So remember that thread that had me writing this short story, then trying to make a novel out of it, then locking the thread and giving some stupid, vague 'OH GOD PLAGIARISM' excuse like the big, overly cautious tosser that I am? Of course you don't, only three people actually enjoyed that story. Anyway, I said I was going to try and get it published, so I happily wrote a bit more and realized this:
I didn't like the main character. I didn't like the plot. I didn't like the setting. I'd just read The Stand and where I was going with the novel seemed suspiciously similar to that and Steven King is a million billion times better than me.
So I ditched the idea and now, a few months on, I've set about writing a collection of short stories!
Anyway, I'm posting the first one (and only the first one) here to see what you think. Be brutally honest. Brutally.
‘He looks kind of worried,’ said Jake, looking across the road at one of the people sitting outside a bar. The man had his head in his hands, and his drink was untouched.
‘Wonder why,’ said Richard, curtly, sipping his drink to try and quell his headache. It was too damn hot. Bloody Sacramento. Goddamn this city, Goddamn this state, Goddamn this country. He ought to be back in London, freezing his balls off. Sure, it wasn’t fun, but it was better than sweating like a pig in a sauna. Thank Christ the beer was good. His boss had called it a ‘paid holiday’ but all he knew was he didn’t get on well with heat. It was 38 degrees. What the hell sort of stupid country reached 38 degrees? Ha, but over here it was 100.1 degrees, really. Yet another reason he hated this country. Everything was out of proportion. Paid vacation his ass. Ugh. He put down the drink
‘How are the kids, by the way?’ asked Jake.
‘Snot-nosed little brats, as usual. And my brother asks me why I’m not married yet. Christmas needs to be outlawed,’ said Richard.
‘Christ, you’re grumpy. It is the season of joy, you know,’ said Jake, chuckling.
‘No, it’s the season of spending too much on a bunch of cheeky shits who don’t even say “thank you. Next year I’m just staying at home,’ muttered Richard.
‘Oh no you aren’t. I know what you’re like at home. You hit that stuff too hard,” said Jake. Richard glared at him.
‘It’s a bit of coke, okay? You’re not me mam, no matter how much you try to be.’
‘I don’t want to come over to your place and find you dead in the bathroom, that’s all,” said Jake. He turned and looked across the road. ‘Oh, check him out.’
The worried man had pick up his beer and was staring at it blankly.
‘Christ, what a freak,’ mutter Richard.
‘You barely know the poor guy,’ said Jake.
‘Poor guy?’ said Richard, incredulously. Jake waved his hand dismissively.
‘I try not to think about things too much. It just makes things hard. You remember that Steven fellow?’ he asked. Richard laughed.
‘That stupid old bastard! He was a laugh, right enough. Who has an Uzi in their hatstand? Insane. We’re lucky to be alive and we only came over to see if we could watch the game on his telly. Paranoid old geezer, wasn’t he?’
‘Oh Christ, don’t remind me,’ laughed Jake. ‘And the thing is, we weren’t due to head over to his place till the day after… Hello, what’s he doing?’
The man had paid for his still untouched drink and was heading up the street, shoulders hunched. The two men looked at each other.
‘Should we follow him? He looks suicidal,’ asked Jake.
‘Oh, because you’re the best judge of these things,’ said Richard. He fiddled with his glass for a moment. ‘Yeah, alright. I guess.’ He stood up and walked over to pay, whilst Jake headed off down the street after the man.
After a while, Richard caught up.
‘Did you have enough?’ Jake asked.
‘No,’ grumbled Richard. ‘I had to get some money out. I hate it when that happens, huge waste of time.’
‘Oh, whoops, where’s he going?’ said Jake, as their depressed friend stumbled into a kitchenware store.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ muttered Richard. His headache was really bad now. ‘Did he just want to pick up a garlic crusher or some stupid shit like that? Look, he’s not suicidal, okay? He’s not.’
‘I don’t know…’ said Jake. ‘Look, we need to find out.’
‘Oh? Do we just walk in and ask: “Excuse me, are you planning on killing yourself today? Because that would be –“’
“Shut up, he’s coming out,’ said Jake. The man walked out, holding a small bag, looked around and headed off down the street once more. Jake headed off after him. Richard stared at the both of them, pinched the bridge of his nose and followed, muttering ‘unprofessional’ to himself.
The man made his way through several streets, before heading into an alley. Jake paused outside the entrance whilst Richard caught up, then peered into the grimy avenue. It headed straight for about a dozen meters before veering to the right. The man was nowhere to be found. Jake grunted, before heading down the alley, motioning for Richard to follow.
‘Jake, the alleyway is a dead end, for Christ’s sake. Couldn’t we just wait till he comes out?’ hissed Richard.
‘And what if he kills himself? Why did he walk into this alley, huh?’ replied Jake.
‘Because he wants to get high? Because he likes alleys? Jake, I don’t give a rat’s ass if this guy kills himself. Why do you?’
‘Because it’ll look bad,’ said Jake.
‘So? For who? It’ll just be another dead guy in sunny California – Jake, get the hell back here God damn it!’
Jake peeked around the corner once more, and gulped.
‘He has a knife,’ he whispered.
‘So he does want to kill himself? Then let’s go. I don’t care how it looks’
Jake shook his head.
‘He’s just standing there looking at it.’
‘I. Don’t. Care. I’ve got a headache, it’s too hot and we’re chasing after this guy just to see if he kills himself!’
‘Richard,’ said Jake, coldly. ‘He’s not killing himself. He’s just standing there.’ Richard stared at him as he made the connection. Then he grimaced. ‘Alright, let’s go.’
The headed into the alleyway as quietly as possible and stood a fair distance behind the man, who was facing the wall at the end of the alley and staring at his knife. The knife was big enough to pass for a cleaver. Richard looked at Jake, who nodded and crept up towards the man, whilst Richard got ready. Jake tapped the man on the shoulder.
‘Guess who?’ he said, jauntily. The man spun round and sliced at Jake, cutting him across his right pectoral. Jake screamed and stumbled backwards, falling over. Richard quietly pulled the trigger and with a near silent ‘pft’ a bullet tore its way through the man’s stomach and out through his back. The man collapsed onto his back with a moan, almost unconscious thanks to the pain. It was a wonder he was alive. Jake was writhing on the ground and grunting various curses as he tried to cover his wound, which was rather deep.
Richard walked up to the groaning man and pointed his pistol at his head.
‘Thirteen thousand dollars. Did you really think you could get away with that?’ he asked. Rhetorical questions. It was part of it all, how you did things. At the end, you asked a rhetorical question. It made everything seem more… ‘Professional.’ With a capital P.
He pulled the trigger. He stared at the body for a moment, then walked over to Jake and kicked him softly.
‘Why the hell do I listen to you? “Wait for the opportune moment”, as if that ever works. We should have gotten him three days ago, you bloody amateur.’
He picked him up over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and strode away.
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Topic: Short Stories (Read 2273 times)