This is a draft of what a chapter 1 may be. If I go further I will definitely edit the later part of this chapter.
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Caroline shivers. The night is unseasonably warm, but she can't suppress a second shiver. She quickens her pace through the rows of gray tombstones. Their orderly rows make her feel like she is rushing past the teeth of some huge beast ready to devour her. Dew on the clipped grass chills her bare feet and dampens the peeling black polish on her toes. “I should not have taken this job, Bill.”
The ear-piece in her left ear transmits Bill's basso voice from the cellphone in her pocket. “Well, jobs haven't been coming, so you need it.”
Frustrated, Caroline brushes her hair behind her other ear. “Are you blaming me again for that apartment fire? I can't help that the clients didn't give us all the information we needed.”
“If you hadn't been rude to them, they might have.”
“Did they need to treat me like I was dirty? It's not like my curse is infectious.”
“And that's why they treat you like you're contagious. You treat it like a curse and not a gift.”
“You try living with it.”
“Like you said, not contagious, so you can't give it to me to live with it.”
“Har. Har. Well at least this graveyard isn't as old as some. No mausoleums. But there have been no taibhse níghe here in a while. Whatever's here has been here for a while, and... I think it's stalking me.”
“The request mentions that it's started to become active in the daytime.”
“What?! You didn't tell me that. I didn't prepare for that!” Looking around, Caroline mumbles, “I thought this felt wrong.” She turns to her right and sprints to the nearest fence.
“That matters?”
“Yes Bill, that matters! Déithe”
“Sorry.”
Taking deep even breaths to keep the oxygen flow steady, Caroline pants, “Read. The. Book. Or. I. Get. A. New. Agent.”
“Okay. Okay. I won't let it happen again.”
“Crap!” Caroline narrowly dodges a small grave marker that flies up from its place towards her head. She speeds up to avoid the next marker as it flies behind her. She tucks into a roll, getting her light cotton ceremonial shift and pantaloons wet with the dew, making them cling to her skin. Another marker flies over her. Caroline stops, crouches and dumps the contents of a small felt bag. She grabs one of the tiny cotton bundles tied with different colors of yarn. She yanks an athamé from its sheath and cuts a slice on her scarred left palm. She does not bother to untie the cotton bundle but slices it open with the small ritual blade, dropping the comfrey it contains into the blood welling in her palm.
Caroline jumps as far as she can from her crouched position. A fraction of a second later, another grave marker flies through the space where she was. She uses the athamé to slit her thin shift down to her belly, then places the handle in her mouth. With the fingers of her right hand she mixes the comfrey with her blood. Pushing her pantaloons down slightly, she spreads some of the mixture over her coccyx bone. She collects more of the mixture and spreads some on her exposed solar plexus. With one finger dabbed in the mixture, she puts a single dot of the mixture on the center of her forehead. Her first, third and sixth chakra now anointed, she snatches the athamé from her mouth and concentrates her will from her solar plexus to her root and intones “Tegere!”
The air in a sphere surrounding her shimmers. She grabs one of the bundles and runs towards the fence separating the cemetery from street outside. A large tombstone flies directly at her and shatters when it hits the sphere. Blue sparks cascade across its surface. Caroline stumbles slightly at the energy drain from the impact, but continues her flight towards the wall.
Behind her, air swirls around and picks up leaves and the dust of the destroyed tombstone. The dust collects into a roughly human torso, continuing to accelerate. A vague head on top of the torso is mishaped. Wells of black ooze into existence where the eyes would be. Huge jaws gape open, wide enough to swallow a melon whole. The wells draw in the little bit of light the night provides, while the mouth starts drawing air into the space where the head is.
The hair on Caroline's neck stands on end. She senses the manifestation and redoubles her effort to run. Despite this effort she feels it gaining on her. About fifty yards from the wall she wipes her palm on her pantaloons until it is clean and the cut is oozing blood. She slices open the other pouch and rubs the pigeon down feathers in the blood. Quickly she smears the mixture on the top of her head, her sternum, and over the blood on her solar plexus. She draws the power and holds it until she is just a few feet from the wall. "Giguud!"
Caroline flies into the air, barely passing over the wrought iron fence. Her pantaloons snag on a spike at the top and she spins in the air to land hard on the grass next to the sidewalk outside the cemetery. With a groan she stands up and walks to her car parked around the block.
-------------------------------
Caroline storms into the office. Anger all but pulses from her skin as she glares at Bill, passing his desk in the outer office. She throws open the door to her office and immediately moves to the book shelf and roughly sorts through the books. Not caring in her anger, she knocks books off the shelf to find the one she wants. Book in hand she stalks back into the outer office, slams the book onto Bill's desk and growls, “Read it.”
“Sorry, Boss.”
Frowning at the lanky red-head, she says “No. Don't sorry me, Read. The. Book.”
“All right. All right! I will. Jeeesh.”
She continues to stare at Bill until an uncomfortable look passes over his face. His eyes move down, and Caroline remembers the condition she is in. Her ceremonial shift is covered in mud and grass stains, and her pantaloons are missing where they ripped off of her when she did not quite levitate high enough to vault over the fence. She notices Bill start to flush and follows his eyes. She realizes that the cut she had made in her shift to reach her plexus chakra is gaping open and exposing her privates. In as cold a voice as she can muster she asks, “Enjoying the view?”
Bill snaps his eyes back up to her face. “I-I-I--”
Satisfied with the look of fear on Bill's face, she relents slightly. Opening the book to the page she wants, she looks back in his eyes. “Not another apology. Read. I'll be back in a few minutes.”
Caroline re-enters her office, closing the door behind her. With a long silent sigh, she strips of the shift and opens the bottom drawer of her desk. She pulls a burgundy blouse, skimpy panties and tight jeans from the drawer. She takes her time dressing to let her anger bleed from her, and give Bill time to read.
She opens the door silently, and watches as Bill reads. His nearly-seven-foot frame barely fits in the chair, and he is almost as tall sitting as she is standing. She reflects on the fact that he has been a good agent, getting her many good jobs. He just needs to get his act together.
She notices Bill finish his reading and look up. Before he has a chance to, she speaks. “You act like a teenager, not someone in their thirties.” Walking to his desk she adds, “Shirking your reading, and ogling me after I barely escaped with my life. You owe me some pantaloons.”
“Yes, um. Sorry”
“I said stop apologizing. You have, and it is done. Let's move on. You finish the reading?”
“Yes.”
“What are the keys to tell that a ghost is a Ravenous?”
“um... none of the normal transitory ghosts are around, grave markers are moved around, fresh graves are disturbed and --”
Bill is at the point she wants to stress, so Caroline interrupts, “And?”
“And they are active during the day.”
Satisfied with the look on his face, she asks, “Will you take the book home and read the whole thing cover to cover? ”
“Yes.”
“Will I have to quiz you on it or will you just do it?”
Blushing a deep red, Bill responds, “Uh. No.”
“Good. See you tomorrow after you've collected my spell bag. Have the book read by the end of the week.” Convinced that Bill will shape up, Caroline leaves the office and climbs the stairs on the side of the building to her apartment above it. She quickly moves through the cluttered apartment without paying attention and moves directly to the wrought-iron spiral stairs to the roof.
She allows the anger to flow out of her as her eyes adjust to the moonless night. The privacy screen around the edges of her roof allow her to strip without fear of being seen. The freedom of being skyclad calms her and clears the last of her anger. She moves to the altar near the door and retrieves a censor filled with cinnamon and rosemary. Careful not to disturb it, she steps into the elaborate ritual circle. Awareness of the world around her seeps into her senses. The glow of life surrounds her in greater intensity than most would think from a city. She senses the life of many small creatures that hide from the sight of man and fill the spaces unseen. The simple innocent existence of this life overpowers the ugliness that comes from the desires of some humans.
Caroline sits at the circle's center and enters a meditative trance. With deep breaths she breaths in the smoke of the censor. Concentrating, she slows her heart rate and breathing. Her mind focuses on her heart. Slower. Her breaths are deep, filling her lungs completely.
Slower. Eyes closed she releases a long breath, then fills her lungs again.
Her heart beats twice
Slower.
Once.
She tugs, and her astral form steps from her body into the midnight realm.
Color flees her senses in a rush. Light ends. In this darkness she senses instead of sees. Movement is no longer a linear concept, but a matter of will. Time becomes a conscious effort of perception. Caroline purposefully lets time slip from her mind, putting it behind a door in her brain, forgotten until she needs it again. She expands her senses and looks for the threads.
The influence of the will of the living beings weave in and out of each other like threads in a chaotic web. They pull and twist each other as they weave around. Sometimes they touch, but just pass over each other. Sometimes they twist together, changing the path of one or both. Sometimes one thread will cut another, ending it. Sometimes they pass through each other without effect. The web of life is chaotic, yet beautiful.
Long years of watching the web allows Caroline to see patterns in it. She exerts her will and floats above the pattern. A strong push of will and the realm jumps. She appears near the cemetery. Fear washes over her as she perceives a hole in the web, and a tangled knot surrounding it. She stays clear of the hole and glides along the edge, studying the knots. She finds a strong thread tangling and clipping many others.
Movement at the edge of her perception draws her attention. The ravenous. She knows that she is even more vulnerable in the midnight realm. Another sharp focus of will and she jumps. Without the time to change her focus, she jumps down the thread she was studying. Cold enters her spirit when she stops moving. She stops in the midst of a cluster of ghosts. Fear causes her to lose focus on the door blocking her perception of time. In a panic she focuses on home.
The midnight realm pulls her farther in, as time start passing and her body feels the effect of her stopped heart. Discipline brings her mind into focus, and Caroline ignores the pull. She pulls on power to reinforce her will, and pushes herself back into her dying body. Back in her body she again draws on power. A small push and adrenaline surges through her system. Her heart jumps to a start and beats furiously, pumping blood through her system. Panting she hyperventilates to move more oxygen to her starved brain.
Caroline spends a few minutes getting her body back in normal running order. Her heart rate back to normal, she stands. She looks up to the new moon and considers her trip to the midnight realm.
"Why was there that cluster of ghosts? What is happening to stir them up? Maybe I should go talk to the detective tomorrow. Hrm. I think I need more sleep. I'm talking to myself again."
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Friday, June 05, 2009
Writing Study: Plot
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"This was smooth. You got all of the information correct this time." A few moments pass as Caroline listens to Bill. "Go ahead and lock up. I am going to go straight home."
Caroline presses the button on her ear bud, and slowly walks through the graveyard towards her car parked outside the grounds. A slight night breeze raises goose bumps over her arms. After a few more steps, a smile crosses her lips. Remembering goose bumps from earlier today she muses out loud, "Does Ramona even know what she does to me?"
Caroline takes her time, enjoying the moonless night. The peaceful walk calms her and she allows herself to fall into a daydream. Visions of Ramona caress her thoughts. Memories of their encounters over the last week slide through her mind. The ice that colored Ramona's attitude when they first met had melted in the heat between them. Ramona seemed to be trying to ignore the heat. During their meeting at sunset today, Caroline noticed a slight flush on the detective's cheeks. "I wonder how long she will take to figure it out?"
Deep in her daydream, Caroline starts as the needle enters her carotid artery. A smooth voice whispers in her ear. "She has not found me yet, so I think it will be a long time before she figures it out."
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Dreams of sweaty tangled bodies fade as Caroline wakes. She tries to stretch but is unable to move. The pleasant images shatter and awareness floods through her, adrenaline surfing the wave, driving away the last remnants of sleep. She opens her eyes, but it makes no difference. The darkness is complete. Panic slithers over her and she struggles and screams incoherently for long minutes.
The terror slowly eases its iron grip, allowing Caroline to asses her situation. She is naked. She is lying on a cold table. The surface is smooth and pulls at her body heat. Metal. Wide straps bind her at her wrist, elbows, shoulder, waist, thighs, knees, ankles and below her breasts. The straps have padding and a soft surface. How thoughtful. Remembering feeling something when she was thrashing to escape, she lifts her head from the table and feels something poke her lips. A cold liquid drips onto her lips. Not knowing what it is she turns her head to the side a spits, doing her best to keep any from getting in her mouth. Water? Or something else? Maybe to keep the captive alive?
Continuing her evaluation, she takes a deep breath through her nose. Musty. And is that concrete? She takes another breath. Rubbing Alcohol.
With an effort, she centers herself and does a quick meditation to slow her heartbeat. The noise of blood running through her veins ceases, allowing her to listen. Nothing. No sound reaches her. Feels like a large room. She makes a click sound with the side of her mouth. Yes. Fairly large, with soft walls.
Caroline lets a small screech escape her in surprise. A ghost suddenly appears next to her. Not able to move, fear skitters through her brain. Don't let it be angry.
Time means nothing in the total darkness. Her heartbeat is too erratic to use to count time. The ghost provides no light for reference in the room. She just "sees" it floating in the black of the room. An eternity passes. The ghost moves its arms up and blood starts to drip from scores of parallel cuts over its arm. A thought from the ghost grates through her mind. "Why?"
Comprehension slams into Caroline bringing a wave of blinding panic. She thrashes, trying to get out of her bonds, not moving the solid table or tight straps even a millimeter. Goddess! It is The Cutter. The Cutter has me. Ramona has not been able to find him. No one can find me! Goddess help me!
Another indeterminate slice of time passes. Exhaustion dulls the panic, allowing Caroline to think and observe. No ghost. It must have moved on since I was not answering it. She twists her hand around and feels along the strap with her fingers. She finds a small padlock attached to a thick D-ring. Well. This will be easy. Just a bit of blood... She closes her fist, squeezing hard so her long nails will cut her palm. He cut my nails? Wracking her brain, she considers other options. I need blood to focus the spell. I can't bite my tongue or lip, saliva will corrupt the blood. The bindings are too soft to draw blood. Do I wait until he cuts me? Can I do it?
"Yes. Let him come."
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Caroline wakes from a light doze, trying to identify what woke her. Bright light sends stabbing pains through her eyes. She hears the footsteps on the concrete and the brush of pants as someone walks into the room. Her eyes slowly adjust to the light, allowing her to get a visual of the room. With effort, she ignores the tall man moving around the room to quickly study the room. Sheets cover the walls of the spacious room, hiding the door. Two small tables are at the sides of the room. A drop ceiling has acoustic tiles and three times the normal amount of florescent light panels. Twenty I.V. Bags hang from the ceiling and connect to a tube that reaches down to right above her face. The end is connected to a metal tube with a ball in the end preventing the liquid from flowing. Looking down at herself she sees sturdy leather straps with thick padding and fur lining. The straps are attached to a metal table that belongs in a morgue. There is a lip around the outside, and a very slight angle to the whole table to allow blood to flow down a drain at her feet.
The man steps up to her. A ski mask over his head stands out against the expensive looking three piece suit he is wearing. Blue surgical rubber gloves cover his hands. He speaks with a smooth voice. "I apologize for the secrecy. I am taking steps I normally do not take. You are not what I would normally use for my tableau but I felt it necessary. You are too... perceptive. I believe that if I left you be, you would have been able to give information to detective Truman that would lead to me." He looks down and presses open Caroline's hand and traces the many overlapping scars on her palm. "And you have already ruined part of the tableau. I definitely prefer a clean canvas."
"Sorry to disappoint. It's an occupational hazard."
"Really. It is part of your occupation. I thought that you might be a bit of a kindred spirit. I thought maybe you would understand why I cut. How disappointing. Pardon me while I prepare." He turns away and walks to one of the tables.
"So. I'm disappointing. Why don't you just let me go? After all, You don't want a disappointing experience."
He turns to face her, "Oh No. Do not get me wrong. I will still get what I need, you will just fail to understand like all of the others. And really, at this point I can not let you go."
"I don't know who you are. You are wearing a mask. The suit is weird, but it does have the effect of not allowing me to know who you are. So you can let me go. Just put me out again, and drop me in the cemetery you took me from and there is no way I could find you."
"While that is a reasonable assertion, I need you. I do not have the strength to take the time to find another tableau. And my original reason still applies. You are too perceptive. I will just have to deal with the extra imperfections that I normally do not have to deal with."
"Well then. Since I'm doomed, what's your name? It would only be polite to tell me your name."
"Good try. For now you can just call me Cutter like the press does. It fits."
"Well. I had to try."
"Understandable. I will make a deal with you. When you are near your end, and there is no doubt that you will pass on, I will let you know."
"How kind."
"Yes. Sarcasm." The Cutter frowns. "You are very calm about this. You think you have a plan to escape."
"No. Not really. But I'm very much a realist. I don't want to die, but screaming and yelling in a panic won't save me from you. It's just a waste of effort. If I'm to die, I want to die in peace."
"Well, all of my tableaux die in peace. It is the way it is. Eventually the blood loss just makes it peaceful." With a smile he adds, "Now this will be interesting. Normally I have to deal with wailing and thrashing. It makes it so difficult. If you are going to be calm about it, perhaps this will be different. Are you ready for your instructions?"
"Instructions? You have instructions for me? You actually expect cooperation?"
"No. Perhaps instruction is not the best word. Are you ready to listen to the information I have to give you?"
"What information."
"Are you ready?"
"Okay... go ahead." Fear starts to sneak back into her.
"I will be cutting you. You will not be able to stop this. I will only do this in little bits. I savor the process. I do not want you to die too soon. The liquid from the tube is a nutrient solution that has all you need to survive. You can drink from it any time you wish. It will not kill you. You cannot see it, but the table has a way to clean you, so if you feel the need to excrete, do so. This will take about a month. I will no longer listen to what you are saying. You are no longer Caroline. You are now my tableau."
The Cutter turns away and goes back to one of the tables at the side of the room.
"You're really going to ignore me? I can call you a dickless coward and you will just ignore it?" With satisfaction, Caroline notices him pause before he continues whatever he is doing. "Or maybe how you must be totally emasculated at home and have to strap down pretty women to get your jollies."
"How did you know I am mar--"
"So you will listen to me now."
The Cutter walks to the table. "Tell me how you know? You can't know!"
"I see you know how to use contractions now. Learn how to speak in the last few minutes?"
"I said tell me how you know!"
"Or what, you are going to kill me? That's already going to happen. Cut me more? I have seen your victims."
"I can take the liquid away. Dying of thirst is much more unpleasant than the death you will have at the end."
"But faster. I think I might prefer that much shorter painful death to the rather prolonged painful death you have planned for me."
"Ah. I see now. You are trying to get me to kill you faster. I was starting to think you were smarter than I gave you credit for, but seeing as you just told me what you are planning, I am no longer sure that you are."
Caroline widens her eyes as if she was just found out. The Cutter turns back to the table and picks up something shiny. Hands shaking slightly, he comes back to Caroline, a scalpel in his hand. She pushes back her fear, and allows her anger to come to the forefront. Glaring at The Cutter she says, "I won't scream for you."
The Cutter smiles "So many of them say that. Let us begin." His hands become rock steady as he makes his first cut.
********************************************************
"This was smooth. You got all of the information correct this time." A few moments pass as Caroline listens to Bill. "Go ahead and lock up. I am going to go straight home."
Caroline presses the button on her ear bud, and slowly walks through the graveyard towards her car parked outside the grounds. A slight night breeze raises goose bumps over her arms. After a few more steps, a smile crosses her lips. Remembering goose bumps from earlier today she muses out loud, "Does Ramona even know what she does to me?"
Caroline takes her time, enjoying the moonless night. The peaceful walk calms her and she allows herself to fall into a daydream. Visions of Ramona caress her thoughts. Memories of their encounters over the last week slide through her mind. The ice that colored Ramona's attitude when they first met had melted in the heat between them. Ramona seemed to be trying to ignore the heat. During their meeting at sunset today, Caroline noticed a slight flush on the detective's cheeks. "I wonder how long she will take to figure it out?"
Deep in her daydream, Caroline starts as the needle enters her carotid artery. A smooth voice whispers in her ear. "She has not found me yet, so I think it will be a long time before she figures it out."
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Dreams of sweaty tangled bodies fade as Caroline wakes. She tries to stretch but is unable to move. The pleasant images shatter and awareness floods through her, adrenaline surfing the wave, driving away the last remnants of sleep. She opens her eyes, but it makes no difference. The darkness is complete. Panic slithers over her and she struggles and screams incoherently for long minutes.
The terror slowly eases its iron grip, allowing Caroline to asses her situation. She is naked. She is lying on a cold table. The surface is smooth and pulls at her body heat. Metal. Wide straps bind her at her wrist, elbows, shoulder, waist, thighs, knees, ankles and below her breasts. The straps have padding and a soft surface. How thoughtful. Remembering feeling something when she was thrashing to escape, she lifts her head from the table and feels something poke her lips. A cold liquid drips onto her lips. Not knowing what it is she turns her head to the side a spits, doing her best to keep any from getting in her mouth. Water? Or something else? Maybe to keep the captive alive?
Continuing her evaluation, she takes a deep breath through her nose. Musty. And is that concrete? She takes another breath. Rubbing Alcohol.
With an effort, she centers herself and does a quick meditation to slow her heartbeat. The noise of blood running through her veins ceases, allowing her to listen. Nothing. No sound reaches her. Feels like a large room. She makes a click sound with the side of her mouth. Yes. Fairly large, with soft walls.
Caroline lets a small screech escape her in surprise. A ghost suddenly appears next to her. Not able to move, fear skitters through her brain. Don't let it be angry.
Time means nothing in the total darkness. Her heartbeat is too erratic to use to count time. The ghost provides no light for reference in the room. She just "sees" it floating in the black of the room. An eternity passes. The ghost moves its arms up and blood starts to drip from scores of parallel cuts over its arm. A thought from the ghost grates through her mind. "Why?"
Comprehension slams into Caroline bringing a wave of blinding panic. She thrashes, trying to get out of her bonds, not moving the solid table or tight straps even a millimeter. Goddess! It is The Cutter. The Cutter has me. Ramona has not been able to find him. No one can find me! Goddess help me!
Another indeterminate slice of time passes. Exhaustion dulls the panic, allowing Caroline to think and observe. No ghost. It must have moved on since I was not answering it. She twists her hand around and feels along the strap with her fingers. She finds a small padlock attached to a thick D-ring. Well. This will be easy. Just a bit of blood... She closes her fist, squeezing hard so her long nails will cut her palm. He cut my nails? Wracking her brain, she considers other options. I need blood to focus the spell. I can't bite my tongue or lip, saliva will corrupt the blood. The bindings are too soft to draw blood. Do I wait until he cuts me? Can I do it?
"Yes. Let him come."
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Caroline wakes from a light doze, trying to identify what woke her. Bright light sends stabbing pains through her eyes. She hears the footsteps on the concrete and the brush of pants as someone walks into the room. Her eyes slowly adjust to the light, allowing her to get a visual of the room. With effort, she ignores the tall man moving around the room to quickly study the room. Sheets cover the walls of the spacious room, hiding the door. Two small tables are at the sides of the room. A drop ceiling has acoustic tiles and three times the normal amount of florescent light panels. Twenty I.V. Bags hang from the ceiling and connect to a tube that reaches down to right above her face. The end is connected to a metal tube with a ball in the end preventing the liquid from flowing. Looking down at herself she sees sturdy leather straps with thick padding and fur lining. The straps are attached to a metal table that belongs in a morgue. There is a lip around the outside, and a very slight angle to the whole table to allow blood to flow down a drain at her feet.
The man steps up to her. A ski mask over his head stands out against the expensive looking three piece suit he is wearing. Blue surgical rubber gloves cover his hands. He speaks with a smooth voice. "I apologize for the secrecy. I am taking steps I normally do not take. You are not what I would normally use for my tableau but I felt it necessary. You are too... perceptive. I believe that if I left you be, you would have been able to give information to detective Truman that would lead to me." He looks down and presses open Caroline's hand and traces the many overlapping scars on her palm. "And you have already ruined part of the tableau. I definitely prefer a clean canvas."
"Sorry to disappoint. It's an occupational hazard."
"Really. It is part of your occupation. I thought that you might be a bit of a kindred spirit. I thought maybe you would understand why I cut. How disappointing. Pardon me while I prepare." He turns away and walks to one of the tables.
"So. I'm disappointing. Why don't you just let me go? After all, You don't want a disappointing experience."
He turns to face her, "Oh No. Do not get me wrong. I will still get what I need, you will just fail to understand like all of the others. And really, at this point I can not let you go."
"I don't know who you are. You are wearing a mask. The suit is weird, but it does have the effect of not allowing me to know who you are. So you can let me go. Just put me out again, and drop me in the cemetery you took me from and there is no way I could find you."
"While that is a reasonable assertion, I need you. I do not have the strength to take the time to find another tableau. And my original reason still applies. You are too perceptive. I will just have to deal with the extra imperfections that I normally do not have to deal with."
"Well then. Since I'm doomed, what's your name? It would only be polite to tell me your name."
"Good try. For now you can just call me Cutter like the press does. It fits."
"Well. I had to try."
"Understandable. I will make a deal with you. When you are near your end, and there is no doubt that you will pass on, I will let you know."
"How kind."
"Yes. Sarcasm." The Cutter frowns. "You are very calm about this. You think you have a plan to escape."
"No. Not really. But I'm very much a realist. I don't want to die, but screaming and yelling in a panic won't save me from you. It's just a waste of effort. If I'm to die, I want to die in peace."
"Well, all of my tableaux die in peace. It is the way it is. Eventually the blood loss just makes it peaceful." With a smile he adds, "Now this will be interesting. Normally I have to deal with wailing and thrashing. It makes it so difficult. If you are going to be calm about it, perhaps this will be different. Are you ready for your instructions?"
"Instructions? You have instructions for me? You actually expect cooperation?"
"No. Perhaps instruction is not the best word. Are you ready to listen to the information I have to give you?"
"What information."
"Are you ready?"
"Okay... go ahead." Fear starts to sneak back into her.
"I will be cutting you. You will not be able to stop this. I will only do this in little bits. I savor the process. I do not want you to die too soon. The liquid from the tube is a nutrient solution that has all you need to survive. You can drink from it any time you wish. It will not kill you. You cannot see it, but the table has a way to clean you, so if you feel the need to excrete, do so. This will take about a month. I will no longer listen to what you are saying. You are no longer Caroline. You are now my tableau."
The Cutter turns away and goes back to one of the tables at the side of the room.
"You're really going to ignore me? I can call you a dickless coward and you will just ignore it?" With satisfaction, Caroline notices him pause before he continues whatever he is doing. "Or maybe how you must be totally emasculated at home and have to strap down pretty women to get your jollies."
"How did you know I am mar--"
"So you will listen to me now."
The Cutter walks to the table. "Tell me how you know? You can't know!"
"I see you know how to use contractions now. Learn how to speak in the last few minutes?"
"I said tell me how you know!"
"Or what, you are going to kill me? That's already going to happen. Cut me more? I have seen your victims."
"I can take the liquid away. Dying of thirst is much more unpleasant than the death you will have at the end."
"But faster. I think I might prefer that much shorter painful death to the rather prolonged painful death you have planned for me."
"Ah. I see now. You are trying to get me to kill you faster. I was starting to think you were smarter than I gave you credit for, but seeing as you just told me what you are planning, I am no longer sure that you are."
Caroline widens her eyes as if she was just found out. The Cutter turns back to the table and picks up something shiny. Hands shaking slightly, he comes back to Caroline, a scalpel in his hand. She pushes back her fear, and allows her anger to come to the forefront. Glaring at The Cutter she says, "I won't scream for you."
The Cutter smiles "So many of them say that. Let us begin." His hands become rock steady as he makes his first cut.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Writing Study: Dialog
For this assignment, we were tasked with writing a scene in first person, and then doing it again in third person from a different point of view.
(First Person – Bill's Viewpoint)
Caroline storms into the office and glares at me as she passes, throwing open the door to her private office and disappearing inside without closing the door. I flinch as I hear books fall from her bookshelf. After a few minutes of this I ask,“Boss?”
Storming back into the outer office, she slams a book in front of me. “Read this!”
“Sorry Boss.”
“No. Don't sorry me, Read. The. Book.”
“Alright alright! I will. Jeeesh.”
Not able to look into her blazing angry eyes I look down. Heat rushes to my face as I notice the state she is in. Mud is splattered over her ceremonial shift coupled with liberally-scattered grass stains that look like they will never come out. The dampness from the mud and dew make the shift nearly transparent. It clings to her tiny form, outlining her small breasts. The large cut in the shift over her stomach shows her muscular belly. Her position leaning over my desk makes the slit gape. Finally noticing that she is no longer wearing those white harem pants she wears, my eyes move down towards wiry black--”
“Enjoying the view?”
I snap my eyes back up to her face. Her voice so cold that I shiver. “I-I-I--”
“Not another apology. Read. I'll be back in a few.”
Out of my control, my eyes follow her as she leaves, my pants becoming uncomfortable as I notice how the shift clings to her behind. With an effort I drag my eyes back to the open book Caroline had opened the book to a chapter titled “The Ravenous.” Tearing my mind from thoughts of Caroline's body, I get to the reading.
Finishing the reading, I look up and see Caroline leaning in her office door. She had changed into hip-hugging blue jeans and a long and loose maroon top. I relax a bit when I see a much calmer expression on her face. She still looks angry, but not ready to cook me from the toes up. I start to speak, but she interrupts as soon as I open my mouth. “You act like a teenager not someone in their thirties.” She walks to my desk.. “Shirking your reading, and ogling me after I barely escaped with my life. You owe me some pantaloons.”
“Yes, um. Sor--”
“I said stop apologizing. You have, and it is done. Let's move on. You finish the reading?”
“Yes.”
“What are the keys to tell that a ghost is a Ravenous?”
“um... none of the normal transitory ghosts are around, grave markers are moved around, fresh graves are disturbed and --”
Looking at my sharply, Caroline interrupts, “And?”
Sheepishly I look up at her, “And they are active during the day.”
“Will you take the book home and read the whole thing cover to cover? ”
“Yes.”
“Will I have to quiz you on it or will you just do it?”
Blushing a deep red, I respond, “Uh. No.”
“Good. See you tomorrow. Have the book read by the end of the week.”
And with that, she sweeps out of the office.
Sighing in relief I inquire to the empty office. “How can someone barely over five feet and maybe 100 lbs soaking wet, carrying a lead filled purse, scare me so deeply?”
(Third Person – Caroline's viewpoint)
Caroline storms into the office. Anger all but pulses from her skin as she glares at Bill, passing his desk in the outer office. She throws open the door to her office and immediately moves to the book shelf and roughly sorts through the books. Not caring in her anger, she knocks books off the shelf to find the book she wants. Book in hand she stalks back into the outer office, slams the book onto Bill's desk and growls “Read it.”
“Sorry Boss.”
Frowning at the lanky red-head, “No. Don't sorry me, Read. The. Book.”
“Alright alright! I will. Jeeesh.”
She continues to stare at Bill until an uncomfortable look passes over his face. His eyes move down, and Caroline remembers the condition she is in. Her ceremonial shift is covered in mud and grass stains, and her pantaloons are missing where they ripped off of her when she did not quite levitate high enough to vault over the fence. She notices Bill start to flush and follows his eyes. She realizes that the cut she had made in her shift to reach her plexus chakra is gaping open and exposing her privates. In as cold a voice as she can muster she asks, “Enjoying the view?”
Bill snaps his eyes back up to her face. “I-I-I--”
Satisfied with the look of fear on Bill's face, she relents slightly. Opening the book to the page she wants, she looks back in his eyes. “Not another apology. Read. I'll be back in a few minutes.”
Caroline re-enters her office, closing the door behind her. With a long silent sigh, she strips of the shift, a opens the bottom drawer of her desk. She pulls a burgundy blouse, skimpy panties and tight jeans from the drawer. She takes her time dressing to let her anger bleed from her, and give Bill time to read.
She opens the door silently, and watches as Bill reads. His nearly seven foot frame barely fits in the chair, and he is almost as tall sitting as she is standing. She reflects on the fact that he has been a good agent, getting her many good jobs. He just needs to get his act together.
She notices Bill finish his reading and look up. Before he has a chance to, she speaks, “You act like a teenager not someone in their thirties.” Walking to his desk she adds, “Shirking your reading, and ogling me after I barely escaped with my life. You owe me some pantaloons.”
“Yes, um. Sorry”
“I said stop apologizing. You have, and it is done. Let's move on. You finish the reading?”
“Yes.”
“What are the key to tell that a ghost is a Ravenous?”
“um... none of the normal transitory ghosts are around, grave markers are moved around, fresh graves are disturbed and --”
Bill is at the point she wants to stress, so Caroline interrupts, “And?”
“And they are active during the day.”
Satisfied with the look on his face, she asks, “Will you take the book home and read the whole thing cover to cover? ”
“Yes.”
“Will I have to quiz you on it or will you just do it?”
Blushing a deep red, Bill responds, “Uh. No.”
“Good. See you tomorrow. Have the book read by the end of the week.” Convinced that Bill will shape up, Caroline leaves the office.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Writing Study: Characterization and Point of View
(This is from a workshop I am in. We were required to identify when we were doing the narative, dialog and action parts of the asignment)
(Narrative)
Gethen Marduk hates his job. The job should be interesting. A tenured chemistry professor should be allowed to research what he wants, but the school constantly pressures him to research for big companies to make money for the college. Every time he thinks he has a handle on his pet project, the college has him on another tangent. The projects for the companies always take months. Even with the meticulous notes he keeps, it takes him precious time to get back into the swing of his research, only to be interrupted again by another project.
On top of the indignity of wasting his time making rich companies richer, the students are whiny idiots. The college never gets him teaching assistants worth anything, and he finds himself teaching most of the classes himself. And in the lab, they only seem interested in the chance to make money, not in learning the art of chemistry. The students in his most recent class make him cringe at their inability to absorb even the simplest topics in organic history. They whine and moan over the complexity of the subject matter, without seeing any of the beauty in it.
And the way they dress. No-one has pride anymore. The boys wear pants hanging below their hips, showing garish boxers. They don't even take their caps off in class. And the girls, they might as well not be wearing anything at all. While the weather in Pasadena is pleasant most of the year, that is no excuse to dress like a street-walker.
(Transision)
Gethen jerks slightly as his wife starts massaging his shoulders.
(Dialog)
“Sorry Gethen, I didn't mean to startle you.”
Gethen smiles and places his hand over one of hers, squeezing lightly. “No, no. don't worry Kaiolohia, I was just lost in thought again.”
“They must've been deep thoughts since you just called me by my full name again, and we aren't currently making love.”
Gethen laughs lightly, “Sorry Kai. It was just another frustrating day at the school.”
“What happened?”
“It seems that one of the students objected to my proper politeness. He started with the common mimic taunting that people seem to do so often. As usual, Harold was no help, and gave me the usual 'rudeness is not grounds for suspension' and took the opportunity to start in on badgering me to do the Dow project.”
“Oh hon. Maybe you should take the offer at Scripps Research Institute. They did promise to allow you to do your research.”
“It's tempting, but in the end, it's just working for one large company instead of a different one every few months. And I don't want to take Aalona from the life he's built here.”
“Al is young. He'd bounce back and make new friends in no time.” Digging her fingers in deeper, she continues, “You keep coming home so stressed.”
“I know dear, but it isn't necessary to upturn his life. Maybe I should just go fishing more often, though it does take me away from Al and you.”
“If you think that will help, I don't mind. You treat Al and me so well all of the time, maybe you should treat yourself more often.”
“Perhaps you are correct. Mind if I go this weekend?”
“I think that would be great dear. It's been a long time, and you deserve a break.”
“I'm going to make sure I have all of my supplies. Go ahead and go to bed. I'll be up soon after I check on Al and my supplies.”
(Action)
Gethen gives his wife a quick kiss and moves out of their bedroom to Aalona's room. He pushes the door open slowly, careful to not let it squeak. Moving silently, he steps to the side of his son's bed and spends a few minutes looking at the peacefully sleeping form. A smile on his face, he takes the same care leaving the room that he did entering. He moves through the suburban house, confirming that the doors and windows are locked. He ends his circuit of the house in the mud room, steps out into the garage, and locks the door behind him.
Gethen's breathing becomes shallow as he quickly checks the perimeter of the room, looking for anything new or moved. As he passes the internal latch on the garage door, he slides it over, securing the door. Continuing his circuit he sees a stuffed animal that he has not seen before on a shelf. Hands shaking, he picks it up and examines it closely. After a few minutes of studying it, he sighs in relief and places the bear back on the shelf.
Still shaking slightly, Gethen pulls a large tackle box from the shelf next to a G. Loomis's Bronzeback fishing rod. He takes a deep breath and fans out the tackle box. With care, he pulls the bottom tray out and places it aside. Stepping to another shelf, he pulls out an anti-freeze bottle and brings it to the bench. Slowly and carefully, he pours a small amount of liquid, that has no resemblence to anti-freeze, into the cap and carefully pours it around the edges of the bottom of the tackle box. He waits thirty of his rapid heartbeats and pries the false bottom from the box. The special solvent he made in the lab disolving the special plastic sealer he also made in the lab. Hands shaking badly, he pulls a rolled black cloth from the real bottom of the box and unrolls it.
As soon as his fingers run over the row of 20 shiny scalpels, Gethen's breathing calms and his hands become rock steady.
“It will be a fine weekend of fishing.”
Friday, May 01, 2009
Writing Study: Scene: Setting
Caroline shivers. The night is unseasonably warm, but she can't suppress a second shiver. She quickens her pace through the rows of gray tombstones. Their orderly rows make her feel like she is rushing past the teeth of some huge beast ready to devour her. Dew on the clipped grass chills her bare feet, and dampens the peeling black polish on her toes. "I should not have taken this job, Bill."
The ear-piece in her left ear transmits Bill's basso voice from the cellphone in her pocket. "Well, jobs haven't been coming, so you need it."
Frustrated, Caroline brushes her hair behind her other ear. "Are you blaming me again for that apartment fire? I can't help that the clients didn't give us all the information we needed."
"If you hadn't been rude to them, they might have."
"Did they need to treat me like I was dirty? It's not like my curse is infectious."
"And that's why they treat you like you're contagious. You treat it like a curse and not a gift."
"You try living with it."
"Like you said, not contagious, so you can't give it to me to live with it."
"Har. Har. Well at least this graveyard isn't as old as some. No mausoleums. But there have been no taibhse níghe here in a while. Whatever's here has been here for a while, and... I think it's stalking me."
"The request mentions that it has started to become active in the daytime."
"What?! You didn't tell me that. I didn't prepare for that!" Looking around, Caroline mumbles, "I thought this felt wrong." She turns to her right and sprints to the nearest fence.
"That matters?"
"Yes, Bill. That matters! Déithe"
"Sorry."
Taking deep even breaths to keep the oxygen flow steady, Caroline pants, "Read. The. Book. Or. I. Get. A. New. Agent."
"Okay. Okay. I won't let it happen again."
"Crap!" Caroline narrowly dodges a small grave marker that flies up from its place towards her head. She speeds up to avoid the next marker as it flies behind her. She tucks into a roll, getting her light cotton ceremonial shift and pantaloons wet with the dew, making them cling to her skin. Another marker flies over her. Caroline stops, crouches and dumps the contents of a small felt bag. She grabs one of the tiny cotton bundles tied with different colors of yarn. She yanks an athamé from its sheath and cuts a slice on her scarred left palm. She does not bother to untie the cotton bundle but slices it open, dropping the comfrey it contained into the blood welling in her palm.
Caroline jumps as far as she can from her crouched position. A fraction of a second later, another grave marker flies through the space where she was. She uses the athamé to slit her thin shift down to her belly, then places the handle in her mouth. With the fingers of her right hand she mixes the comfrey with her blood. Pushing her pantaloons down slightly, she spreads some of the mixture over her coccyx bone. She collects more of the mixture and spreads some on her exposed solar plexus. With one finger dabbed in the mixture, she puts a single dot of the mixture on the center of her forehead. Her first, third and sixth chakra now anointed, she snatches the athamé from her mouth and concentrates her will from her solar plexus to her root and intones "Tegere!"
The ear-piece in her left ear transmits Bill's basso voice from the cellphone in her pocket. "Well, jobs haven't been coming, so you need it."
Frustrated, Caroline brushes her hair behind her other ear. "Are you blaming me again for that apartment fire? I can't help that the clients didn't give us all the information we needed."
"If you hadn't been rude to them, they might have."
"Did they need to treat me like I was dirty? It's not like my curse is infectious."
"And that's why they treat you like you're contagious. You treat it like a curse and not a gift."
"You try living with it."
"Like you said, not contagious, so you can't give it to me to live with it."
"Har. Har. Well at least this graveyard isn't as old as some. No mausoleums. But there have been no taibhse níghe here in a while. Whatever's here has been here for a while, and... I think it's stalking me."
"The request mentions that it has started to become active in the daytime."
"What?! You didn't tell me that. I didn't prepare for that!" Looking around, Caroline mumbles, "I thought this felt wrong." She turns to her right and sprints to the nearest fence.
"That matters?"
"Yes, Bill. That matters! Déithe"
"Sorry."
Taking deep even breaths to keep the oxygen flow steady, Caroline pants, "Read. The. Book. Or. I. Get. A. New. Agent."
"Okay. Okay. I won't let it happen again."
"Crap!" Caroline narrowly dodges a small grave marker that flies up from its place towards her head. She speeds up to avoid the next marker as it flies behind her. She tucks into a roll, getting her light cotton ceremonial shift and pantaloons wet with the dew, making them cling to her skin. Another marker flies over her. Caroline stops, crouches and dumps the contents of a small felt bag. She grabs one of the tiny cotton bundles tied with different colors of yarn. She yanks an athamé from its sheath and cuts a slice on her scarred left palm. She does not bother to untie the cotton bundle but slices it open, dropping the comfrey it contained into the blood welling in her palm.
Caroline jumps as far as she can from her crouched position. A fraction of a second later, another grave marker flies through the space where she was. She uses the athamé to slit her thin shift down to her belly, then places the handle in her mouth. With the fingers of her right hand she mixes the comfrey with her blood. Pushing her pantaloons down slightly, she spreads some of the mixture over her coccyx bone. She collects more of the mixture and spreads some on her exposed solar plexus. With one finger dabbed in the mixture, she puts a single dot of the mixture on the center of her forehead. Her first, third and sixth chakra now anointed, she snatches the athamé from her mouth and concentrates her will from her solar plexus to her root and intones "Tegere!"
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Amber Dreams
No. Not what one might think.
I am one that rarely remembers dreams, but I somehow decided I needed to remember this one.
It was a normal walk somewhere in a public space with my family. During that walk we came upon Amber Benson, and decided to have dinner, and Amber agreed to join us.
Nothing like reality, I managed to have a normal average dinner conversation with my family and Amber. No awkwardness or star worship, just a nice normal small-talk dinner conversation. We talked about family and growing up, how our week went. All in all just, normal.
Then a book appears on the table, not "Death's Daughter" and I poke at it saying "I have not gotten the book yet." Amber just smiles, reaches into her bag under the table and puts down a small format hardcover of "Death's Daughter" on the table, and "change" as if waiting for me to give her a $20. I riffle through my wallet to not findi a 20, but give her $15 and her change back.
She just smiles at me, takes it and seems about to start the normal conversation back up... and I wake up.
It is nice when dreams are so... normal, while at the same time being slightly surreal.
I am one that rarely remembers dreams, but I somehow decided I needed to remember this one.
It was a normal walk somewhere in a public space with my family. During that walk we came upon Amber Benson, and decided to have dinner, and Amber agreed to join us.
Nothing like reality, I managed to have a normal average dinner conversation with my family and Amber. No awkwardness or star worship, just a nice normal small-talk dinner conversation. We talked about family and growing up, how our week went. All in all just, normal.
Then a book appears on the table, not "Death's Daughter" and I poke at it saying "I have not gotten the book yet." Amber just smiles, reaches into her bag under the table and puts down a small format hardcover of "Death's Daughter" on the table, and "change" as if waiting for me to give her a $20. I riffle through my wallet to not findi a 20, but give her $15 and her change back.
She just smiles at me, takes it and seems about to start the normal conversation back up... and I wake up.
It is nice when dreams are so... normal, while at the same time being slightly surreal.
Saturday, June 12, 2004
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