writing again.
So, last night, or this morning, rather, Nik and I started on yet another writing project. I'd explain it all right now but I'd rather just wait for explaining anything until we have a finished piece. I wrote Chapter III just now, so here's a bit of a sample of our...wackiness you could say? I've needed a project like this for a while, I haven't really sat down and written in a long time.
CHAPTER III
It was a quiet evening in Jackson’s queer apartment. He was sitting upright on his sofa, holding a knife in one hand and a cigarette in the other, carefully cutting the filter from it.
Two-thirds, that’s it, right... there, he thought as he completed the job, carefully setting aside the discarded two-thirds of the cigarette filter on the edge of his coffee table, where many like it already lay. Placing the cigarette at his lips, he struck two matches from the book that was also lying on the coffee table and lit it.
One, was his first thought as he took a drag from the cigarette.
“The pumpkins were quite queasy today, weren’t they,” he said aloud.
“Quite sir,” replied one of his loafers, which were sitting to the left of the coffee table. He always kept them in a good spot where he could see them, to allow for interesting conversation.
“It’s a shame. They’ll have to try harder next year.”
“Indeed sir,” replied the other loafer, “Quite the busybodies, usually. This year’s festival was quite a letdown.”
Two.
Suddenly, a loud pounding could be heard on the door from outside. The left loafer languishingly let loose a gasp of surprise.
“It seems they’ve come for you again, sir. Do you think perhaps they assume it was you, sir?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. I should hope they will just go away soon."
Three.
The pounding stopped immediately. There was a bit of a rustle of feet outside, but nothing more.
“Hmm, curious. It sounded like there were more of them this time. Four, perhaps. It was only two last time, if my memory serves correct, sir.”
“I should hope not. Blasted police, always more of them nosing around in everyone’s business than absolutely necessary. Don’t you agree, sir?”
“Yes, that is quite right. They get paranoid and multiply like flies."
Four.
Again, loud pounding at the door. This time, it was accompanied with shouts. Someone, or someones were most definitely outside and terribly needed to get in. But of course, Jackson Jackson was in no mood for unwanted visitors.
“Can’t they find someone else to bother? I’m innocent!” he exclaimed, clasping his free hand over one of his ears and rocking in his seat.
“Quite rude of them I should say, sir. One would at least expect a phone call.”
Five.
“Yes, the phone. You miss talking on the phone, don’t you, sir. How long has it been since you’ve spoken to magnificent Miss Magnolia?”
“Three months it’s been, I believe, dear brother.”
“Yes, three months. Quite too long if you ask me. I must remind you that I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention her.”
“Oh yes, sir. Terribly sorry, sir. My memory isn’t quite what it used to be. Been wearing down a bit, if you know what I mean.”
Six.
This time, the pounding was much louder, and coming from the opposite wall at the same time. It sounded as though they had surrounded his apartment. A thundering storm of combat boots could be heard from outside.
“My, my sir, that must have been quite the prize you destroyed.”
“An annoyance is all it was, really. I can’t see why anyone would place such a value on such a wretched object.”
“Pumpkins are worshipped by some you know, sir. Much like the codfish, sir.”
“I really wish they would quiet down, don’t you, sir?”
Seven.
“It’s quite alright, I believe I have it under control. I’ll finish my cigarette first.”
“If you say so, sir. It’d be quite a mess if they got in here. And we’re sure we know how you feel about messes.”
Jackson chuckled to himself at the thought, glancing momentarily at the row of cut off cigarette filters he had carefully placed on the coffee table. He raised the cigarette to his lips once more.
Eight.
He clutched his ear in pain, the cigarette dropping to the floor, a very loud, sudden screeching noise coming from just outside the door. It sounded as one might imagine a razor would sound like if it were to be scraped against a chalkboard.
The noise stopped as abruptly as it had started, but was soon replaced by even more pounding on the walls of his apartment. He stared for a moment at the cigarette laying on the floor, quaintly burning its place into the carpet next to a couple spots that looked quite like it.
“Open up in there!” a demanding voice from outside resounded. “We know it was you, you desecrated our sacred corkscrew!”
Ignoring the demands of the shouts outside, Jackson carefully picked up the cigarette, taking a drag from it and immediately putting it out in the ash tray which lay in the middle of the coffee table.
CHAPTER III
It was a quiet evening in Jackson’s queer apartment. He was sitting upright on his sofa, holding a knife in one hand and a cigarette in the other, carefully cutting the filter from it.
Two-thirds, that’s it, right... there, he thought as he completed the job, carefully setting aside the discarded two-thirds of the cigarette filter on the edge of his coffee table, where many like it already lay. Placing the cigarette at his lips, he struck two matches from the book that was also lying on the coffee table and lit it.
One, was his first thought as he took a drag from the cigarette.
“The pumpkins were quite queasy today, weren’t they,” he said aloud.
“Quite sir,” replied one of his loafers, which were sitting to the left of the coffee table. He always kept them in a good spot where he could see them, to allow for interesting conversation.
“It’s a shame. They’ll have to try harder next year.”
“Indeed sir,” replied the other loafer, “Quite the busybodies, usually. This year’s festival was quite a letdown.”
Two.
Suddenly, a loud pounding could be heard on the door from outside. The left loafer languishingly let loose a gasp of surprise.
“It seems they’ve come for you again, sir. Do you think perhaps they assume it was you, sir?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. I should hope they will just go away soon."
Three.
The pounding stopped immediately. There was a bit of a rustle of feet outside, but nothing more.
“Hmm, curious. It sounded like there were more of them this time. Four, perhaps. It was only two last time, if my memory serves correct, sir.”
“I should hope not. Blasted police, always more of them nosing around in everyone’s business than absolutely necessary. Don’t you agree, sir?”
“Yes, that is quite right. They get paranoid and multiply like flies."
Four.
Again, loud pounding at the door. This time, it was accompanied with shouts. Someone, or someones were most definitely outside and terribly needed to get in. But of course, Jackson Jackson was in no mood for unwanted visitors.
“Can’t they find someone else to bother? I’m innocent!” he exclaimed, clasping his free hand over one of his ears and rocking in his seat.
“Quite rude of them I should say, sir. One would at least expect a phone call.”
Five.
“Yes, the phone. You miss talking on the phone, don’t you, sir. How long has it been since you’ve spoken to magnificent Miss Magnolia?”
“Three months it’s been, I believe, dear brother.”
“Yes, three months. Quite too long if you ask me. I must remind you that I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention her.”
“Oh yes, sir. Terribly sorry, sir. My memory isn’t quite what it used to be. Been wearing down a bit, if you know what I mean.”
Six.
This time, the pounding was much louder, and coming from the opposite wall at the same time. It sounded as though they had surrounded his apartment. A thundering storm of combat boots could be heard from outside.
“My, my sir, that must have been quite the prize you destroyed.”
“An annoyance is all it was, really. I can’t see why anyone would place such a value on such a wretched object.”
“Pumpkins are worshipped by some you know, sir. Much like the codfish, sir.”
“I really wish they would quiet down, don’t you, sir?”
Seven.
“It’s quite alright, I believe I have it under control. I’ll finish my cigarette first.”
“If you say so, sir. It’d be quite a mess if they got in here. And we’re sure we know how you feel about messes.”
Jackson chuckled to himself at the thought, glancing momentarily at the row of cut off cigarette filters he had carefully placed on the coffee table. He raised the cigarette to his lips once more.
Eight.
He clutched his ear in pain, the cigarette dropping to the floor, a very loud, sudden screeching noise coming from just outside the door. It sounded as one might imagine a razor would sound like if it were to be scraped against a chalkboard.
The noise stopped as abruptly as it had started, but was soon replaced by even more pounding on the walls of his apartment. He stared for a moment at the cigarette laying on the floor, quaintly burning its place into the carpet next to a couple spots that looked quite like it.
“Open up in there!” a demanding voice from outside resounded. “We know it was you, you desecrated our sacred corkscrew!”
Ignoring the demands of the shouts outside, Jackson carefully picked up the cigarette, taking a drag from it and immediately putting it out in the ash tray which lay in the middle of the coffee table.