Friday, March 7, 2008

Tonight's Special Feature!

Woo Woo!!! It's Friday! I'm so happy! I have determined that this weekend I will finish the rough draft of the story I'll be submitting to the Bebo Author Short Story Competition. So far I have no idea what it's about. All I know is that it includes a small boy looking through a window. It's decidedly not going to be dark and gruesome, I hope.
The rough draft of the beginning of a story I started working on a few months ago that I will include in this post, however, is. But I must admit, I love it. It's a wonderful beginning, even if a bit colorful and perhaps a little graphic. Okay, it's absolutely demonic, proceed with extreme caution. Some of you may wish to avert your eyes. What I like about it so far is that it has it's own voice. Jacob's voice. It's the world as he sees it. I close my eyes and I can see it too.
Anyway, there's still a long way to go, but I thought I would share this part with you. It's the story in it's entirety at this point, I have a few more projects to do before I can take the time to finish it, but I can tell now... it will be a grand adventure. It will be magical.

Jacob's Tale:

Jacob fumbled with the Colt .45 tucked into the front pocket of his over sized, hooded sweatshirt. Somewhere around the corner three government agents were in hot pursuit, the thunderous echoes of their shiny black shoes told him they were getting closer. Finally freeing the cold steel of the pistol, he planted his feet firmly and prepared to kill. It wouldn’t be the first time, if he got lucky it also wouldn’t be the last.
As the first shadow fell on the tiles in his view he braced for the recoil that would send the first bullet on its path toward his relentless pursuers. He managed a smile at the thought of Agent Roberts rounding the corner first, taking the bullet square in his puffy, condescending chest. These weren’t the type of agents that wore bulletproof vests; they were the spooks, the ones that operated out of an office without a name. They were the type of agents that questioned their detainees via ‘alternate methods’ which might mean the dunk tank or electrical connecters attached to your nut sack, depending on the mood of dear Mr. Roberts.
“Say goodnight, Agent.” Jacob whispered as the first suit rounded the corner, gun held aloof.
The first shot was deafening in the tight corridor, each following reverberation shook his vision and left his ears ringing in pain, but he couldn’t stop the hatred that had built within him during his three weeks of captivity. The first agent crumpled to the floor like a shredded paper doll. The second caught a bullet to the shoulder but managed to get off a shot of his own. Jacob barely noticed the projectile tearing through the flesh of his left thigh; the man’s weapon flew backwards in burst of red that had once occupied the space of the clenched fist of his trigger hand. The next round found its place between his eyes which were now wide with shock, staring at the stump, undoubtedly still trying to squeeze the trigger with the finger that now fell to the floor with a stunning sort of grace.
Writing Exercise:

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