Uh huh” She said.

“It’s kinda high up there, I mean” He stuttered.

“Just gimme a leg up there stud” She sighed.

“Oh sure”. He said as flattened against the wall, then leaning forward and cupping his hand. She stepped into his hands steadying herself. She straightened putting her weight on the bat handle and jerking it loose with a sword in the stone satisfying chipping crumbling noise.

She got down and TJ stood up dusting himself off “I crown you the new king of England” He said nervously.

“What?” She squinted.

“Err nothing” He said.

“Well” She said and shrugged “See ya” She turned to walk away.

TJ ran after her “Wait, how did you-? When did you-?”

Sunday turned looking at him, her eyebrows brought together. “Sorry, do I know you?”

TJ’s heart sank, his mind reeled, he felt like he could taste sick of some strange food he didn’t remember eating in his mouth. Did he know this girl? Was this the same Sunday? Did his Sunday ever exist?

Just as his mind was regressing, losing all grip on reality, attributing everything to a sad dream he had. She layed her hand on his shoulder and shook her head smiling “TJ, I was fucking with you”

“What?” He swallowed.

“I remember everything, it’s me, Sunday.” She smiled, some of the ice chipping off, melting becoming warm but still guarded.

“But I saw, I saw you die” he said, his voice rising at the end like it was a question.

“Yeah and it hurt like hell but look for yourself.” She lifted her poncho and her white cotton shirt underneath to show him her milky white belly. There wasn’t a mark. “See not even a scar, the doctors they have in that facility are straight out of star trek or some shit” She laughed and dropped her shirt.

TJ felt his blood pressure rising. “I think I peed myself” He said almost to himself.

“Gross dude” She took his hand and scrunching up her nose looking at his wet sweatpants. “Come on, we’ll get you someplace warm and get you something to eat and we can talk.”

“Oh there you are, I was wondering where you got to. I tried to go back into the store but the door was locked. They’re closed early I guess, heard some weird noises or something. What did I miss?” Jimmy was standing on the street in front of the alley eating an icecream. “Who the hell is this?” he said motioning to Sunday.

“Jimmy where the hell have you been man?” TJ said airing his wet crotch.

“I was just getting ice cream, you want some?” He said holding out the well licked scoop “Did you pee yourself?” He said reaching out as if to poke the wet patch.

TJ pulled back instinctively and tried desperately to change the subject. “Nevermind about that, I spoke to the guy, he said there’s a diner around the corner he wants us to go to for the next call. ‘Reverse cowgirl coffee’ or something.”

“’Cowgirl coffee’ I passed it on the way back.” Jimmy said licking an icecream cone.

“Why are you eating icecream, it’s like really cold out here” Sunday said watching Jimmy licking at the cold goop.

“I like icecream” He said without a hint of credulity in his voice.

“The guy?” Sunday said.

“You know your backer guy, he’s backing me and Jimmy, he said he could help us, don’t you talk to this guy all the time?” TJ asked.

“No, he’s never spoken to me once, I didn’t even know that was allowed, first for me” She said tossing the bat over her shoulder.

“Woah, who is this chick man? What the fuck is that, thing, where did you get that?”

“Oh this” She said motioning to the bat “I made it in the autoshop across town, cool huh?” She said as she bounced the violent piece of metal on her shoulder playfully. “So what did you guys pick up?”

TJ rooted around in his pockets and took out the crappy pen knife.

“Is that it?” She said.

“Blame that asshole, he spent all our money.” TJ said tossing an accusatory look at Jimmy.

“I didn’t spend all of it” He said licking at the icecream. “Stores closed now anyway, we’ll just come back tomorrow.”

“There won’t be a tomorrow Jimmy, don’t you get it? Didn’t Dp explain any of this to you?”

“Explain what?”He said licking the icecream casually.

“Dp?” Sunday said.

“You know zombies, ring a bell? Stores don’t stay open in the zombie apocalypse dumbass!”

“Don’t you go calling me a dumbass, if there are zombies all over the place we can just come here tomorrow and take whatever we want. That’s how that works.” Jimmy said nibbling at the cone of the icecream.

“Where did you find this guy?” Sunday asked.

TJ sighed and said “Let’s just get to the diner and maybe I can get a change of underwear or something.”

–

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Back to reviewing stuff, savage as ever haha. Julia Dream – Review

It’s not great, but it’s ok. Honestly it was a little dull. I guess that’s sort of what you’re trying to go for with the 1984 themes but my eyes just glazed over. I have a really short attention span for sci-fi as soon as I hear made up words or world building garbage my mind just goes to the hunger games and I lose interest.
The writing style is good, very polished, couldn’t see any mistakes, but it takes itself a little too seriously and it’s not very fun honestly. Very rigid, probably what you’re going for, it just doesn’t appeal to me personally.
Story, well there isn’t one, at least not in the first chapter, it’s just she’s an anti-terror expert who for some reason has to duel someone over a sci-fi/steampunk brexit. That’s not really story, it’s just stuff happening, very surface level and the duel happens in the same chapter so there isn’t any build up and the fight is sort of underwhelming.
I think if you’re going to have the chapter surrounding a duel you should probably start with the duel and then keep going back, just to make the rest of the chapter more interesting than just a bunch of people discussing politics in a world that doesn’t exist. The pace is just too slow and then the chapter ends with the duel and you still haven’t really been brought into the story.

Sorry if this review is sort of blackpilled, I was just promised mutants in a post apocalyptic world and I basically got ugly Betty in space.
It’s well written, it’s just not my thing.

Read it for yourself, here or don’t

Julia Dream

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To Dream by Catherine Kopf – Review

If I was into YA fiction and 1984 wasn't one of my favourite books I'd think this was really original but since I'm not and it is, I have to say it's a little cliche'.
I mean the writing style is fine, the story works, the first chapter is nice, it flows well and it has somewhat of a hook, a thread of main plot to drive the story. On paper it's good, it's a little stream of consciousness, like it doesn't seem well rooted, it seems like one minute she's here and then she's there like she blacked out and there isn't a lot of description. The first person narrative is quite restrictive for a story like this but maybe that's what you're going for, so I can't outright say it doesn't work, I'll say it just doesn't work me. 
I'll be the first to say YA fiction makes me cringe to my core and the idea of a YA take on 1984 in line with something like hunger games or something is probably the worst thing I can imagine. I'm obviously not the intended audience but I can see what someone else who maybe hasn't read 1984 would see in it. 

So in summation, it's good but it's not my cup of my tea by a long stretch.

If you wanna check out the actual story head on over to inkitt to read it for free.

To Dream

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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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Green Sunday Chapter 2; This Charming man (Edited reupload)

Here it is finally, after much faffing about over the holidays I finally managed to sort this out and get back on track with the editing and continuous writing of this literary monstrosity. I’m already about 40k into it and I see no end in sight, it’s almost beaten my first secret novel which will never be revealed except for exclusive rights to the movie and merchandise haha. I can dream.

 

As always if you liked this chapter or you’re new to the story and want to go back to the start head on over to my inkitt page for the complete story in a neat order and in a format that I’m sure can be read on all manner of magical devices, wiggets and wablets and magic hats and scrolls I’m sure.

Green Sunday Chapter 2

An old TV, sitting on a greasy-looking shelf, played in the background in a local greasy spoon diner on the edge of town. The diner was alive with the sounds of knives and forks sword-fighting; people taking deluxe bites out of reasonably priced burgers, and washing them down with complementary milkshakes.

“The Pudgiwara Corporation today said they were very sorry for dumping the one thousand tonnes of toxic waste in the bay and they said they’d never do it again.” The news anchor furrowed his brow sincerely before moving on to the next segment. “In other local news, a young boy of fourteen was arrested after a prank backfired outside his suburban home. The boy, who is yet to be named for legal reasons, was tricked by his friends into believing that another biological outbreak, similar to that of the one in Arkham, Louisiana, was underway. Police state that the boys school friends wore make-up and ragged clothing and pretended to be the undead. The boy fearing for his life retrieved his 22. Calibre rifle he received for his third birthday and slaughtered them all in his back yard”

“Hahahahahahahahahaha!” Incongruous laughter broke out. It seemed that all the knife and fork sword fights ended abruptly. But the laughter went on regardless as the story played out.

“The fourteen year old boy then, fearing for the fate of his family, went into his suburban home and strangled his entire family to death with a draught excluder”

“Hahahahahahahahahahaahahahaha!” A dirty hand, topped with dirty, chipped nails, scooped up a clod of hamburger meat from a steel bowl as he laughed.

“What’s going on out here?” A fat sweaty man in an apron, and not a lot else, came out of the back. A confused look on his face, he stood next to a middle-aged redhead waitress with a face like a leather riding saddle.

“Some crazy guy. All he ordered was a bowl of raw hamburger meat. He’s just been sitting there eating it. Then he just started laughing,” the middle-aged woman said, her face wrinkling up in places never before thought possible.

The fat man’s sweat patches grew under his apron. He started to look like he belonged in a sauna or in a tropical plant house as he breathed heavily.

“The boy is currently under observation at Hellspass psychiatric hospital.” The man’s laughter began to run down like the motor of a car sliding into park. A greasy hand touched the arm of his salvation army coat and the slow come-down took a sudden bump.

“Hey, buddy, you’re freakin’ people out. Can ya keep it down? People are trying to eat,” the fat chef said, in an apologetic tone, as he furrowed his brow into painful ‘v’s, which seemed to stretch all over his slippery bald head.

“What’s that?” the man said without turning his head. A chunk of unchewed hamburger meat fell from his mouth onto the semi-clean counter. He turned his bloodshot eyes in his skull.

“I said-”

“I heard what you said.”

“Huh?”

“I just can’t tell what I’m looking at.” He picked his teeth with a dirty nail and sucked his gums, dislodging raw meat.

“Look, buddy, we aint looking for no trouble. I think you better just pick your sorry ass up and leave – right now!”

“Did you make this?” The strange, homeless guy squeezed the hamburger meat in his hands, letting it ooze through his bony fingers. He had shoulder-length mousey brown hair, with a long beard completing the homeless chic. His features were thin and gaunt, dark eyes hidden under heavy lids. He wore a long, olive drab army jacket that went all the way down to his ankles, hiding the fact that he was wearing plastic bags tied with string around his feet instead of shoes. To complete the ensemble: a threadbare shirt and pair of pants that looked like they’d gone missing from an old people’s home washing line. Printed across the front of the jacket was a name written in bold dark green lettering. ‘CARPENTER’.

“What’cha talking about, buddy? That’s raw hamburger meat. Aint nobody ‘made’ it. Drifters like you don’t belong here; it’s time for you to move on now!”

“You know, I used to be just like you”

“Get ou-!” A glob of hamburger meat cut off the chef mid-sentence. The slimy, gelatinous meat by-product got into his eyes and nose. It felt like a fist made of lumpy snot hitting his sinus wall. He felt disorientated, giving the dishevelled man ample time to kick a bar stool. The chef fell forward as the stool hit his shins, tripping him. Carpenter rose like a jack-in-the-box on angel dust from his stool to slam the chef’s dirty face into the counter.

He pressed the chef’s face into the off-colour lime green diner counter, spreading blood and raw meat and spit all over it. The chef strained as he began to get light-headed, his skull pressed against the hard surface.

“You know it’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re eating.” Carpenter squeezed the chef’s head with his forearm against the counter. The veins on the chef’s head stuck out like rail-road tracks, pumping hot kitchen grease. Carpenter took his other hand and ran his finger up from his face taking up some of the hamburger meat. Getting under his nails, he sucked his finger.

He took the pressure off and sat back on his stool like he got up to get the salt. The chef stuck to the counter with blood and sweat and hamburger meat. Peeling off, his unconscious body hit the linoleum floor of the diner like a sack of dried hams. He parted stools and chairs and brows as he fell. The diner fell silent. Food went unchewed in open mouths; coffee cups shook; babies continued crying; the dishevelled man went back to watching the news and laughing.

…

If you liked what you read of this excerpt, follow the link below to read the rest of the chapter on inkitt.

Cheers.

Green Sunday Chapter 2

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