Post by Lilam on May 27, 2009 22:01:44 GMT -5
((So, I haves this idea for a story in mah head, but I can't quite figure out how I want to write it yet. Actually... I haven't really mapped out ANY of the plot. So, while I'm trying to get my thoughts and ideas situated, I thought I'd post it here to see if anyone could:
- give me pointers on how to make it not suck so hard
- give me teh yummy criticism *nomnomnom criticism*
- let me know when I should just give up and /quit life altogether
Anyway, the basic storyline is a group of women trying to take down the man. Literally. They want to make it a woman's world and give patriarchy the axe. Lame idea is lame. I want to say that it's a little in the future from our time but maybe with a noir-esque feel?
I probably failed at the "noir-eque" thing, but this is just a first attempt, after all. I also wrote this in first person, to see how it would sound... but I feel as though anything I write after this would be in third person.
Okay, long rambling complete. On with thecrap story!
Any help/comments/criticism will be greatly appreciated.
))
Prologue... thingy
It was night. How many nights had passed, I wasn’t sure. But I was awake now and, most importantly, sans hangover. That’s all I could really hope for each time I found myself resurfacing back to consciousness: Not to wake to a fucking hangover. So far, so good.
I yawned, choking down the stench of sweat, friction and half a second of bliss, tasting it more than I actually smelled it.
Sitting up, I reached across the bed to the nightstand for my smokes and lighter. I lit one and inhaled that sweet poison like it was my last, dying breath. My lungs burned as I siphoned the deadly fumes down to my soul and resigned myself to that slow suicide. For a long time, I merely sat, watching the darkness. The flickering light at the end of my cig staring back at me like the fiery eye of a demon lurking in the blackness beyond the bed.
Finally, I leaned over and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand. The light came dim and low, muted by the haze of smoke polluting the room. Even through the smoke, his scent still clung to my nose, my skin, and my hair. Sticking to the back of my throat. His odorous presence still lingered, though he was long gone.
I got out of bed, not even bothering searching for my clothes, and made my way to the bathroom. I took a long drag from my cigarette, my lips pursed tight in disgust as I flicked on the bathroom light. Of course, this was one of them sleazy motels.
The ones with the sweaty, seedy looking owner who probably had cameras set up in most of the rooms so he could get his jollies off and the staff that pretended not to speak English whenever you asked a question that involved them doing work. But still, the primordial soup caked to the walls, the shit-tank and the sink looked like it could spawn primitive life at any moment.
I took another long drag. Whatever. Not like I haven’t seen worse. I placed my cig on the sink counter and started the shower, leaving the bathroom door open. Then I stepped into the shower, scrubbing myself the best I could with just water, running it as hot as I could stand it. When I stepped out onto the dingy, tiled floor, I realized two things:
There were no towels and my cigarette had gone out.
Sonuvafuck. Spitefully, I began to hope that my naked parade across the room would leave water marks on the carpet. I went back into the bedroom, eyes scanning the floor for my purse. I spotted it near the foot of the bed and snatched it up, taking it with me into the bathroom. Setting it on the sink, I paused to pull both hands through my hair. It was in a greasy, tangled mess about my head, but I figured it was more or less presentable.
Not like I cared that much anyway. I sat down atop the toilet seat, purse in hand and my back to the mirror. You see, I have this thing about mirrors. I don’t look in ‘em. Ever. At least, not without my mask. Only then, will I face myself and the world. Because without my mask, I become nothing. And with it, I can be anything.
I rifled through my purse until my hand clamped down on my make-up bag. Drawing it out, I dropped my purse to the floor, setting the make-up bag in my lap and unzipping it. First, I pulled out an eyeliner pencil. Black, like the Sins, Lies and Souls that rape this city each night, spreading the Devil’s seed while the city cries out for salvation.
Next, I pulled out a tube of lipstick. It was red, like the blood baked into the sidewalk from a bullet ridden whore crumpled on the sidewalk like a broken doll, lifeless eyes seeing the true form of people’s soles as they step over her like they’re doing her a favor by letting her die kissing their feet.
I retrieved a palette of eye shadow, holding a shattered rainbow in the palm of my hand. They were all bold and beautiful, with cutesy names like ‘Goddess’, ‘Hotpants’ and ‘Midnight Cowgirl’. But tonight, the color was ‘Oil Slick’. Black like the eyes of the night-children who snort dusk under the city twilight as the rising and setting of their hips shadow the screams of a red dawn freshly slain by shooting stars.
Lastly, I brushed on some powder foundation, like a sprinkle of fairy dust to dramatize the conclusion of my transformation. Packing up my tools back into the bag and into my purse, I rose from my makeshift throne. I looked in the mirror. The woman in the reflection smiled back at me. My mask was complete. I could already hear the night calling me, beckoning me, inviting me to the midnight masquerade.
{~*~}{~*~}{~*~}{~*~}
I hit the streets with black, high heel boots, wanton moonbeams seduced by my black, slit cut dress, evening gloves and my low-brimmed fedora. The city welcomed me, her lights burning dimly to guide me home.
I had not even made it to my car yet before I was surrounded by dark faces with dark intentions.
“Out a little bit past your curfew, ain’t ya?”
My feet slowed to a stop, my eyes sweeping the streets. There were five… no, six men corralling me into a tight circle. Feral eyes roamed over me hungrily, each face wearing the rakish, fang toothed smile of a jackal. I was wrong. These were not men.They were wolves. I decided that this would be the perfect time to practice how to handle a delicate situation with finesse and calm, carefully chosen words.
“Curfew my ass. Get the hell out of my way.”
I could probably use a bit more practice.
“You’ve got quite a tongue on you,” the man who appeared to be the pack leader replied, trying to sound sly.
Already I could see that talking wasn’t going to get us anywhere. However, that did not deter me from opening my mouth yet again.
“Yeah, well, your mom said the same thing to me last night,” I quipped, definitely not about to engage in a battle of the wits with a clearly unarmed opponent. “Now fuck off.”
“What?” mocked the idiot, pissing me off even more by continuing with the pointless exchange of words. “You didn’t hear? They got this new curfew for your kind. You’re supposed to be in by 9 p.m.”
Unfazed, I took a step forward. The circle cinched tighter.
“Wait, now, hold on. There’s a second part to that,” he added, stalking closer to me. “The mayor said that if any male citizens were to find any woman out past curfew, that they are to haul their ass in to the nearest police station.”
Brazenly, I placed one foot behind me and turned my back to him. Then, glancing over my shoulder as an issue of challenge, I cupped an ass cheek with one hand.
“In that case, here it is.”
My eyes gripped his and held firm.
“Haul away.”
The alpha male barked briefly in laughter, apparently amused by the antics of his prey. Mid-laugh, he lunged forward with the intentions of grabbing me. As he took a step forward, I quickly raised my boot and buried the heel into his foot. He cried out, grasping for my neck until I smashed my other boot into his shin.
There was a satisfying crack, like something you would hear at an all-you-can-eat crab buffet. As he dropped like a rock, my gaze floated to the now leaderless pack. They no longer eyed me as easy prey. Now, apparently, I was a threat. Another thug came at me, throwing an ape-like punch; heavy, slow and stupid. I side-stepped it and plowed my heel into his kneecap.
The gorilla went down like King Kong, his knee facing the opposite direction it had been just a moment before. A hand suddenly grabbed me roughly by the shoulder. I grasped the arm before the grip could tighten on me and flipped the hand over, sliding the arm down until the bone of his elbow rested on my shoulder.
In one swift motion, I bent my knees slightly, then jerked back up, yanking his arm down hard as I did so. His elbow went crack and I released him, ramming my own elbow into his solar plexus for good measure.
The remaining guys who had just witnessed me bring down the others had decided to preserve what little masculine sense of pride and honor they had left and draw out butterfly knives on me. To be honest, I was a little bit disappointed. They might as well have drawn pictures of knives on paper and flung them at me in hopes of distracting me with a stinging paper cut.
I might have given them points for creativity and gone easy on them, at least. However, that was not the case, so they would just have to settle with having their shit broke up. The first lucky jackass tried to bumrush me. I let my purse slide down my arm and threw it at him. His face made a beautiful, game winning catch, which was rewarded by a swift kick to the throat.
Dumbass.
Jackass number two lunged at me with the knife like a little kid happy to run with scissors. I kicked the knife out of his hands and grabbed his forearm, twisting it to expose his elbow. My right leg arched high in the air before slamming down on his arm. His punk ass went down for the count.
The last jackass standing was slightly smarter than the other five idiots. He came at me in a similar Rambo-eque fashion, blindly rushing at me swinging his knife around like he was having an epileptic seizure, but when I dodged out of the way, his other hand was there waiting. His hand darted out and wrapped around my neck. I almost wanted to give him props for at least managing that much.
Almost.
Instead, I piled my arms on top of his and simply dropped. The guy fell with me and unable to react quick enough to catch himself, letting his face share an intimate moment with the ground. I sprang to my feet just as he hit the ground, his arm still locked in my grip and hopped froggy style onto his back, landing on his arm.
He screamed something incomprehensible as his shoulder was dislocated, but I couldn’t make it out since he was still French kissing the pavement. Satisfied, I stood up and rearranged my dress, walking over to the guy I had lobbed my purse at.
“Thanks for holding my purse, asshole,” I spat, placing a foot on his chest and snatching my purse off the ground.
“As a reward, I’ll leave your bones intact and unbroken.”
That said, I kicked him square in the face.
“Technically, noses are made of cartilage and teeth are not considered bones.”
The man writhing on the ground did not appear to enjoy that tidbit of anatomical trivia.
“Who the fuck are you?!” he asked through loose teeth and blood that looked like cheap wine dribbling down his chin.
The heel of my boot sank deeper into his sternum.
“I’m the one who puts a five inch heel up the asses of guys like you.”
Shouldering my purse, I removed my boot and turned to leave.
“But if you need to call me something when you’re telling your boys the story of how you got a swift kick to the prostate, then just tell them that I’m ‘The Other Sex’.”
I pulled my smokes and lighter from the garter on my left thigh. Lighting one, I slipped both objects back to their original position and took a deep drag. I exhaled my next words along with the smoke, caustic and toxic, like verbal miasma.
“Or, simply call me, ‘The Other’.”
Wrapping my lips around the cigarette once more, I began to head towards my car, stepping over the broken bodies that littered the ground like fallen soldiers. I had won this meaningless skirmish, but the war was far from over. This was a battle of the sexes. And I didn’t intend to lose.
- give me pointers on how to make it not suck so hard
- give me teh yummy criticism *nomnomnom criticism*
- let me know when I should just give up and /quit life altogether
Anyway, the basic storyline is a group of women trying to take down the man. Literally. They want to make it a woman's world and give patriarchy the axe. Lame idea is lame. I want to say that it's a little in the future from our time but maybe with a noir-esque feel?
I probably failed at the "noir-eque" thing, but this is just a first attempt, after all. I also wrote this in first person, to see how it would sound... but I feel as though anything I write after this would be in third person.
Okay, long rambling complete. On with the
Any help/comments/criticism will be greatly appreciated.
))Prologue... thingy
It was night. How many nights had passed, I wasn’t sure. But I was awake now and, most importantly, sans hangover. That’s all I could really hope for each time I found myself resurfacing back to consciousness: Not to wake to a fucking hangover. So far, so good.
I yawned, choking down the stench of sweat, friction and half a second of bliss, tasting it more than I actually smelled it.
Sitting up, I reached across the bed to the nightstand for my smokes and lighter. I lit one and inhaled that sweet poison like it was my last, dying breath. My lungs burned as I siphoned the deadly fumes down to my soul and resigned myself to that slow suicide. For a long time, I merely sat, watching the darkness. The flickering light at the end of my cig staring back at me like the fiery eye of a demon lurking in the blackness beyond the bed.
Finally, I leaned over and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand. The light came dim and low, muted by the haze of smoke polluting the room. Even through the smoke, his scent still clung to my nose, my skin, and my hair. Sticking to the back of my throat. His odorous presence still lingered, though he was long gone.
I got out of bed, not even bothering searching for my clothes, and made my way to the bathroom. I took a long drag from my cigarette, my lips pursed tight in disgust as I flicked on the bathroom light. Of course, this was one of them sleazy motels.
The ones with the sweaty, seedy looking owner who probably had cameras set up in most of the rooms so he could get his jollies off and the staff that pretended not to speak English whenever you asked a question that involved them doing work. But still, the primordial soup caked to the walls, the shit-tank and the sink looked like it could spawn primitive life at any moment.
I took another long drag. Whatever. Not like I haven’t seen worse. I placed my cig on the sink counter and started the shower, leaving the bathroom door open. Then I stepped into the shower, scrubbing myself the best I could with just water, running it as hot as I could stand it. When I stepped out onto the dingy, tiled floor, I realized two things:
There were no towels and my cigarette had gone out.
Sonuvafuck. Spitefully, I began to hope that my naked parade across the room would leave water marks on the carpet. I went back into the bedroom, eyes scanning the floor for my purse. I spotted it near the foot of the bed and snatched it up, taking it with me into the bathroom. Setting it on the sink, I paused to pull both hands through my hair. It was in a greasy, tangled mess about my head, but I figured it was more or less presentable.
Not like I cared that much anyway. I sat down atop the toilet seat, purse in hand and my back to the mirror. You see, I have this thing about mirrors. I don’t look in ‘em. Ever. At least, not without my mask. Only then, will I face myself and the world. Because without my mask, I become nothing. And with it, I can be anything.
I rifled through my purse until my hand clamped down on my make-up bag. Drawing it out, I dropped my purse to the floor, setting the make-up bag in my lap and unzipping it. First, I pulled out an eyeliner pencil. Black, like the Sins, Lies and Souls that rape this city each night, spreading the Devil’s seed while the city cries out for salvation.
Next, I pulled out a tube of lipstick. It was red, like the blood baked into the sidewalk from a bullet ridden whore crumpled on the sidewalk like a broken doll, lifeless eyes seeing the true form of people’s soles as they step over her like they’re doing her a favor by letting her die kissing their feet.
I retrieved a palette of eye shadow, holding a shattered rainbow in the palm of my hand. They were all bold and beautiful, with cutesy names like ‘Goddess’, ‘Hotpants’ and ‘Midnight Cowgirl’. But tonight, the color was ‘Oil Slick’. Black like the eyes of the night-children who snort dusk under the city twilight as the rising and setting of their hips shadow the screams of a red dawn freshly slain by shooting stars.
Lastly, I brushed on some powder foundation, like a sprinkle of fairy dust to dramatize the conclusion of my transformation. Packing up my tools back into the bag and into my purse, I rose from my makeshift throne. I looked in the mirror. The woman in the reflection smiled back at me. My mask was complete. I could already hear the night calling me, beckoning me, inviting me to the midnight masquerade.
{~*~}{~*~}{~*~}{~*~}
I hit the streets with black, high heel boots, wanton moonbeams seduced by my black, slit cut dress, evening gloves and my low-brimmed fedora. The city welcomed me, her lights burning dimly to guide me home.
I had not even made it to my car yet before I was surrounded by dark faces with dark intentions.
“Out a little bit past your curfew, ain’t ya?”
My feet slowed to a stop, my eyes sweeping the streets. There were five… no, six men corralling me into a tight circle. Feral eyes roamed over me hungrily, each face wearing the rakish, fang toothed smile of a jackal. I was wrong. These were not men.They were wolves. I decided that this would be the perfect time to practice how to handle a delicate situation with finesse and calm, carefully chosen words.
“Curfew my ass. Get the hell out of my way.”
I could probably use a bit more practice.
“You’ve got quite a tongue on you,” the man who appeared to be the pack leader replied, trying to sound sly.
Already I could see that talking wasn’t going to get us anywhere. However, that did not deter me from opening my mouth yet again.
“Yeah, well, your mom said the same thing to me last night,” I quipped, definitely not about to engage in a battle of the wits with a clearly unarmed opponent. “Now fuck off.”
“What?” mocked the idiot, pissing me off even more by continuing with the pointless exchange of words. “You didn’t hear? They got this new curfew for your kind. You’re supposed to be in by 9 p.m.”
Unfazed, I took a step forward. The circle cinched tighter.
“Wait, now, hold on. There’s a second part to that,” he added, stalking closer to me. “The mayor said that if any male citizens were to find any woman out past curfew, that they are to haul their ass in to the nearest police station.”
Brazenly, I placed one foot behind me and turned my back to him. Then, glancing over my shoulder as an issue of challenge, I cupped an ass cheek with one hand.
“In that case, here it is.”
My eyes gripped his and held firm.
“Haul away.”
The alpha male barked briefly in laughter, apparently amused by the antics of his prey. Mid-laugh, he lunged forward with the intentions of grabbing me. As he took a step forward, I quickly raised my boot and buried the heel into his foot. He cried out, grasping for my neck until I smashed my other boot into his shin.
There was a satisfying crack, like something you would hear at an all-you-can-eat crab buffet. As he dropped like a rock, my gaze floated to the now leaderless pack. They no longer eyed me as easy prey. Now, apparently, I was a threat. Another thug came at me, throwing an ape-like punch; heavy, slow and stupid. I side-stepped it and plowed my heel into his kneecap.
The gorilla went down like King Kong, his knee facing the opposite direction it had been just a moment before. A hand suddenly grabbed me roughly by the shoulder. I grasped the arm before the grip could tighten on me and flipped the hand over, sliding the arm down until the bone of his elbow rested on my shoulder.
In one swift motion, I bent my knees slightly, then jerked back up, yanking his arm down hard as I did so. His elbow went crack and I released him, ramming my own elbow into his solar plexus for good measure.
The remaining guys who had just witnessed me bring down the others had decided to preserve what little masculine sense of pride and honor they had left and draw out butterfly knives on me. To be honest, I was a little bit disappointed. They might as well have drawn pictures of knives on paper and flung them at me in hopes of distracting me with a stinging paper cut.
I might have given them points for creativity and gone easy on them, at least. However, that was not the case, so they would just have to settle with having their shit broke up. The first lucky jackass tried to bumrush me. I let my purse slide down my arm and threw it at him. His face made a beautiful, game winning catch, which was rewarded by a swift kick to the throat.
Dumbass.
Jackass number two lunged at me with the knife like a little kid happy to run with scissors. I kicked the knife out of his hands and grabbed his forearm, twisting it to expose his elbow. My right leg arched high in the air before slamming down on his arm. His punk ass went down for the count.
The last jackass standing was slightly smarter than the other five idiots. He came at me in a similar Rambo-eque fashion, blindly rushing at me swinging his knife around like he was having an epileptic seizure, but when I dodged out of the way, his other hand was there waiting. His hand darted out and wrapped around my neck. I almost wanted to give him props for at least managing that much.
Almost.
Instead, I piled my arms on top of his and simply dropped. The guy fell with me and unable to react quick enough to catch himself, letting his face share an intimate moment with the ground. I sprang to my feet just as he hit the ground, his arm still locked in my grip and hopped froggy style onto his back, landing on his arm.
He screamed something incomprehensible as his shoulder was dislocated, but I couldn’t make it out since he was still French kissing the pavement. Satisfied, I stood up and rearranged my dress, walking over to the guy I had lobbed my purse at.
“Thanks for holding my purse, asshole,” I spat, placing a foot on his chest and snatching my purse off the ground.
“As a reward, I’ll leave your bones intact and unbroken.”
That said, I kicked him square in the face.
“Technically, noses are made of cartilage and teeth are not considered bones.”
The man writhing on the ground did not appear to enjoy that tidbit of anatomical trivia.
“Who the fuck are you?!” he asked through loose teeth and blood that looked like cheap wine dribbling down his chin.
The heel of my boot sank deeper into his sternum.
“I’m the one who puts a five inch heel up the asses of guys like you.”
Shouldering my purse, I removed my boot and turned to leave.
“But if you need to call me something when you’re telling your boys the story of how you got a swift kick to the prostate, then just tell them that I’m ‘The Other Sex’.”
I pulled my smokes and lighter from the garter on my left thigh. Lighting one, I slipped both objects back to their original position and took a deep drag. I exhaled my next words along with the smoke, caustic and toxic, like verbal miasma.
“Or, simply call me, ‘The Other’.”
Wrapping my lips around the cigarette once more, I began to head towards my car, stepping over the broken bodies that littered the ground like fallen soldiers. I had won this meaningless skirmish, but the war was far from over. This was a battle of the sexes. And I didn’t intend to lose.
