Friday, January 16, 2009

Soar, Loser

I am trying to get into this awesome looking (legal) fiction writing class. The assignment for next week is to write a 100-word story. Here are some initial attempts:


Gregory did not know what to expect when the plane landed. Last time, reporters outnumbered supporters. Still, he thought that his chances here were good: Many of the candidates were relatively unknown in Phoenix. Gregory’s vocal support of the Cleveland riots won him appeal among separatists, but he had much to prove to the Western Frontier. There was greater fervor here. He thought that he had done enough by calling for Chicago’s immediate conversion to Urbtowns, but his obvious pedigree betrayed his statements supporting the Yeomen.

When his entourage reached the terminal, Gregory was shocked to find General Scarve waiting.
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His scars were still evident. She tried not to look surprised when she removed his shirt, but she could not help but gasp. He was used this and was bracing for her inevitable disgust. To his surprise, her fingers followed the marks, gently feeling the thick skin with curiosity rather than the judgment to which he had become accustomed.

She looked up at him. “Are these from the fire?” She asked.

“Mostly. Some were from the surgeries afterwards.”

“You must have been afraid.”

“I am more afraid now, thinking about it, than I was. Back then, I expected nothing different.”
________________________________

“Are you finished?”

“Yes, sort of.”

“Are you or aren’t you?”

“I’m not.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“You don’t understand how hard this is.”

“I understand enough to tell you that you better hurry the fuck up. I have work to do, too.”

“See, this is exactly why I am not done.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I bet you don’t even know what you are supposed to do. Would you even know it, if I were finished?”

“Hopefully so.”

“Why does it even matter?”

“Everyone else looks done.”

“That’s what they want you to think. Calm down.”

________________________________________

Sophia chased after Eric, reaching for his arm.

“Why can’t you understand that I am a victim, too?”

Eric pushed her to the wall. “You sold us out. I’ve lost so much. “

Their eyes met. Eric stared intently at her with all of his anger, but he never was a good enough actor. He held his glare for only a moment before looking away, his eyes swelled with tears.

“Is this what you wanted, Sophie?”

“No. They said they wouldn’t use everything I told them.”

“Of course they would. They’re fucking jackals!”

Sophia smirked to herself. “So are you.”
________________________________________

1 comment:

Keith said...

what happened? that story tells me VERY little.