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Green Sunday Chapter 6 ‘Smooth Sailing’ (Edited)

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

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

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

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

Chapter 6 ‘Smooth Sailing’

Peace out.

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got to do it.”

“Why do I have to do it?”

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

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

“Wait up, dude.”

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

“I thought he locked himself in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

 

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

The end is nighe, it’s coming thick and fast now, only two chapters left to proofread for the raw version of the manuscript. I’ll probably chop it all up later because some of the chapters are a little too long. I call it ‘Dan Browning’ for the people with short attention spans as my audience most certainly is. To quote the loveable Donald Trump “I love the uneducated” haha.
I know I said I hate having these chapter excerpts side by side but I’ve been too busy submitting to indie publishers and literary agents on top of being enthralled in a new synopsis for my next book (which is almost done, shaping up nicely) to think thoughts unrelated to writing.
So a ridiculous blog about current events or things I’ve raid and enjoyed is hard to fathom. Even a rant about a knife I like would be pale in comparison to the passion I feel for my latest creation pre-creation.
I’m really happy with it, the synopsis is really taking shape, making it mine, reminds me a lot of true detective, the first season of which I loved. I’m not sure if I’m excited or scared to actually start writing it. Am I ready for what could be a real success? Or will I ruin it just despite myself? Regardless I’m pushing forward with GS. I was reading bios of agents and trying to pitch to them and I literally had to social justice up my pitch to sell to some people. Threw a little lgbtqrstuvwxyz-sploitation in there to get their tumblr accounts hot and bothered. It’s true people, Sunday is now ‘Gender non-conforming’ whatever that means haha.

I have officially sold my soul haha.

Ok enough of that bullshit, I’ve got shit to do. So as usual you can find the rest of the chapter on inkitt by following this link I am about to post below.

Chapter 16 ‘Kill too hard’
~

An old fashioned touch tone phone rang on a ratty looking desk.

The small messy office filled with the tinny analogue ringing sound of the old phone.

Mojang clung to the grenade launcher the wooden sawn off stock firmly poking his ribs. He ducked behind the desk taking the small phone with him.

He took the phone receiver out of the cradle with a plastic clicking sound. He pressed it to his greasey looking ear.

“Hey boss!”

“Bernie, you double crossing pinche’ puto!”

“Come on, it’s not just me”

“What are you talking about you fat lousey fuck?” Mojang spat into the receiver.

“It’s the fans man”

“The fans?”

“They’re bored Mo, we’re winning too much. We make it look easy, there’s no drama, no suspense. Long story short they’re replacing you”

“What the fuck, with who?”

“Ahem”

“You? Your fat ass is replacing me? No way, put me through to the top guy, there’s no way they can do this, this is our last game, we’re out, we’re clean. They promised-“

“Sorry Mo, this comes from the top. Our approval ratings are tanking, they thought they needed to shake things up”

“No you motherfucker you put him on no-“

Click

The phone went dead. Mojang bit down on the receiver. Snapping it in half over the desk and throwing the rest of the phone on the floor.

He cracked open the grenade launcher, seeing there was a hot grenade still in the chamber. He clapped it close and stiffened his lip.

“Fffuck!” He threw the heavy grenade launcher across the desk and hurried over to the window. Barred, on top of that it was covered in a heavy mesh, impossible to remove, there was no way he was getting out. He clanged the cage mesh looking like a kid in a playpen too long for his nap. His face welling up with sweat and nervous tears.

“FUCK ME! FUCK ME!”

A clatter outside hushed him as he ducked behind his desk again. He scrabbled for the grenade launcher on the desk.

“No please, no, I’ll suck dick, I’ll suck your dick” A muffled woman’s voice said behind his door. An angry banging “FUCK MOJANG, LET ME IN YOU LIMP DICK MOTHERFUCKER!”

The noise quickly stopped after a brief gurgling sound. An ominous silence fell on the garage, not a croak or a death rattle to be heard. All the blood was already on the floor.

Then a dull banging noises started against the thin door. Accompanied by stifled whimpering noises. The noises got quieter as the dull banging sound against the thin door got wetter sounding. Each banging noise accompanied by soppy slapping noises.

The pathetic bolt lock popped off, screws popping out and rolling on the concrete floor. The door swinging open on just one hinge.

Mojang peaked over the desk and saw the door way was empty from his angle. The flimsy door itself was pasted in blood and brain matter with a big crack down the middle. Strands of long hair sticking out of it.

He recoiled as a mass like a dead animal was slung hard across the desk like a deer hitting the hood of an suv. His face was splattered with blood and brains as the girls body was tossed with some force. Her limp limbs twisted around in every direction, her head was caved in, using it to open a door will do that.

Mojang winced, using the barrel of the grenade launcher to turn her face around. He used his other hand to move her hair out of her face. Her eyes were half open, they rolled loosely around in her head like dolls eyes. He swallowed and closed her eyes feeling bad for a minute before he remembered he locked her out.

The Lancer stepped into the door, his feet made a metal stiletto sound. They were covered in some sort of skin tight metal sandal. On the concrete floor they sounded like tap shoes or a dog with long nails on a hard wood floor.

“We can talk about this, I’ve brought in a lot of business, we’re the best, we win, we can do better. Fuck man we can do whatever you want, I’ll learn to fucking juggle if that’s what you wa-“

“Sorry, you’re cancelled.” The Lancer said a cold chill riding his words all the way down Mojang’s spine.

He squeezed the grenade launcher with it’s wood inlays. He fingered it delicately as he looked at the girl sprawled across his desk like a tigerskin rug.

He took a deep breathe and scrunched up his face, ringing out vicious tears from his one good eye.

“Fffuck you silver surfing faggot!” He lifted the grenade launcher up and turned his body so he was pointing it at the Lancer with one arm out stretched. His face twisted into his death mask, what would be left of it.

The Lancer let out a breathy laugh and wicked smile with those strange eyes. He dropped into a pounce closed the gap with a murderous intention as fast as falling.

Mojang fell back, his heart leaping to meet the challenge. His feet stumbling over a broken phone cord. His finger squeezed the trigger and he proceeded to make an even stupider face.

The building popped open like a giant shook up soda can. The sheet metal peeled back and curling up with the flames licking them. The explosion viewed by an indifferent drone flying overhead. The flames reflected in its ambivalent lens.

~

 

 

Green Sunday Chapter 5 ‘Little man what now’ Edited

 Here’s the latest edited chapter. It’s a slight change of pace, I hope you like it, it’s more development on a few of my favourite characters.
A bit of an update on my shiiiieeettt! I tried to start one of those novellas I talked about, just some short, under 40k story to keep me sharp and maybe pimp out to some anthology or something. But this new project I have pinned for nanowrimo is just too tempting to not fiddle with and instead I spent all day writing and assigning chapter titles from Nick Cave and Tom Waits songs haha.
It’s going to be in four parts, I’m really going to get my teeth into some neo-noire on this one kids. I have a good feeling about it, I can see it coming to an airport newsagent near you haha.
So that’s what I’ve been doing in between blogging and trying to get this zombsploitation printed.
As usual you can find the full chapter on my inkitt page for viewing on phones and tablets or whatever. Now begone with you I have a psychological thrill ride to plot haha!

Cheers.

Green Sunday Chapter 5

~
“MOOOOOOMMMMMM!?!?” TJ screamed, frustration and a hopeless terror filling the emptiness in his chest. He heard the shower turning off and waited a few seconds. TJ breathed restlessly through his mouth, his throat burning, child tears queuing at the corners of his eyes.

“WHAT?” he heard as the bathroom door opened.

“WHERE’S MY STUFF???” he shouted, to stop from bursting into a tearful downward spiral of self-loathing and impending doom. He inflated his chest to keep his lungs from collapsing.

“YOUR LITTLE FRIEND FROM NEXT DOOR CAME OVER WHEN YOU LEFT. HE SAID, YOU SAID HE COULD BORROW SOMETHING FROM YOUR ROOM; IS EVERYTHING OK?” Her voice trailed off at the end and TJ felt pricks of looming dread on the back of his neck.

“YEAH MOM, JUST STAY INSIDE, I’M GOING NEXT DOOR!”

“OK.”

He picked himself up off his bedroom floor; he felt like throwing up. His legs were hollow and he struggled to stand, but he had no choice. He swallowed hard and put his hand on the knob of his bedroom door. He closed his eyes and whispered a pathetic prayer to any god that would listen. When he opened his eyes he was outside the door of his neighbour’s house.

The house was almost identical. It had been built at the same time, but apparently everything was the opposite way around. TJ had never been there before because his neighbours were massive douchenozzles. He had hated them since childhood, when they had poured lemonade on his head and rolled him in the sand pit. He got a good look at the interior purely because the door swung wide open as he put his hand on the knob.

The hallway was a crime scene: pictures smashed on the floor, furniture looking off kilter, shoes tossed aside, small drops of blood and a telling trail leading up the stairs. It looked staged, fake, like the set of some cheesy rural crime drama.

He stepped in through the door frame, gingerly trying not to touch anything or make a sound. But his visions of a silent entry were dashed by the distinct sound of glass crunching under the rubber sole of a ‘Dora the Explorer’ slipper. He mused to himself: why hadn’t he changed into some more practical shoes? Before he could put more thought into that vital question, his attention fell on a flashing battery light shining through a bloody shirt.

He pinched the corner of the shirt, bending at the knee as he leaned over an upturned wardrobe at the bottom of the stairs. He pulled the damp shirt towards him and it drew across the device with a slow stickiness, the damp blood throwing up a musty copper smell as he pulled it closer to him.

He pulled the shirt all the way off, revealing a small digital handycam: the same one they had used in the backyard to record their show. He picked it up slowly, by the handle strap, and turned it around to look at the viewfinder.

~

Frantic steps fell on the cold sidewalk across town. A shoe fell off in a desperate struggle to get off the street. Ankles twisting, people falling into the road. A quiet, slow rolling panic pouring out into the morning light.

The door of a small mom and pop grocery snapped shut. Three shadowed figures watched from the slats in the wood and glass storefront door as a slow boiling chaos milled around outside.

“What’s going on? Who are those people? Is it the army?”

“Shhh.”

An obnoxious car horn tore through the furious cacophony of anxious whispers. The small road, one of three that led out of town, was blocked by two large trucks, guarded by faceless men in black tactical gear. The car horn didn’t seem to bother them; they stood like wind-up toys, waiting to be over cranked.

The small town was a flat plateau; it was elevated, secluded, surrounded by a dense wood on one side, mountains all along the other, leaving few routes out. People came to live here for that seclusion. For the peace and the pine smell, fresh mountain air, clean water. Most of them commuted to work and lived in lavish suburban homes. The local businesses slowly starved together, only kept alive by a small contingent of hipster college kids, back for the summer, spending their parents’ money.

The roads leaving town were boxed in by these small storefronts.: some empty, some almost empty, boarded up; half the town seemed to be in boxes already. The trucks completely sealed the town. The line of cars was large. It was made up of early morning commuters and families leaving to visit relatives out of town. Mixed in were a sprinkling of nervous people who had seen something that deemed a quick exit. A subtle base level of fear was snowballing, passed back and forth between the people in the traffic jam, like a Ping-Pong ball covered in PCP. Impatient fingers drummed on steering wheels; a roll of cold sweat wiped away by a clammy hand; cacophony of throats clearing, reminding others of their existence. Children in buggies were reassured by uncertain tones from nervous parents.

A feeling of drunken mass hysteria was winding up for a curveball, the traffic jam growing larger and longer and less uniform, the people feeling more boxed in by the small sleepy store fronts. Glass and soft woods gathered dust, the bones of an old town looming over them like gravestones. A claustrophobic feeling closed in on them, suffocating their better senses, changing them into cornered animals.

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

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!!!!!!!!

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!

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’

 

 

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!

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.

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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