Instead of continuing my story from two weeks ago (which I will get back to) I wrote a story loosely based on one of my internet compadres Sam. I don’t really know her, since she lives in Brooklyn, but she seems kind of cool. I figured if I wrote about someone I actually know, they might get pissed if I portray them wrong or whatever. I think this story turned out really well, and it is one of the longer ones I have written. As always, I appreciate criticism, it’s the only way I’ll know what I’m doing wrong, and right. Also, if you would like a story written about you, drop me an email or a DM me on twitter. Without further ado, here is her story:
“Take that, you fucking cunt!” says Sam as she bashes in its head with a baseball bat. The nails driven through the end of the bat suction as she pulls it back and forth attempting to release it. Finally, a piece of skull breaks off and the bat is hers again. “So, how many is that this week? 13 ,14?” she asks.
Dexter reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small notepad, and responds, “15 counting the two this morning.”
“They were just midgets though, so they should only count as one, right?”
“They’re not midgets Sam, they’re kids.” He says with a sigh.
“Since when do you remember kids trying to rip out your fucking throat?” She looks at the end of the bat and then begins picking out little specks of grey matter. “A Z is a Z is a Z, remember? Blah, blah, blah, they’re not human anymore. All of that bullshit.”
“Fine, call them what you want, it’s still a kill a piece.” He begins cutting off the head of the lifeless corpse. “This should get us enough gas to power the generator for at least 2 days.”
“Damnit, I got brains on my dress again.” Sam is clad in a purple prom dress from 1985. It’s ripped off around her knees as not to trip her or get hung up in a fight. Her biker boots come up to where the dress ends. Her hair is messy and loose, the brunette strands hanging down her back. She doesn’t wear any makeup anymore, it always runs when she sweats and she figures what’s the point anyway.
Dexter is small, about 5’5” and wearing a black button up with a white skinny tie. Traces of blood cover the tie. He wears jeans with biker boots tucked under and has black rimmed glasses that draw attention to his beady eyes. He is over confident for his size and Sam often compares him to Napolean.
“Ok, Sam” he says, “let’s get moving. You know these fuckers feast at night.” Read the rest of this entry »