Exit.

This is actually something I wrote ages and ages ago and I think it fits into the idea of 'mood writing' but basically it's a song song story I wrote for the U2 song, Exit. All lyrics belong to U2, this is not meant to be plagiaristic, I was simply very inspired by the song and the genius of its 'murkiness' if that makes any sense in the way it was written and how the music creates such a mood... 

A bulky silhouette made its way up the steep hill. 

The man could not go to sleep due to a pounding headache and a creaking conscience, he'd decided to climb above the city, try to escape his hellish nightmares. The setting sun was blazing blood red, a dog barked in the little suburban city below the hill, the sound was eerie, like a human crying over a broken heart. 

The warm summer breeze turned into a howl dueting the dog's mournful cries. Suddenly the wind died, almost as quickly as it had come; leaving the solitary shadow of a lonely, loveless man standing on the rise; watching the sun go to sleep… The shiny pinpricks of stars started to appear, the sky like a massive black board with nails puncturing it every now and then.  The man was about to leave when he stopped in his tracks, plunged his hand in his pants pocket and seemed to wait. His heart pounding in his ears he could hear a little voice, his injured conscience, above the roar… 

You can't do it… you haven't got the nerve to pull it off, you know you could never take a life…

His sweating hand that had caressed the hard steel of a small, and loaded pistol, slithered out of his pocket, and behind his back. Out of danger. 

Work.

 Hello again, readers!

This post is mainly for the purpose of communicating a general feel for a location within a story through tons of description and whatever dialogue seems to fit. I plan to do a few more like this, separating the place and characters from the story or whatever they're originally a part of and look at the paragraph or more by itself. This is just to practice communicating whatever vibe I'm trying to create for the reader to experience in my future projects. Enjoy!

  I woke up with a bad feeling hanging over me like a foreboding storm cloud. I swung myself from the low couch and stretched with my hands behind my head. The mirror directly across from me sat on the dresser top in a disapproving way. I grunted, ignored my scruffy reflection and went to the mini fridge on the floor near the wall. A half-finished beer was on the top of the machine, left-over from having Sophie over. I got a soda out and cracked it open over the sink. I took a swig and feeling electrified, hurried to shower and dress before the clock chimed 8:00. As I pulled an undershirt on, the phone came alive and I was suddenly nervous.

     “Hello?”

     “Alexander, where the h*** are you?”

     “Oh, thank God, it’s just you!”

     “What? Who’d you wanta hear?”

     “Well… never mind. What’s up Tip?’

     “I need you to get your smarta**down here ASAP. Jamie’s gonna have a fit if your late again. God, Alexander, how hard do you try to be late for the night shift?”

     “I don’t, you know that, Tip.” I smiled briefly and then told him I was on my way. Picking up my jacket from the floor where I’d dropped it the night before, I hurried away after sticking the ‘Please Clean’ sign on the handle. Not like the cleaning crew would see it this late though. I dodged the delivery trucks and loaded taxis leaving the circle in front of the complex. I prefer to grab the train to work to keep from paying overtime for traffic delays in a taxi. Besides, there were interesting people in the train, despite the general grimy aura the green lights and faded upholstery gave off... 

 “All passengers bound for Applegate, this is your stop. Please be careful of the gap between the train and the platform.”

 I felt the wheels churn to a back jolting stop and then the automatic doors opened. I jogged out and turned left, continuing along the train track until the stairs rose up from the platform and lead up into the crisp night air. I enjoyed the stroll from the train to work.

 It was safe enough and quite pleasant, at least during autumn, when the trees from the border of the park shivered with droplets and made the sentimental sound of a dog shaking or a street sweeper passing. I went ahead down Kenneth Street and finally reached the back door to the building. The building I worked at was not so beautiful or sentimental or generally a nice place to be. And it wasn’t because I worked with two of the world’s most foul-mouthed bosses either so…the Klein Brothers & Co. building was just downright unpleasant.

As always, constructive and instructive criticism is welcome!

dh

Highly Suspect.

“I’m here to investigate the murder of your brother, Mr. Michael Brooke.” Edith Brook's reaction was less than devastated, at least, compared to her sister’s. She lit a cigarette nonchalantly and replied,

“To be honest, he had it coming to him, not by my hand, but…” She tapped her cigarette off into a tray, avoiding my eyes completely,

“Goodwin, Miles Goodwin was so angry with my conniving little brother for interfering with his marriage, I could’ve told you months ago, something was bound to happen between them sooner or later.” She was now hidden by a cloud of smoke…

“Would you happen to be able to think on another person who could’ve done this?” I tried to sound sympathetic, I apparently overdid it and she clammed up on me and my bothersome questions immediately.

I’ve never been ushered out of an interview with so much cold force.

I climbed into my car once again and after checking Goodwin’s list, headed back toward Kingsley Ave. to call on a Miss. Helena Darning, a past girlfriend of Michael Brooke’s with a bruised heart; he had apparently forgotten her altogether sometimes and more recently, sent her warnings not to come to him again for attention.  How Goodwin could’ve known about how intricate a relationship Brooke had with this woman, baffled me, but by the time I got to number 34 Finchley House, I understood that it was not so hard to get details out of Miss. Darning…

“Oh, yes, my darling Michael, he was so…” she stoked her little arrogant chin in reflection,

“So devilishly deceitful and unfeeling, he pushed me once, he pushed me” she then went on to prod me roughly in the chest and continued,

“Just like that. He was a bad boy, and now I know I should’ve never gone out with him. Anyway, you came for more contacts related to this tragedy, I suppose,” she looked at me with a wide eyed expression that confused me so badly for a second, that I stumbled over my words.

“I-I, uh, yes, how- you’ve  been through this before?”

“Oh no, I just have an overwhelming passion for those mysteries on TV nowadays… and now I know how realistic they are!” she giggled with a squeaky tone that suddenly set my teeth on edge.  

She wrote down two contacts in my notepad and signed with a poorly drawn heart and her own name, as if she were autographing something for me. I thanked her, but carefully, making sure not make myself sound too ridiculous and then hastened to my vehicle before she could draw me back with her ever flowing conversation.