Writer’s Block
In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
AN: maybe it was the Tor rewatch
of Buffy that got me thinking like this. They are up to Smashed - one of my
fave episodes. http://www.tor.com/blogs/2013/08/buffy-the-vampire-slayer-rewatch-larrys-gay-larrys-dead-and-high-schools-kinda-over
He didn’t think much of it at the
time, but as the weeks progressed, he found himself dwelling often on the scene
he’d witnessed that night. Not that he was entirely sure that he had seen what
he thought he had seen. So he can’t have seen a guy with long teeth, sucking at
the neck of a girl in the alley behind the bar.
He looked very exotic. Lots of
leather... what did they call it? Gothic? That’s what he looked like.
He put it out of his head. He was
drunk. He had to be.
Vampires were creatures of
fiction. They didn’t really exist. If that was what the guy was or just a Goth
who wanted to be a vampire... yeah. That made sense. A whole lot of people were
into that scene.
So, the next time he snuck outside
for a smoke, and a bit of fresh air to clear his head, he wasn’t particularly
surprised to see Goth guy (as he now called him in his head) in the alley. He
was with another girl.
He watched them surreptitiously.
She didn’t look as eager as the last girl although she fitted the Goth profile.
She protested. She asked to go back inside the bar.
The thought crossed his mind to be
a hero. Try to rescue her.
“Don’t even think about it,” a
small blonde girl whispered as she moved past him. “Leave it to me.”
He wanted to protest that she
could not help. But the next second, she leapt out of the shadows and yanked
the girl away from Goth guy. He hissed at her. Seriously hissed. Teeth bared
and all.
The tiny blonde shoved the girl
behind her, knowing he was there to help her. He shepherded her out of the way
and back to the bar fire exit, but looked back over his shoulder.
The blonde bounced lightly on her
feet. And in such a modern setting, she had a hand whittled wooden stake in her
hand. She held it back handed. So that her thumb was pointing towards her chest
and the point protruded from below her hand. She seemed like a gymnast rather
than a vigilante, she moved so fluidly. Running up and kicking off the walls,
she kicked him backwards and then she stabbed that stake into the Goth guy’s
chest.
And he just turned to ash.
One second he was there and the
next he was gone!
“Did you see that?” he asked the
shaking girl.
He had been drinking and it all
happened so fast. Later it occurred to him that it was too fast. People could
not move that fast. And tiny blonde girls could not kick a guy twice their size
in the centre of the chest with a booted foot and throw him feet backwards into
a wall. He knew his physics. That wasn’t possible.
But he told himself he hadn’t seen
it. He was drunk. It hadn’t happened like that.
But he thought about it. He kept
looking for that girl. He didn’t see the Goth girl around anymore. He started
to go out later. Hang in alleys at odd hours.
And once he did, he started to
notice a whole lot of weird things he had never noticed before. Guys with no
suntan like the Goth Guys with serious dental problems. Women with black eyes.
It was as if the blinkers over his eyes had been removed. Now he saw the world
clearly.
And then he did see the tiny
blonde, but not where he expected her to be. She was on an excursion with the
local high school. A group of them walked past him in the street. She was in
high school? She wasn’t old enough to be in the bars she was protecting.
He tried to catch her eye and she skilfully
ignored him.
He understood. She could not
explain how she knew him without blowing her cover.
He kept trying to look for her at
night, at least until a vampire asked him if he wanted a fangbang. At least the
vampire took no as an answer. He had been stupidly reckless. He couldn’t look
after himself like she could.
It shook him out of his obsession.
He started to live in daylight hours. He got a job and he stopped hanging in
alleys after midnight. But he never forgot her and her never forgot that the
city had a dark underbelly and a bite that could hurt.
~~~~
© AM Gray 2013
The tiny blond one belongs to Joss
Whedon et al.
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