I ran across an idea on a blog a while back. It was a story written using this fabulous website, writely.com, between two friends. I suggested to my friend E that we should attempt it together. With the morbidity of his writing and the occasional absurdity of mine, it would be a great wreck.We are only a little way in and E blames me for the sci-fi fantasy bent. I do believe he’s correct.
Currently, it’s set in Albuquerque, there are disfunctional gods, mutations, Programs, a dead waitress and *sigh* the promise of zombies.We’re working on a separate blog, to post this bit by bit, but here’s a teaser. The first line is mine; it’s currently untitled.
Jones felt the movement upstairs an instant before he saw the dust filter from the beams of wood above his head. The paranoia and primal urge filled his veins; they must have found him to take him back. He moved back into the shadows under the stairs, hoping the scent of blood and the flicker of his glowing red iris would fade into the darkness. Of all the things they did to him, his improved senses happened to be the most useful. The tribal tattoos he could have lived without. Those just made him angry, and he really didn’t need more of that in his life at the very moment. Except that he thought to the usefulness of controlling the anger, the vibrancy of his needs constricted to only the object of his hatred; it might be needed in approximately two minutes – the flawless timing instinct of the cubicles. He really was one of the best, he thought smugly, almost distracted from another movement in the shadows.
The clicking bounced off the walls, he could see that, knowing immediately that they would not see him with the static the locket was creating. At least, he thought the locket was protecting him, as he was also aware that he might in fact be insane.
“Let them eat cake,” he muttered and with that he aimed his gun above his head and fired three times with three swift flicks of his wrist in different directions. The dust just settled when he heard a creak in the woodwork and the rest of the already half-gone ceiling crashed to the floor.