Writing sample :: The Steps You Take
Bah, already missed two days. While I have been writing, I doubt any of you want to read my essay on gender stratification and the role of social hierarchy in modern day society.
This isn't the finished product, though I thought I'd go ahead and post a part of it. Working with a new story format for this piece and I think it's working out pretty well. Features Erika (Aubergine Dreams version). Currently, there are 13 sections, though there'll be a lot more. Under the cut is the first 7.
Also the current music? Been listening to it on repeat for several hours now. I consider it Erika's theme song.
Rating: R (language)
Word count: 517
1. At almost every bar across town, she has a seat at the counter. It's usually the same one in every place (the third stool from the right), even if every place isn't the same. Her reputation precedes her; people avoid sitting in her spot out of fear she'll swoop in for a drink even if everyone knows she's off in a gun fight in the next state over. Not that she'd immediately blow the brains out of anyone in her special spot, but who could tell with hunters?
2. No one said a thing when he sat down. Best let the bastard figure things out for himself. But then again, she wasn't due back in town for another week so maybe he was safe.
Figures she came back that day.
3. She breezed into the bar with her backpack slung over one shoulder. It was good to be back. Marching over to the counter, already shouting out her drink order ("Hey, Ted! Mug of beer, all right and two whiskey shots, all right?"), she didn't realize her usual place was occupied before she was standing behind it.
They blinked at each other before she shrugged and took the empty seat next to him, taking her drink and downing it with gusto.
Hunters. Who could tell?
4."So."
"So."
"You come here often?"
"Sure, when I'm in town. Usually off driftin' around though."
"Ah."
"You?"
"New here."
"Welcome."
"Thanks."
"So."
"So."
5. He tried to tell convince himself this was morally wrong and he shouldn't be doing this-they'd just met, she barely looked 20, they were drunk--, but the more her hands moved over his body and the more he kissed soft lips stained with beer, whiskey, and cigarettes, well, fuck morals and let's fuck.
6. It was downpouring rain by the time they finished in the back alley surrounded by used hypodermic needles and small piles of things they didn't even want to think about. They huddled together under a metal awning, rain and sweat soaked bodies shivering against each other. She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, picking out a dry one and placing it in her mouth before offering him one (he declined and she shrugged). Fumbling around more, she pulled out a lighter and furrowed her brow at it as she tried to get it to light. After the fourth try, a little flame flickered and wavered in the poor weather, but stayed long enough for her to light her cigarette and puff away at it as he draped his arms around him and held her close, his head resting on the top of hers.
7. Two days later, lying face-down on the slick tar roof of an old building, honing in on his target through his sniper scope, he realized her never caught her name.
In the two seconds it took for him to think about that night, his target slumped to the ground, claimed by someone else's bullet. Cursing to himself, he silently packed up and slipped away.
So much for that job.
This isn't the finished product, though I thought I'd go ahead and post a part of it. Working with a new story format for this piece and I think it's working out pretty well. Features Erika (Aubergine Dreams version). Currently, there are 13 sections, though there'll be a lot more. Under the cut is the first 7.
Also the current music? Been listening to it on repeat for several hours now. I consider it Erika's theme song.
Rating: R (language)
Word count: 517
1. At almost every bar across town, she has a seat at the counter. It's usually the same one in every place (the third stool from the right), even if every place isn't the same. Her reputation precedes her; people avoid sitting in her spot out of fear she'll swoop in for a drink even if everyone knows she's off in a gun fight in the next state over. Not that she'd immediately blow the brains out of anyone in her special spot, but who could tell with hunters?
2. No one said a thing when he sat down. Best let the bastard figure things out for himself. But then again, she wasn't due back in town for another week so maybe he was safe.
Figures she came back that day.
3. She breezed into the bar with her backpack slung over one shoulder. It was good to be back. Marching over to the counter, already shouting out her drink order ("Hey, Ted! Mug of beer, all right and two whiskey shots, all right?"), she didn't realize her usual place was occupied before she was standing behind it.
They blinked at each other before she shrugged and took the empty seat next to him, taking her drink and downing it with gusto.
Hunters. Who could tell?
4."So."
"So."
"You come here often?"
"Sure, when I'm in town. Usually off driftin' around though."
"Ah."
"You?"
"New here."
"Welcome."
"Thanks."
"So."
"So."
5. He tried to tell convince himself this was morally wrong and he shouldn't be doing this-they'd just met, she barely looked 20, they were drunk--, but the more her hands moved over his body and the more he kissed soft lips stained with beer, whiskey, and cigarettes, well, fuck morals and let's fuck.
6. It was downpouring rain by the time they finished in the back alley surrounded by used hypodermic needles and small piles of things they didn't even want to think about. They huddled together under a metal awning, rain and sweat soaked bodies shivering against each other. She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, picking out a dry one and placing it in her mouth before offering him one (he declined and she shrugged). Fumbling around more, she pulled out a lighter and furrowed her brow at it as she tried to get it to light. After the fourth try, a little flame flickered and wavered in the poor weather, but stayed long enough for her to light her cigarette and puff away at it as he draped his arms around him and held her close, his head resting on the top of hers.
7. Two days later, lying face-down on the slick tar roof of an old building, honing in on his target through his sniper scope, he realized her never caught her name.
In the two seconds it took for him to think about that night, his target slumped to the ground, claimed by someone else's bullet. Cursing to himself, he silently packed up and slipped away.
So much for that job.