NaNoWriMo

Dear friends, acquaintances, and spectators,

Midnight tonight marks the beginning of National Novel Writer's Month (NaNoWriMo). Those participating in this glorious event will be attempting to craft a first draft of 50,000 words by November 30th. I'm taking part this year and, in doing so, will not be updating either of my blogs with new content. I'll also be taking a bit of a social hiatus, leaving time mostly for writing, working, more writing, and working out.

I'm sure there will be some events I absolutely must attend (a friend's return from Afghanistan being foremost in my mind) and you will be able to catch me there. Beyond that, though, I will be limiting my cell phone, Facebook, Twitter, and Blogger time. If you'd like to keep track of my writing progress, you can go to NaNoWriMo.org and search for "Jinjokage".


For those participating, I wish you the best of luck. For those not, I will see you on the other side.

Sincerely,

Charles Singletary, Writer

The Flight

I wrote this prompt for a website (http://sixsentences.blogspot.com/) where you have to write a story in six sentences ONLY. It seems like they've discontinued updating the site, so I decided to post the first short story I ever submitted online right here on The Writing Righter.

He's falling fast and can't quite find the strength to spread his wings. There are many clouds with no discernible shape, some even repeating in pattern. They're all around him and the air is stifling. Maybe he's struggling too hard and should relax. Maybe his own thoughts are limiting his potential. Or maybe its the straight jacket and white walls.

Flash Fiction Friday: When The Clock Strikes

A sudden wind swept up a dust cloud, adding to the sullen atmosphere and obscuring onlooker's vision. The two men drawing the crowd's attention stood forty yards apart, feet planted firmly with their right hands poised to grab their revolvers as soon as the bells rang. At the top of the hour, the world would be without one of the greatest gunslingers in Oklahoma.

***

It was only a matter of time before we met. Every pull of the trigger, every shot, every man defeated was merely a means to reach him, my father’s murderer. Each duel he took part in was another chance I may not be the one to kill him. But he lives. He probably doesn’t even remember my father, just another man. The best shot in the west. I’ll never forget seeing sunlight reflected into my dad’s eyes just as guns were drawn.

***

I remember clear as day. My own dreams remind me constantly. Confident as ever, Rick Faust standing across from me. My greatest adversary and only rival. I remember the bell. I remember seeing the light shine into his eyes. I remember his gun going off split seconds before mine. I remember his son shouting as his father fell backwards to the ground, my bullet having found his chest and his bullet having found wind. Seems William Whitestone wanted Rick dead for holding up his expansion. Rick wouldn’t sell some land he had out east of Norman and Whitestone figured he could coax the wife out of it with Rick dead. I didn’t think he’d do it this way. There’s no honor in that. Then again, Whitestone was no honorable man.

Now I stand across from Rick Jr. There’s no way he knows the truth of things. Been avoiding his challenges for months now, dueling those Whitestone had in his pocket. Each win weakened Whitestone’s grasp and lightened the guilt on my shoulders. Each win probably bringing this young man’s anger to a boil.

“Hold up a sec there boys.”

Whitestone and three of his bodyguards exit out of a house off to my left. Two of the guards had rifles trained on me, the other aimed at Faust.

“Now, you didn’t think I’d miss this lovely opportunity to get rid of two of the biggest thorns in my rear end this side of Oklahoma, did you? No worries there Deveaux, I won’t need no fancy mirrors to remove this here Faust. I think a more direct route is in order.”

The hearty laughter brought with it 6 more men coming out with weapons aimed at us: A couple atop the saloon’s second floor balcony, the rest across from the house Whitestone emerged from. Seems they waited amongst the crowd. Whitestone’s devilish grin was evident under his dusty black bowler. The grin always reached his eyes. He genuinely took pleasure in the demise of others. I see the confusion on Rick’s face change slowly into understanding, then into a seething anger.

Ding

Faust takes the first shot, clipping one of the men on the balcony. His speed reminds me of his father, but I can tell he’s never killed a man. I pull both my own revolvers and hit two of the four men to my right. The townspeople all hit the ground or dash for cover.

Ding

I hit the second man on the balcony and one of Whitestone’s guards while Faust hits the last two on my right. He's turning for Whitestone when a bullet shatters his left shoulder.

Ding

I hit one of the guards dead center and Faust, not letting the pain hold him back, hits the third.

Ding

Whitestone is cowering now, his previous arrogance no longer evident. That same arrogance left him unarmed and alone now. Faust starts to walk toward Whitestone, blood pouring from his clipped wing. I keep my guns out, making sure these were the only men Whitestone brought along. Whether they were the last or the remaining were simply cowards, no one else made a move.

***

“Please young man. I can offer you anything you want. Anything at all! Women, land, money. Speak it and its yours.

I looked into the eyes of the man behind the death of my father. The man that pushed my mother to the edge, where she took the easy way out and left me behind. The anger I’d kept bottled up for Deveaux was now completely focused into him. One flinch, and I’d leave his thoughts on the wood behind him. He’d never plot another death, swindle another family, or feel the warmth of a woman. I still didn’t think it’d be enough.

“Don’t become what he his son,” says Deveaux as he walks up behind me with Marshall John.

“I’m not your fucking son.”

“I know. I can never replace your father. Neither can Whitestone's death. You’d be showing him a great mercy if you kill him now. Let him suffer. Everyone out here heard what he said and has seen what he tried today. He’ll never escape his crimes and jail is hell for one who's lived such a soft life."

He was right. I knew it, but I didn’t want him to be. This man had taken everything I’d ever known away from me just for a piece of land. I’d lived thinking that my father would want the man responsible six feet under, but then I thought of my mother. The pain she experienced when my father died. The downward spiral she went through. I hope Whitestone experiences something remotely close.

“Marshall. Get this piece of shit behind bars.”

Flash Fiction Friday: The Outsider

The Outsider

                This lake is part of my fondest memories. Fishing with dad, my first kiss, racing my friends across the water.  Out here I can forget the rest of the world. Now, I want her to be here with me when I escape from it all. Her accepting my proposal is the next memory I want to create here, hopefully amidst many more she’ll share with me.

                Early this afternoon, I prepared the food we’d have and set up a table close to the water.  Now, with the sun's last rays falling on us, we arrived. The sight of the setting sun through the trees is breathtaking. Yet, even the golden strands reflected off the water pale in comparison to her golden hair.  I park in view of the table and candles.

“Casanova.”

“The night is young.”

I open her door and lead her to the table. I grab the food and spread it out for us. Chicken Parmesan, salad with vinaigrette, and one cupcake. It’s not much, but it’s what’s in the cupcake that matters. While eating, I’m distracted by movement in the trees, but it's too dark to see. I’m drawn back in by her biting into the cupcake.

“What did you put in thi…..oh my…”

She freaks and practically dives into me.  It's so unexpected I fall sideways with her in my arms. Then, she attacks me with kisses.

           “I love you so much!” Kiss. “I never even knew!” Kiss. “I almost broke my freakin tooth!” Kiss, kiss, kiss.

I laugh during her barrage with my arms wrapped around her. That’s when I heard the footsteps.

“Looks like you’re having a good time, boy.” 

           Kym rolls off of me and I sit up. Three guys stand about ten feet from us, all in torn denim and t-shirts.  The one who spoke has on a crimson and white cap. My eyes are on the hunting rifles.

           “Now what would your parents think of you mixing up with his kind?” He asks with the strangest sincerity. 

“Fuck off.” Good ole Kym.

I climb to my feet and help her up. Then the three men start walking toward me. 

“Got nothing to say, ni..”

I punch cap-man square in the mouth, ending his statement for him. Dumb move. The guy on the right tags me in the ribs, bringing me to my knees. Out of nowhere, Kym punchs the guy on the left and he shoves her back into me. He then pointed his gun at her, but cap-man snatched it from him.

“Calm down.” He wiped a bit of blood from his mouth. “Heh. We’ll have some fun fir…”

           He’s cut off by something huge hitting the water. Hard. A mist starts to rain down on us and I try to take advantage of the distraction. As soon as I reach for Kym, though, the other guy aims at me.

“Don’t move boy.”

          I put my hands up and try to make out what hit the water, but it’s too dark. We all stand in silence for a few seconds, then a sound rings out. It reminds me of a door opening in Star Trek. A dim light shines from what’s in the water and something climbs out. Its skin looks oil-like. Its arms don’t have hands at the end, more like tentacles.

“What is that?”

         Cap-man raises his rifle, but the ship’s light goes dark right before he pulls the trigger. Doesn’t sound like he connects, but then I notice splashing on the water’s surface, with each splash coming closer together. And getting louder.  It was running toward us.

“Run!” I yell.

         Right then, it runs past the table, grabs cap-man’s friends, and flings them toward the lake. Then it just stands there. None of us make a move.

“Ron…..what is it?” Kym says.

        Then, as if reacting to her voice, it dashes toward her. I barely move my arms before she’s snatched out of my vision, me and the cap-man left in a sphere of darkness while her screams get further away. I suppress a scream of my own as something dawns on me.

        I look at cap-man and terror is in his eyes. His eyes flicker from me to the direction she was taken in. Back and forth. Then he brings his hands to his mouth, signifying he’s come to the same conclusion I have; It only reacts to what it hears. He stares into my eyes. Then he hands me one of his guns. I guess we’re in this together.

Flash Fiction Friday: Too Soon

Taut and alert, she laid in bed with a cell phone in one hand and a candlestick in the other. With her eyes closed, she listened for the ­sounds of arrival. She listened for things signaling Jeff’s return: The rattle of his keys and the wood upon wood struggle as he displaced and replaced the shelves and drawers used to barricade the front door. She also listened for the tell-tale sounds of less welcome company. It had been two days since they’d heard from anyone at all and she was beginning to lose hope. Jeff had left for food and supplies only a couple hours ago, driving home the fact that it’d be easier for him to avoid attracting attention if he was alone, but Joseph and Laura had been gone far longer in their search for more survivors.

The cell phone was on its last bar and she realized that it’d probably die before she heard from anyone, so she tossed it the side and sat up. Her eyes were heavy, lack of sleep evident around the edges. Jeff had urged her to stay awake while he was away and her mind and body both were paying for it. The previous night’s restlessness had her tired enough as is. 

                After about 5 minutes of staring into the candlelight’s flame and lulling herself right into a red-orange tinted daydream, she heard the unmistakable jingle of keys. She started toward the bedroom door, but then she heard one of the shelves fall over. Jeff was extremely careful, obsessive even. She’d watched him meticulously place each piece of furniture so the setup would make the least noise possible when moved. She calmed herself down, thinking he may have simply slipped.

“Ash…get out.”

She froze. A million thoughts raced through her head. She couldn’t grab hold of what was going on.

“Out!”

She blew out the candle and grabbed the stainless .45 off the dresser. She stood away from the door, her back against the wall next to a boarded up window. She heard a low grunt, followed by the sound of wood against wood. Then footsteps started up the hall toward the bedroom. She aimed at the door, gripping the gun just loose enough, just like Jeff taught her. What could have gone wrong? Jeff wouldn’t have opened the door with the dead men after him. He would have lost them amongst the other houses like they talked about......unless he didn’t see it coming. We don’t know how fast these things really are.

I can’t get bitten by one of them.

She remembered watching from the window when all hell broke loose. The people fighting each other for their cars and the people hit by those same cars. Nothing was worse than the people getting fed upon. The things would catch them in an iron grip and bite into their flesh. Then the people would scream and topple over backwards as their life drained from them.

I don't want to change.

            She remembered those same people would clumsily stand up and fall into step inciting chaos. They'd attack the same scarred onlookers that had just watched in horror as fathers, mothers, cousins, girlfriends, and mere acquaintances were killed, only to rise up again.

 I can't die like that.

            She remembered squeezing Jeff's arm while Laura and Joseph made a pact to shoot themselves before having those monsters bite them. She slowly brought the gun to her own temple, her hand shivering uncontrollably.

I won’t die that way

The door slowly began to open. 

“Just kid….”

Blam!