Some notes for stories, or beginnings, free to good homes. If you think you can work with one, please take it. If I find more, I will post more. Some will be nicer than these.
- He was such a cheapskate, he saved his Remembrance Day poppy so he didn’t have to pay for a new one each year. On the coat it went, and successfully kept the money beggars away. Made him look like an upstanding citizen too.
He hated those ceremonies. Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, all suspect, all insidious poison designed to make you conform, spend money, waste your breath and brain cells. He had refused to give them a moments thought, over a decade before, and he felt liberated by it. He was nobody’s fool.
- Life begins to echo Thomas’ dreams. Some of it good – sexual seduction from neighbour, etc. – but some of it definitely bad – people, workmates, friends, being harassed, falling ill, injured. He fears that Satan is in his dreams. Thomas fears, gradually, that he has made a pact with the devil. As things go bad for others, things tend to get brighter for him. He is promoted, to another’s detriment, etc. The initial crisis that wakes him up comes when his lover is in a car accident, by some fluke evading death. He believes it is because he harboured a tiny bit of anger toward her that morning.
What the hell to do? The pleasure turns to horror…
I drive a bus. In this incarnation, this costume change, I drive a city bus. The job stinks, but I am only doing it until World War III, which is imminent. Then I will be one of the first to join up and, in true G.I style, will take up smoking again and will drink rum under skies of steel. Or under that final, soul-annihilating hot flash. (Not romantic at all. Not where I meant to go. I will have to stop being so damn realistic…). No, there will not be atom bombs or chemical clouds wrenching flesh from bone, suppurating through pores, through the mesh behind the eyes. There will be a good war, an honourable one.
- I’d say that he was shimmering, except that he wasn’t by the time he stood in front of me.
He was about my height, or shorter, and he wore a grubby black suit, worn to shining on the elbows and knees. And his voice came out just as grubby, second-hand words propping up bits of junk. Blank eyes, like two periods banged into a pale skull, that’s what I saw after the soiled suit.
He said, “I’ve been sent down here to tell you to shut up.”
That irked me. I wanted to clout him, but I didn’t.
“ You’re doing a hell of a lot of ULTRA LOUD THINKING, and it is not appreciated. So stop it. Or go away, if you can.
I really did want to clout him. But I just said “Not appreciated by who? Where?”
“By better men than you, Gunga Din.” He actually smirked, then wiped his mouth and nose in a sudden
violent gesture, as though to erase them.
Then he walked off down the hall, murmuring. I heard “Gunga Din” again and a snort or a fart, I don’t know.
- Assisted, blind drunk, out of the squad car by a female officer.
” Okay, I don’t think I can … I don’t think I can move too well … be gentle with me … Goddamit! You’re not being gentle (mumble mumble) you’re pullin’ at my Goddam wrists like that …
Handcuffed and walking through the cop-shop, supported by the officer. ” You’re the Goddamdest most useless female in the whole universe …
Where you takin’ me? … You are … you’re the most useless Goddamn female in the entire universe …”
- Postal clerk Casanova says to female customer, ” You’re breaking the rules of my store.”” Oh? What’s that?”” You’re not allowed to come in here looking so nice.”” Why, thank you” she says, walking to the mail slot. She adds, over her shoulder, as she leaves, ” I’ll try not to next time I come in.”
” That’ll be pretty hard to do” assures the clerk.