[Note: This short story that is not so short is being serialized and slowly rewritten in my blog. This is the fifth installment.]
“I’m sorry,” said the girl with a fresh bruise on her right cheek, “You’re not stupid. . . .You’re wolf-loving retard. Dumb fuck!”
That set Jack into a renewed frenzy, as she ran away giving him the finger.
Sad saw Doc having a stomach spasm, as he held his brother and a loud laugh back.
“Don’t encourage him, Doc,” said Summer, “Knock it off. Everyone is looking at you two.”
Sad stopped and walked toward his dad. His father glared at him, “What do you want, you jackass? A hug? Go on with your brother and stop picking fights. You, go see if anyone wants to trade food for bullets. And stay out of trouble!”
“But dad!” said Sad, trying to explain about the boy—that shirtless tough boy who probably had a lot of friends in town.
“No buts!”
Sad reluctantly headed for the market.
“Shit,” he mumbled, “This is all your damned fault, you short shit.”
“So, I’m proud to be a shorty. Makes me special—Hey you got that boy good in the face.”
“Yeah but he was tough. He’ll come get us later. So will your girlfriend.”
Jack laughed, “That girl was easy.”
Sad glared at his brother, “You’re always getting us in trouble and dad never hits—“
An object slammed into Sad’s face.
Before Sad could respond, a rain of rocks came down on them. Jack and Sad ran so fast, they didn’t see Sally on the bike chasing after them. She held a large broken broomstick in one of her hands.
“Let’s see who’s really stupid now!” she screamed.
Sad turned to look at her, “Ah crap. Find cover!”
A few yards away sat a mound of bones. He sought shelter behind it. Sad turned and realized his brother, like always, didn’t bother to hide.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Fourth Page
[Note: This short story that is not so short is being serialized and slowly rewritten in my blog. This is the fourth installment.]
The girl was tough, probably much older than Jack, but once Jack went berserk, there was no stopping him. Jack instantly went for her hair and pulled her down. He straddled her and delivered a series of punches. Sad for his part punched the boy so hard in the nose, he heard a crack and a steady stream of blood began to flow. The boy was no wimp. He didn’t even cry, and that’s when Sad knew he was in trouble. The boy gave Sad a steely glare, and Sad sucked in air.
“Hey! Cut it out!” cried Doc, “Sally and Rob! What have I told you about picking fights? Go home before someone breaks a bone. And take that freaky cult kid with you!”
Sally pulled Jack’s hair, as he punched her mercilessly.
Doc pulled them apart, “Stop it you two, or I’ll grab my slayer stick and beat you both.”
Sad stepped back and made the truce sign. The boy walked away without replying, his quiet friend following in tow.
Jack was still lashing out.
“Jack!” the familiar voice froze his brother, “You’re wailing on a girl!”
“Who cares? That dumb girl called me stupid, Dad! I’m not stupid! I only eat real food, not people.”
The girl was tough, probably much older than Jack, but once Jack went berserk, there was no stopping him. Jack instantly went for her hair and pulled her down. He straddled her and delivered a series of punches. Sad for his part punched the boy so hard in the nose, he heard a crack and a steady stream of blood began to flow. The boy was no wimp. He didn’t even cry, and that’s when Sad knew he was in trouble. The boy gave Sad a steely glare, and Sad sucked in air.
“Hey! Cut it out!” cried Doc, “Sally and Rob! What have I told you about picking fights? Go home before someone breaks a bone. And take that freaky cult kid with you!”
Sally pulled Jack’s hair, as he punched her mercilessly.
Doc pulled them apart, “Stop it you two, or I’ll grab my slayer stick and beat you both.”
Sad stepped back and made the truce sign. The boy walked away without replying, his quiet friend following in tow.
Jack was still lashing out.
“Jack!” the familiar voice froze his brother, “You’re wailing on a girl!”
“Who cares? That dumb girl called me stupid, Dad! I’m not stupid! I only eat real food, not people.”
Monday, April 18, 2011
Third Page (Tip: Stick with your writing schedule)
[Note: This short story that is not so short is being serialized and rewritten in my blog. This is the third installment.]
O.K., I won't lie. I really don't have one yet, but I make it a point to get on every day. I figure if I get a good thirty minutes in, that's a great start. (Of course, now I'm trying to type, and my husband decided to start praying over me. Pause.)
I don't like missing sleep, but it may have to be in the evenings. That way, my son won't be closing my lap top every time (and it's often) he feels I am giving it too much love.
==========Third Page==================
“What do you say?” commanded his father and added, “Freaking kids. Send them in to get water, and they want sugar,”
Before answering, Sad and Jack ran out the door.
Sad scanned the scene before him. There were peddlers with old canned goods. A rare, old woman selling puppies and kittens. In the distance, Sad spotted a small group of raggedy kids. He turned back to his little brother.
“Ah Jack! Why didn’t you wait?” said Sad, slapping Jack behind his head.
“I like to eat mine,” he said as purple slobber dribbled down his chin, “Whatcha gonna trade yours for?”
“A hell, I dunno. Maybe a sling shot. Maybe a puppy,” he answered scratching a spot on the top of his head.
Jack giggled, “A puppy? No way! Can’t keep one of those.”
“Can’t have a bike either,” retorted Sad.
Jack’s face contorted, “You don’t know anything about puppies.”
“Look stupid! I’m two years older than you! I know my letters, and I’m old enough to have one!”
“You’re seven. I’m five, and I know my letters better than you!”
“Shut up,” Sad pushed Jack on the ground, but that only encouraged his teasing.
“What letter comes after G?” taunted Jack.
“Go fuck yourself!” Sad walked away. He turned to give Jack a dirty look, but he was already marching confidently to the group of kids. Sad sighed heavily and ran to catch up. They stopped two yards before the defiant group. Sad inspected their feet. One of them wore makeshift shoes made out of Coke can holders and some sort of green plastic. The girl was wearing clothes that were too big. One of the boys had orange hair and a black eye. He only wore blue shorts. The other boy wore a spotless white shirt and black pants. He had dark hair and pale skin. Sad’s skin crawled just looking at him. He was so clean, Sad wanted to drag him down the street and infest his hair.
“What you got ‘ta trade?” asked a tough voice. It was the boy with the shorts and orange hair.
“Nothing with you sorry shorts!” answered Sad.
The boy looked uncertain, “I’m no short! I’m ten years old.”
The girl scratched her head, staring longingly at Jack’s lollypop, “Ah, he ain’t got a damn thing to trade.”
“Does too!” yelled Jack, “My brother has all kinds of stuff!”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” asked the girl.
“Nothing to trade with you licey losers,” Sad answered, holding his hands down tight.
The girl scratched her head harder, “Let’s go Rob. These kids are stupid.”
On reflex, Jack spat out the white stick and tackled the girl. Taking on the boy with red hair, Sad followed suit. The other boy stepped back and watched; even in Gila Bend, Arizona, fair was fair.
O.K., I won't lie. I really don't have one yet, but I make it a point to get on every day. I figure if I get a good thirty minutes in, that's a great start. (Of course, now I'm trying to type, and my husband decided to start praying over me. Pause.)
I don't like missing sleep, but it may have to be in the evenings. That way, my son won't be closing my lap top every time (and it's often) he feels I am giving it too much love.
==========Third Page==================
“What do you say?” commanded his father and added, “Freaking kids. Send them in to get water, and they want sugar,”
Before answering, Sad and Jack ran out the door.
Sad scanned the scene before him. There were peddlers with old canned goods. A rare, old woman selling puppies and kittens. In the distance, Sad spotted a small group of raggedy kids. He turned back to his little brother.
“Ah Jack! Why didn’t you wait?” said Sad, slapping Jack behind his head.
“I like to eat mine,” he said as purple slobber dribbled down his chin, “Whatcha gonna trade yours for?”
“A hell, I dunno. Maybe a sling shot. Maybe a puppy,” he answered scratching a spot on the top of his head.
Jack giggled, “A puppy? No way! Can’t keep one of those.”
“Can’t have a bike either,” retorted Sad.
Jack’s face contorted, “You don’t know anything about puppies.”
“Look stupid! I’m two years older than you! I know my letters, and I’m old enough to have one!”
“You’re seven. I’m five, and I know my letters better than you!”
“Shut up,” Sad pushed Jack on the ground, but that only encouraged his teasing.
“What letter comes after G?” taunted Jack.
“Go fuck yourself!” Sad walked away. He turned to give Jack a dirty look, but he was already marching confidently to the group of kids. Sad sighed heavily and ran to catch up. They stopped two yards before the defiant group. Sad inspected their feet. One of them wore makeshift shoes made out of Coke can holders and some sort of green plastic. The girl was wearing clothes that were too big. One of the boys had orange hair and a black eye. He only wore blue shorts. The other boy wore a spotless white shirt and black pants. He had dark hair and pale skin. Sad’s skin crawled just looking at him. He was so clean, Sad wanted to drag him down the street and infest his hair.
“What you got ‘ta trade?” asked a tough voice. It was the boy with the shorts and orange hair.
“Nothing with you sorry shorts!” answered Sad.
The boy looked uncertain, “I’m no short! I’m ten years old.”
The girl scratched her head, staring longingly at Jack’s lollypop, “Ah, he ain’t got a damn thing to trade.”
“Does too!” yelled Jack, “My brother has all kinds of stuff!”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” asked the girl.
“Nothing to trade with you licey losers,” Sad answered, holding his hands down tight.
The girl scratched her head harder, “Let’s go Rob. These kids are stupid.”
On reflex, Jack spat out the white stick and tackled the girl. Taking on the boy with red hair, Sad followed suit. The other boy stepped back and watched; even in Gila Bend, Arizona, fair was fair.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
The Writing Tip?
Oh, I totally spaced my earlier ambition, a writing tip with each post. Well, that's just not possible, but I will include a tip here and there. But, I do want to rehash an old tip, Tip: Get on a damned writing schedule. It's not uncool to do that. Besides, I am getting to that point in my life where most of what I write I can cut down. And nothing is so great it can't be rewritten anyway. So, get on your schedule! Get on it before life invades your head.
Second Page (Well, now what?)
[Note: This short story that is not so short is being serialized and rewritten in my blog. This is the second installment.]
Now, what indeed. I started serializing this monster of a story. I figure a page or so a post will force me to see it on a micro level, so I can decide what the Sam heck to do with it. I suppose I could rewrite it on the bottom at least twice (why try to do too much) and choose the best parts. The good news is that I'm doing this regularly. Now, if only I would brave up and get some feedback. Brave up, brave up!
==============Second Short Segment===========
“Bad for Gila Bend: Good for business. You two go see Doc and get some water.
I’ll go see the leader about getting paid for the last kill,” Summer grabbed the pack from Sad’s back, and readjusted his slayer weapon. Sad analyzed the shorter silver slayer stick and saw the new serrated edge on it. Most hunters favored a longer pole-like creation, but his father liked to move quickly.
Jack whooped, “Can I get a bike?”
Summer and Sad both answered, “No.”
They boys walked for a bit, until they found the small structure. It was white with a large red cross outside the front door. There were no patients waiting outside. They snuck in, keeping low. It was Jack’s favorite.
Sad Summer-Hunter listened intently; that only made the itch on his head intensify, as a bastard louse bit the right side of his head. He stared at Doc and his well-kept hair. Sad was sure Doc never smelled like crap. Sure he never had to shave his head. In fact, Doc’s hair was always a shiny clean black.
“It’s the worst week,” Doc said. Today, he wore a large army jacket that got in the way of his work. Sad always liked visiting Doc, but there was no candy anywhere in sight. He hoped Doc would eventually notice his scratching, so he would offer something for the lice.
The woman squeezed Doc’s shoulder, “What else can you do, Doc? Even doctor-doctors rarely deliver healthy babies. It’s near im-fucking-possible. You do what you can with the med-book and your training. Better than those leaf plastering jerks with their herbal bullshit or the Jesus miracle workers.”
Doc snorted, “I guess, but this one,” he sighed showing her a jar with blue liquid, “this one was normal. See? No claws.”
Jack was about to pounce on Doc, but he noticed the small thing in the jar. It looked like a skinned rat.
“What’s that?” asked Jack.
Sad shushed him.
Doc and the woman looked back at them, “Jack and Sad! When did you guys get here? Where’s your dad?”
Doc hid the jar in a drawer, “Rita, these are my pals, Jack and Sad.”
“What was that you stuck in the drawer?” Jack asked louder.
“Don’t worry, little dude. Here,” said Doc pulling a purple lollypop out of a secret pocket, “bet you haven’t had this flavor.”
Sad stamped his foot, “He always gets the best ‘cuz he’s little!”
“Hey, stop that whiney bitch act!” said his father, stepping in from behind. Sad snapped his mouth shut.
“It’s cool, Summer. I got one for him too.”
Sad squealed and snatched the candy.
Now, what indeed. I started serializing this monster of a story. I figure a page or so a post will force me to see it on a micro level, so I can decide what the Sam heck to do with it. I suppose I could rewrite it on the bottom at least twice (why try to do too much) and choose the best parts. The good news is that I'm doing this regularly. Now, if only I would brave up and get some feedback. Brave up, brave up!
==============Second Short Segment===========
“Bad for Gila Bend: Good for business. You two go see Doc and get some water.
I’ll go see the leader about getting paid for the last kill,” Summer grabbed the pack from Sad’s back, and readjusted his slayer weapon. Sad analyzed the shorter silver slayer stick and saw the new serrated edge on it. Most hunters favored a longer pole-like creation, but his father liked to move quickly.
Jack whooped, “Can I get a bike?”
Summer and Sad both answered, “No.”
They boys walked for a bit, until they found the small structure. It was white with a large red cross outside the front door. There were no patients waiting outside. They snuck in, keeping low. It was Jack’s favorite.
Sad Summer-Hunter listened intently; that only made the itch on his head intensify, as a bastard louse bit the right side of his head. He stared at Doc and his well-kept hair. Sad was sure Doc never smelled like crap. Sure he never had to shave his head. In fact, Doc’s hair was always a shiny clean black.
“It’s the worst week,” Doc said. Today, he wore a large army jacket that got in the way of his work. Sad always liked visiting Doc, but there was no candy anywhere in sight. He hoped Doc would eventually notice his scratching, so he would offer something for the lice.
The woman squeezed Doc’s shoulder, “What else can you do, Doc? Even doctor-doctors rarely deliver healthy babies. It’s near im-fucking-possible. You do what you can with the med-book and your training. Better than those leaf plastering jerks with their herbal bullshit or the Jesus miracle workers.”
Doc snorted, “I guess, but this one,” he sighed showing her a jar with blue liquid, “this one was normal. See? No claws.”
Jack was about to pounce on Doc, but he noticed the small thing in the jar. It looked like a skinned rat.
“What’s that?” asked Jack.
Sad shushed him.
Doc and the woman looked back at them, “Jack and Sad! When did you guys get here? Where’s your dad?”
Doc hid the jar in a drawer, “Rita, these are my pals, Jack and Sad.”
“What was that you stuck in the drawer?” Jack asked louder.
“Don’t worry, little dude. Here,” said Doc pulling a purple lollypop out of a secret pocket, “bet you haven’t had this flavor.”
Sad stamped his foot, “He always gets the best ‘cuz he’s little!”
“Hey, stop that whiney bitch act!” said his father, stepping in from behind. Sad snapped his mouth shut.
“It’s cool, Summer. I got one for him too.”
Sad squealed and snatched the candy.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
First Page (And Random Comments)
Well, Damn,
Here I am almost 40 years old. OK, it's not about the age because I still feel like a 20 year old, even though my body doesn't, but I DIDN'T REACH MY GOAL OF GETTING ON A WRITING SCHEDULE OR SENDING SHIT OUT!
That is just not right. (It's also not right because I figured I do have time to write; I just have to turned off the fucking T.V. and not play on line.) The stupid werewolf story, never got finished. So I thought I would post it here as a serial; that should help me get perspective. The seeds of a good plot are there, I just need to refine it.
On a marginally related note, I read Ender's Game and was happy to see that he wrote about children using intelligent voices. It was one hell of a great story, and the character development was great. I also respect a writer who uses a notebook. I am, in truth, a notebook writer, and that may be the route to go because my toddler is so jealous of the computer. And no, the baby isn't the block to me getting on.
Well, here's the first page.
======
Maria J. Estrada
April 24, 2010
Sad stilled his hands, as he walked into the town of Gila Bend, AZ; he hit his head against his shoulder, but couldn’t reach that itchy spot. He couldn’t let his father know about his plight, or he’d wind up a cone-headed freak. To make things worse, during the three-mile walk, his little brother Jack had jumped over every desert bush, attacked all the anthills, and tried to chase random jackrabbits. Sad wished he could tie a rope around him because every time he got too far, Sad had to go after him, and today, he carried a heavy pack.
Their father, Summer Hunter never brought their car into town, for fear of having their gas siphoned or their car cannibalized. Or worse. Turning away from his father, as he inspected the town, he hastily rubbed his fist against the side of his head. The McDonalds was still boarded up and the fossilized armed guard walled the gas station. Most of the buildings through the main road were still burned down, except for the hotel and a few tents pitched inside a fenced in area. He sighed, as the warm summer air made his scalp itch even worse.
They approached the familiar sign with red writing: Population 52, Victims 6.
Jack reached Sad, smacking him on the back. “That’s three more,” said Jack cockily, “Huh, Sad?”
Sad glared at his little brother and glanced up at his dad.
Here I am almost 40 years old. OK, it's not about the age because I still feel like a 20 year old, even though my body doesn't, but I DIDN'T REACH MY GOAL OF GETTING ON A WRITING SCHEDULE OR SENDING SHIT OUT!
That is just not right. (It's also not right because I figured I do have time to write; I just have to turned off the fucking T.V. and not play on line.) The stupid werewolf story, never got finished. So I thought I would post it here as a serial; that should help me get perspective. The seeds of a good plot are there, I just need to refine it.
On a marginally related note, I read Ender's Game and was happy to see that he wrote about children using intelligent voices. It was one hell of a great story, and the character development was great. I also respect a writer who uses a notebook. I am, in truth, a notebook writer, and that may be the route to go because my toddler is so jealous of the computer. And no, the baby isn't the block to me getting on.
Well, here's the first page.
======
Maria J. Estrada
April 24, 2010
Sad stilled his hands, as he walked into the town of Gila Bend, AZ; he hit his head against his shoulder, but couldn’t reach that itchy spot. He couldn’t let his father know about his plight, or he’d wind up a cone-headed freak. To make things worse, during the three-mile walk, his little brother Jack had jumped over every desert bush, attacked all the anthills, and tried to chase random jackrabbits. Sad wished he could tie a rope around him because every time he got too far, Sad had to go after him, and today, he carried a heavy pack.
Their father, Summer Hunter never brought their car into town, for fear of having their gas siphoned or their car cannibalized. Or worse. Turning away from his father, as he inspected the town, he hastily rubbed his fist against the side of his head. The McDonalds was still boarded up and the fossilized armed guard walled the gas station. Most of the buildings through the main road were still burned down, except for the hotel and a few tents pitched inside a fenced in area. He sighed, as the warm summer air made his scalp itch even worse.
They approached the familiar sign with red writing: Population 52, Victims 6.
Jack reached Sad, smacking him on the back. “That’s three more,” said Jack cockily, “Huh, Sad?”
Sad glared at his little brother and glanced up at his dad.
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