Paper Cut.

The silence roared in her ears, making it difficult to concentrate, as if she hadn’t even been trying to before. Throwing her pencil down she frowned and shut her text book with a satisfying slam!

                “Casey…” Her mother’s warning floated up the stairs, making her eardrums pound with impatience.

                “Alright mom, I get it!” She called back, the irritability swirling through her thoughts increased to point of anger and petty, irrational explosions. She glanced at her clock and felt a surge of furry sweep through her, it was already 8:30 and she wasn’t nearly half done with her work. Cursing quietly she rubbed her temples, gathering up all of her last reserves of faith, and plunged her nose back into ‘Advanced Math with Physics’. 

Two hours later, she awoke with her face hurting. There was a stinging paper cut along her cheek from lying on top of the rim of her textbook. Wincing as she felt the small rivet she rushed to the bathroom, cupping her hands under her chin to catch the droplet of blood that oozed off her face.

                “Did you do that on purpose?” A small voice made Casey’s head snap suddenly around to the bathtub behind her.

                “Oh, Jordan, it’s you. Why are you still up so late?” Casey recalled the time before she’d ran to the restroom, 10:34.

                “I couldn’t sleep, or try to anyway…” The little boy’s big eyes were somber with pain, his hands knotted and unknotted themselves in anxiety. Casey eyed the plastic tube that spiraled to his nose from the grey case on the bathroom tiles.

                “Its alright...” Casey tried to sound sympathetic, but she found it hard to when she was still burning with the hatred she’d come to know towards her toughest subject.

                “You didn’t answer me. Did you cut yourself?” Jordan’s face was so earnest Casey felt compelled to tell him the truth right away, instead of estranging herself behind a veil of unfriendly mystery.

                “No… No Jordan, I wouldn’t do that…” She sat next to him and as she held his head to her troubled heart, wondered if what she said was true.

                “Okay, I was just worried about you that’s all…” Jordan heaved shaky sigh and then snuggled closer to his big sister, feeling safe and warm just before he dropped off into a fitful sleep…  

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. 

The Woman.

It was exactly 4:43 p.m one Monday evening in town. A young man stood at a corner, waiting in the drizzle for one of the very few cabs to pick him up. Not many were out today; most were temporarily employed by the town hall to cart officials and their wives back and forth from their lodgings and back to the courtroom.  A case was being closed today, and Gavin would be late, darned cabs. Because of his dyslexic tendencies, Gavin Room never bothered with a car. He traveled solely by cab and by foot. He seriously considered just starting the three mile walk across town, when suddenly a bright yellow cab showed up and the driver gestured for him to get in quickly. Gavin yanked the door open and muttered “Took you long enough” before sliding in the back seat. A woman was sitting on the far side, her elegant jawline turned to the window, and her eyes were fixed on the rain traveling across the glass.

“You heading to court too?” Gavin said, directing the thought toward the woman.

“Yes. Which side of the case are you on?”

“I’m a witness.  A late one at that” It was Gavin’s turn to look out of the glass; he watched the tall buildings blur. His eyes lingered on an old woman walking her small, soaked dog along the dirty sidewalk. Dedicated, he thought with a twitch of a smile.

“You were there?” The woman on the other side of the cab said suddenly.

“Yes. I saw Gladys Kent. Gruesome” The young man never looked at the woman.

“I’d think so. This case has been dragging along long enough, I’m glad it’s about to be over.”

“I want to see justice dealt to the right side and that should be enough for anyone” Gavin said, broodingly.

“You’re right, of course.” The woman replied and she finally turned away from the blue tinted glass to carry the conversation on more politely. But they did not have much more time to talk, much to the relief of the strained man in the right back seat. The cab pulled around a few corners, stopped at an inactive four way stop, and then proceeded to the tall, boring building of grey concrete that was the courtroom of Kendall.

“Ah, we’re finally here.” The woman in red commented as the cab stopped suddenly at the wide stair case of the town hall. The woman handed Gavin a large black umbrella.

“If you would be so kind, sir” she said gracefully, nodding for him to get out first. Gavin obeyed and they walked up the stairs together...

You Don't Know Me.

This poem came to me randomly and I realized I hadn't posted on this blog for absolutely ages so here you go- read and enjoy however you like.

Still as a shadow

Glowing in the dark, a lingering smile

Shifting feet and hushed cries

Dark, dark prison of thoughtfulness

And care

Eyes wandering, hearts longing

No relief

No help or sign, never mind

Passersby stops and stares

You don’t know me.

Light fades, blackness even

Disintegrates before our eyes

Nothing will last but you

Cover it up besides,

No one can know the obvious

No one can see your emotions

That you wear out on your sleeve

The question is why

But why ask when you know the answer?

There are few and passive answers to it

Why

Still stands as the unchanging

In a changing mass of matter

Or does it matter?

The Boy With the Glasses.

This is an excerpt from one of my stories about an editor and a book cafe...

BEEP... BEEP..BEEPBEEPBEEP

Tired. I was still tired as I scrambled off the bed and walked clumsily to my bathroom. I showered before my brain was fully functioning resulting in putting soap in my hair and using conditioner as shaving cream. I dressed fast and swept out of the house, eager to get to the book store.

“Right on time. Did you keep the card?”

“Yes. So, you're name is Sadie. I'm sorry I had not thought to tell you my own, David Copper,” I offered my hand over the table and she took it readily.

“What do you read here?”

“Everything. Everything except romance novels and the current rave of the critics if I can.”

“Current? I guess you wouldn't be a fan of Gallant then?”

“Ah, yes well, I have heard much about that book... And the author as well, a teenager isn't she?”

“Oh yes, I find her story really inspiring. The book is half decent if you wanted an unofficial review.”

I cocked an eyebrow. Half-decent wasn't nearly good enough to invest time in. I pretended to take interest for conversation's sake.

“And what is half decent for you?”

“A nice story with well said logic and a bit of a cliffhanger ending. That about describes it.”

“Really? I would say that's a book well on it's way to 'okay'. If the story is really well thought out and put up the right way.”

“Well, I didn't say Gallant was all of those traits. Well said logic yes, but no fantastic ending and not really well put together.”

“Hmm” I reconsidered the previous thought. “Sounds like you have the makings of an editor in you.”

“Do I?” She asked, eyes bright as she leaned in excitedly.

“Yes. Well, you'd need to know some official guidelines but...”

“Are you an editor?”

“Yes.” I was a little taken aback. She was bright, very analytical.

“I thought so. You look like a book person. Tell me, what are you working on now?” She said, sounding genuinely interested.

“A romance novel. Not a great story, no logic at all, and, a very anticlimactic ending.” She smirked as though reprimanding me for doing what I had just pronounced not worth my time. 

“Could I check it out sometime?”

“You mean if it ever gets published?” I was heavily doubtful that it would.

“No. In manuscript form, right now.”

I paused, cappuccino steaming up my glasses.

“I can't, sorry. It's a legality thing.”

“That's okay. Maybe I'll pick it up when it's in store.”

I checked the time on the cafe clock. I had to go soon.

“Yes, maybe.”

“Hey, maybe we could go over to Bailey's, they have a lot of new releases I want you to see.”

“Sure, as long as we aren't there for too long. I have a meeting with the author of the bad romance novel.”

The street was filled with a strong wind that buffeted trash and small children down the sidewalks. We walked a few blocks before Sadie turned suddenly into a corner shop. The sign said closed but the door was open.

“Sadie? Is that you? Have you brought the troublemaker again?” A man's voice called to us as soon as the bells settled.

“No, Ian's in class today. I brought Mr. Copper, my new friend from the cafe.”

“The boy with the glasses?” An elderly man stepped down from a platform behind the front desk.

“I know you!” He exclaimed and I pulled a blank. I frowned instead.

“I always wonder what you're thinking sitting there in the window, what are you here for?”

“I'm here for Sadie, she wanted to show me something here.” I reminded her and she tugged my sleeve over to a small shelf near the front of the store. The shelf had all new books on it, I could tell by the binding and shiny enamel. Most of the books were fiction, action or romance. There was one however, a murder mystery, that looked good.

“I thought you might like...” Sadie's hand reached for an action novel and I found my hand crossing her's to get the mystery.

“Sorry...”

“You like that?”

“Yeah, I like suspense.” We stood for a second, each holding the selected book with determined eyes.

“Is that why you're an editor?” Sadie said, shoulders slouching a little,

“Is it for the thrill of a new author to read every month?” Sadie's tone was friendly again and I seemed to relax a little.

“Maybe, I never thought of the job that way before.” I smiled.

“Do you want to buy?” The old man asked.

“What is it?”

“I'll give it to you for fifteen, it's actually twenty since it's a new release but, you're one of Sadie's friends so...”

“How about ten? If the book is worth twenty I'll give you ten bucks when I'm done.”

“Deal. He's a bright one!” The old man shook my hand while looking at Sadie with a knowing eye.