Post by Dinster on Jul 19, 2004 12:39:06 GMT -5
I suppose this could come under short prose.
I'm writing a novel called Broken Paradise. It is a (well I hope) gripping crime story, but also addresses issues such as social subclasses, and most men's shallow views on women, and what a good woman is.
Here is the first chapter of my novel. Please tell me if you spot any typos!
Chapter One
The wind killed the vivid toxic flame in Tara’s cigarette end. She glanced at the sun for one last time. One last time before climbing into the car for the journey home.
She glanced over at Jack and Rose. There they were, dolled up, courting in front of each other like doves. With doves’ brains implanted in their heads. Tara rolled her eyes. Now when I fall in love, I shall never put on such a performance.
“Er… it’s time to get in the car.”
Rose shot Tara a glare of disapproval. She was never in her good books – Tara’s long straggly hair and ripped black trousers were not exactly the optimal taste of rose cheeked, rose lipped Rose.
“Oh my God! Jack, I forgot my handbag at the hotel! Will you come with me to get it?”<br>
Well, amongst about ten thousand other handbags, it’s a wonder how she managed to forget this one.
Tara moaned. “I’ll come with you.”
Quickly, they hurried up the decrepit steps, the teeth to the mouth of an equally shabby hotel. If, of course, a decent human being would call it a hotel. Unfortunately, it was the only one in the area.
It belonged to an old acquaintance of Tara, so old that a myriad of wrinkles veiled his face. Therefore, as the old man’s mind was as withered as his skeletal carcass, affairs in the hotel did not always go very smoothly.
The reception area was silent as a grave, except that this time it lacked the old man.
“Howard!”<br>
Silence. Not a snail moved. Well, there were no snails in the hotel at the time being.
“Howard! It’s Tara. Please could we get the keys for our room for an instance? Rose here forgot her handbag.”<br>
A long stillness usually indicates a stubborn yes.
Tara jumped over the counter and skimmed her eyes over the keys on the hooks.
“Er… Talia? I actually left it in the café.”
Tara’s brain almost boiled over into an inedible mass of raving rage. Her fingers were twitching for Rose’s throat, yet she remained a good girl and kept them at her sides. The obstinate mule really was not worth the effort.
“The name is Tara!”<br>
Rose sneered at the girl down her nose. Even that was rosy.
So the two unlikely women proceeded down to the café. After a long search, Rose found her “cute little Louis Vuitton number” under a table. And at last, they got going. This hotel would give anyone the willies.
They skipped past the deserted tables and wilting roses in neat little vases. The reception was, as before, as mute as a grave. Tara stopped to see if perhaps old Howard fell asleep in his office.
Eyes wide open, Tara’s body froze into a statue of shock.
“What the hell is going on? Come on, Jack’s waiting in the car!”<br>
Rose approached Tara’s stiff frame. She could see every hair on her head, her soft grey eyes stiffened as if made of stone, except for a quivering lip. A strand of dark blonde hair fell over her eye, ready to explode with tears.
“What on Earth is wrong with you? Why can’t you just speak? You strange girl – “<br>
Rose was silenced by a blazing glance from Tara. Her face was still, yet her eyes were raving with unruly rage.
Rose stepped towards Tara. A riverlet of burgundy blood led to the body of a withered old man. His white hair was doused with the red elixir of life, his body slashed and ripped by the strength and ruthlessness of the machine gun.
In the last moment, Tara’s hand slapped Rose’s mouth, to drown her sickening scream. There was movement behind the office door opposite the girls.
Trembling with shock, Tara slowly approached the door. She crouched, her back to it, and turned her head to the key hole. Trying to breathe in the thinnest stream she could master, she listened to the words pouring through the hole.
The first voice was a monotone, nasal masculine drone.
“If you do not answer my question, we will kill your daughter.”<br>
A child’s cry of despair was heard.
“But – I don’t know anything – honestly – “<br>
“Of course. The police will not know anything either. You will have no evidence to prove your daughter’s death. In fact, you have no evidence to prove her existence, now that we’ve destroyed the – “<br>
“No! Please, I have told you all I know!”<br>
Tara’s heart pounded against her skin. She turned her head to see Rose.
“Rose, go back to the car and tell Jack – “<br>
She found that she was talking to herself, and the dead old man. Rose was not there. She must have predicted this instruction with her telepathic brain, aided by a drop of cowardice.
Tara’s eyes wandered over the dead body of Howard; a tear escaped her eye. This was an old, harmless man. He was not able to hurt, and he was not able to defend himself. Yet, he was ruthlessly murdered. What kind of people could commit such a crime? She turned back, to put her ear to the keyhole. She wished to listen to the feral beasts that roamed behind that door.
Slowly, Tara wiped the tear from her eye, and placed her ear against the silent metal of the keyhole. Yet as soon as she did that, a deafening din thrashed against her eardrum. She jerked backwards, and threw two hands, pale as fresh winter snow, towards her ears.
The machine guns screamed for a minute or so, flaying all life from the victims before their cold eyes.
The racket stopped. For a moment, Tara squatted motionless by the door, one hand fingering the keyhole. She longed to scream, to rip the door from its sockets. To tear these murderers from the surface of this Earth. To punish them.
Finally, breath returned to her. Her view mystified by tears, she looked into the keyhole.
There, staring back at her, a cold hazel eye.
“What do we have here? A little spy? Get her.”<br>
Eyes widening, she soared up, and ran. She dashed out of the hotel, away from the blood. The pain. The death. The sound of the door flinging open, the footsteps, nothing else mattered. Just safety.
Hurling open the main door, Tara flung herself out. Into Jack, holding a gun.
“Rose told me to get a gun - “<br>
That certainly took the large nincompoop a while. He could not have come more on cue – in the right place, in the right time.
“Run! Now, run!”<br>
A handful of inches behind her, a man’s large frame. With her last will, Tara threw shut the door at him.
Exhausted, Tara dropped her head onto the steering wheel. Thankfully, they did not seem to have a vehicle. Strange. Jack put his hand on Tara’s shoulder.
“Let me drive for a while. I know, you must be pretty exhausted, experiencing the death of your geriatric friend.”<br>
Tara presented him a dirty look. Sarcasm, just perfect right now.
“No… no, I’m fine.”
Rose, dug into the back seats, was still trembling. The sight of a dead body was obviously not good for her health.
“Do you mind if I smoke one?”<br>
“Nah.”<br>
With two thin, pale fingers, Tara pulled out a cigarette from a box in her pocket. Oh joy, the last one. Jack offered her a light, which she politely accepted. The smoke caressed her throat, yet it did not wipe away the anger she felt. Nor the sadness, nor the hatred she felt for these vultures. A tear was blown from her face by the wind, as she leaned out of the window. Nor Howard’s life. Nothing will ever restore it, the three victims’ souls have been eradicated. Forever.
I'm writing a novel called Broken Paradise. It is a (well I hope) gripping crime story, but also addresses issues such as social subclasses, and most men's shallow views on women, and what a good woman is.
Here is the first chapter of my novel. Please tell me if you spot any typos!
Chapter One
The wind killed the vivid toxic flame in Tara’s cigarette end. She glanced at the sun for one last time. One last time before climbing into the car for the journey home.
She glanced over at Jack and Rose. There they were, dolled up, courting in front of each other like doves. With doves’ brains implanted in their heads. Tara rolled her eyes. Now when I fall in love, I shall never put on such a performance.
“Er… it’s time to get in the car.”
Rose shot Tara a glare of disapproval. She was never in her good books – Tara’s long straggly hair and ripped black trousers were not exactly the optimal taste of rose cheeked, rose lipped Rose.
“Oh my God! Jack, I forgot my handbag at the hotel! Will you come with me to get it?”<br>
Well, amongst about ten thousand other handbags, it’s a wonder how she managed to forget this one.
Tara moaned. “I’ll come with you.”
Quickly, they hurried up the decrepit steps, the teeth to the mouth of an equally shabby hotel. If, of course, a decent human being would call it a hotel. Unfortunately, it was the only one in the area.
It belonged to an old acquaintance of Tara, so old that a myriad of wrinkles veiled his face. Therefore, as the old man’s mind was as withered as his skeletal carcass, affairs in the hotel did not always go very smoothly.
The reception area was silent as a grave, except that this time it lacked the old man.
“Howard!”<br>
Silence. Not a snail moved. Well, there were no snails in the hotel at the time being.
“Howard! It’s Tara. Please could we get the keys for our room for an instance? Rose here forgot her handbag.”<br>
A long stillness usually indicates a stubborn yes.
Tara jumped over the counter and skimmed her eyes over the keys on the hooks.
“Er… Talia? I actually left it in the café.”
Tara’s brain almost boiled over into an inedible mass of raving rage. Her fingers were twitching for Rose’s throat, yet she remained a good girl and kept them at her sides. The obstinate mule really was not worth the effort.
“The name is Tara!”<br>
Rose sneered at the girl down her nose. Even that was rosy.
So the two unlikely women proceeded down to the café. After a long search, Rose found her “cute little Louis Vuitton number” under a table. And at last, they got going. This hotel would give anyone the willies.
They skipped past the deserted tables and wilting roses in neat little vases. The reception was, as before, as mute as a grave. Tara stopped to see if perhaps old Howard fell asleep in his office.
Eyes wide open, Tara’s body froze into a statue of shock.
“What the hell is going on? Come on, Jack’s waiting in the car!”<br>
Rose approached Tara’s stiff frame. She could see every hair on her head, her soft grey eyes stiffened as if made of stone, except for a quivering lip. A strand of dark blonde hair fell over her eye, ready to explode with tears.
“What on Earth is wrong with you? Why can’t you just speak? You strange girl – “<br>
Rose was silenced by a blazing glance from Tara. Her face was still, yet her eyes were raving with unruly rage.
Rose stepped towards Tara. A riverlet of burgundy blood led to the body of a withered old man. His white hair was doused with the red elixir of life, his body slashed and ripped by the strength and ruthlessness of the machine gun.
In the last moment, Tara’s hand slapped Rose’s mouth, to drown her sickening scream. There was movement behind the office door opposite the girls.
Trembling with shock, Tara slowly approached the door. She crouched, her back to it, and turned her head to the key hole. Trying to breathe in the thinnest stream she could master, she listened to the words pouring through the hole.
The first voice was a monotone, nasal masculine drone.
“If you do not answer my question, we will kill your daughter.”<br>
A child’s cry of despair was heard.
“But – I don’t know anything – honestly – “<br>
“Of course. The police will not know anything either. You will have no evidence to prove your daughter’s death. In fact, you have no evidence to prove her existence, now that we’ve destroyed the – “<br>
“No! Please, I have told you all I know!”<br>
Tara’s heart pounded against her skin. She turned her head to see Rose.
“Rose, go back to the car and tell Jack – “<br>
She found that she was talking to herself, and the dead old man. Rose was not there. She must have predicted this instruction with her telepathic brain, aided by a drop of cowardice.
Tara’s eyes wandered over the dead body of Howard; a tear escaped her eye. This was an old, harmless man. He was not able to hurt, and he was not able to defend himself. Yet, he was ruthlessly murdered. What kind of people could commit such a crime? She turned back, to put her ear to the keyhole. She wished to listen to the feral beasts that roamed behind that door.
Slowly, Tara wiped the tear from her eye, and placed her ear against the silent metal of the keyhole. Yet as soon as she did that, a deafening din thrashed against her eardrum. She jerked backwards, and threw two hands, pale as fresh winter snow, towards her ears.
The machine guns screamed for a minute or so, flaying all life from the victims before their cold eyes.
The racket stopped. For a moment, Tara squatted motionless by the door, one hand fingering the keyhole. She longed to scream, to rip the door from its sockets. To tear these murderers from the surface of this Earth. To punish them.
Finally, breath returned to her. Her view mystified by tears, she looked into the keyhole.
There, staring back at her, a cold hazel eye.
“What do we have here? A little spy? Get her.”<br>
Eyes widening, she soared up, and ran. She dashed out of the hotel, away from the blood. The pain. The death. The sound of the door flinging open, the footsteps, nothing else mattered. Just safety.
Hurling open the main door, Tara flung herself out. Into Jack, holding a gun.
“Rose told me to get a gun - “<br>
That certainly took the large nincompoop a while. He could not have come more on cue – in the right place, in the right time.
“Run! Now, run!”<br>
A handful of inches behind her, a man’s large frame. With her last will, Tara threw shut the door at him.
Exhausted, Tara dropped her head onto the steering wheel. Thankfully, they did not seem to have a vehicle. Strange. Jack put his hand on Tara’s shoulder.
“Let me drive for a while. I know, you must be pretty exhausted, experiencing the death of your geriatric friend.”<br>
Tara presented him a dirty look. Sarcasm, just perfect right now.
“No… no, I’m fine.”
Rose, dug into the back seats, was still trembling. The sight of a dead body was obviously not good for her health.
“Do you mind if I smoke one?”<br>
“Nah.”<br>
With two thin, pale fingers, Tara pulled out a cigarette from a box in her pocket. Oh joy, the last one. Jack offered her a light, which she politely accepted. The smoke caressed her throat, yet it did not wipe away the anger she felt. Nor the sadness, nor the hatred she felt for these vultures. A tear was blown from her face by the wind, as she leaned out of the window. Nor Howard’s life. Nothing will ever restore it, the three victims’ souls have been eradicated. Forever.