Kicking a dog

He's not really a dog, and I may be insulting hundreds of breeds by associating their species with him, but he surely acted like one.
This particular beast was not at all house trained. the one with him was, but decided to pretend not to be for his benefit. She thought it was funny. It wasn't and I still feel vomitous when I recall that moment, which I do too much. So the two filthy animals scampered all over the furniture and did what very bad dogs do.
"Bad dogs. Git," I said, in the revised version. I regretted feeding them. I regretted letting their mangy hides in off the street at all.
They didn't. The smaller and much dirtier one--the one on top--grinned hideously. He looked to me a lot like a stumpy, droolingly rabid three-eyed chihuahua-daschund-pug combination, combining all of the least appealing features of each. And he looked at me as though he was simultaneously eating and humping (both very sloppily) a dead infant girl. I'm not sure how to describe it. He enjoyed it, by the frightful look on his face, and he especially enjoyed how disgusting it was, especially to me.
in the revised version, I found a handy two-by-four and smartly rapped the little abomination on the back of the heauntil it stopped moving. I shooed out the less filthy dog. She was a prize border collie, but long ruined, and lacking any good taste.I also gace the dead baby girl a proper burial. She's no longer any business of mine. As for the body of the filthy little mutt. I threw a garbgage bag over it and asked a good neighbor to throw it in the dumptser out behind the building. I know he did as I asked. I tied the bag tight. either the monster was already dead or it suphocated in the bag. Who cares.
I felt so much better as I passed all my strength into the two-by-four and crushed its miserable skull. When a beast won't respond to being asked to stop, or being asked to leave, or any degree of reason or decency, you have to chase the beast out with a stick.

Some Wonderful Story, part 03

She has some red-rimmed look on her face, sincerely wondering why on earth he had just called her "honey."
She was kind of teary, but the tears weren't concentrating anywhere enough to make drops. Her nostrils were all flared. Her hair was going in a bunch of different directions, all frizzy. She was somewhere between breathing heavily and making a squeaky sound. And she was standing very awkwardly, not attractive.
She was coming to the conclusion that maybe he wasn't holding her captive. Maybe she was just in the wrong place. She was looking around the room again, still looking confused, but I little more determined. There's a clock that shows the date as well as the time. Day of the week, too. She was focused on the date for a while with some intent hint of recognition. The guy was getting up by now and staring at her with an enormous amount of concern.
Some disembodied voice faded in. "You won't remember this date at any point, and.." as it faded right back out.
She pivoted and sprung into a determined race-walk down the hall of this enormous building. It was all some pale wood, but looked strong enough and well-maintained. She was looking fiercely at all of the numbers on the doors and sometimes fixing on the wall decorations.
"Honey, where are you going?" He was stumbling along behind her. "Babe, are you ok?" He caught up really quickly. He wasn't even breathing hard. He grabbed her really carefully, but also firmly and spun her around.

Just Drop Him

Sorgi was more ticked off than most people had ever seen him.
"Try it sometime, then. Being me. See if you can stomach being the black sheep of three different families."
Sorgi was really ugly. He didn't have much going for him. In the next instant he spun off a line of swear words, tripped, and looked incredibly stupid hitting the ground and continuing to swear.
His face froze in comical and hideous anger as his neck broke and he died, bent unpleasantly in half.
"Oh, dear, he's dead." a lot of people said dumbly.
It was incredibly rude of him to interrupt the leadership meeting party, and then raise a bunch of drama and die.
"Sorry I had to reschedule the meeting, you guys, let's get down to business," Abby was saying a week later. "We left off with the year's schedule. Like I said, I can do every Thursday. How's everyone else?"
After a short pause, Carl said, "Well, what about the things Sorgi was saying? Do you think we should...uh...rethink the way we have been doing things?"
Abby blinked plainly as if the very idea of a contradiction didn't compute with her.
Marla broke in diplomatically, saying, "Sorgi was very upset that day and his death was a tragedy."

Writer's Detour

"Fictional feelings again, eh?"
She turned and glared at his smug face. She balled up the piece of paper in front of her and launched it into the side can with a simmer.
"It's not compelling without fantasy." It curled out like smoke. She started another page.
She wrote intently for about three paragraphs.
The door swung open again. She looked up without any expression of surprise. It was more like she was trying to push it away with her eyes.
In her head she tripped over whether to say, "Oh, you," and how to say it. But the curvy little figure was intercepted just inside the door, by him of course. Then they were whispering. He did most of the talking.
She let them talk while she evenly creased the piece of paper into clean rectangles.
"Ooh, I wanna see!" trumpeted the curvy little figure.
The piece of paper spun to the can.
"No, you don't," she was trying to say with authority, but they were whispering some more. He was steering her out of the room.
The curvy figure turned one last time to say, "Well, why don't you just--" as he closed the door on her voice with utmost condescension.

sidebar

This is not from that current series. This is just an internal conversation

"That's one thing I admire about him. He's the only person who would say things--good things about--Anita, and I would be so confused, because he was describing someone I would actually like."
"That's mean."
"You don't know Anita. Anyway, he would describe her and I would think, I've never met the person he's describing. like, that's not Anita he's talking about. I mean, when I see Anita, I see this bratty little man-girl with rodent features. Sometimes I want to ask him, 'Do you actually know Anita? Have you seen the way she treats me or anyone else she should respect?.' or I want to say something really mean, like, 'If she so boldly says no to God, how do you expect her to obey you?'"
"Don't say that."
"Well, obviously. Whenever I say, 'I'm like....' it always means, 'I thought,' or 'I wanted to say.' It never means, 'I actually said...' I hope that much is clear by now."
"Yeah, well maybe...have you ever talked to him about it."
"The guy who's in love the with girl that I hate? Telling him she's a rodent? Would that ever have a chance of accomplishing anything?"
"Well, maybe you shouldn't go."
"I'm not going. In fact, I wasn't invited. Even if I was invited I wouldn't go. Even if I was invited and I was going to be in town, I wouldn't go. I don't think it was an accident. I think I would be just as offended if they did invite me knowing where I was going to be."
"Yeah, maybe that's for the best. Maybe you should talk to someone about this."
"Like I haven't tried? Seriously? I've been talking about how much she offends me for two years, and how injust and insulting this whole mess has been. I've told everyone I trust about it. I get the same response every time: 'Get over it. It's your fault you feel this way. She hasn't done anything wrong. Stop being insulted when she insults you. Stop being bothered when she belittles you. stop minding how much she interrupts, doesn't listen, doesn't care makes everything about herself, talks about herself, has control of everything, doesn't delegate and doesn't respect you. She's doing a great job and she deserves to be idolized like this.' That's what most have been saying. A couple understand the truth, but they're just as powerless as I am."
"I think most of them are right. I think you're being overly dramatic."

some wonderful story, part 02

I must admit that everything I write is heavily influenced by recent experience. This has serious elements of "trapped in the Closet." namely that it has short episodes every day. That's all. It is also undeniably and ode to 13 going on 30. Sad, but true. Here goes.

Where were we? Oh yeah. You can tell by the look on her face that she actually has no idea what she's doing but she's wracking her brain to think of what she can do to give the impression that she does. She has already shuffled to the door and isn't at all sure how she should even be standing. So she's a little crouched, a little hunched over. But then the door opens and she immediately straightened up to normal standing and jumps back a little. She makes a slightly high-pitched squeak.
In walks an unarmed Asian guy and she springs on him. It ends up looking like a tackle. The guy himself looks shocked and since he wasn't expecting it, he goes over easy. the mass bashes into the door frame on the left and it seems to be the guy who actually makes contact because he makes a pain sound. He's saying something as she scrambles to her feet and starts to run away and then pauses really awkwardly and looks at the guy on the floor. Then she moves to start running away again and he's gingerly rolling over to get up and saying, "Honey, what happened there?" And she stops.

Howsabout a synopsis

The story i've been working on lately is actually appearing to me in mostly visual form. By that I mean I can see what I want to happen but I don't have the words that I usually have. What I really want to say is that it's coming as a screenplay instead of a novel.

it's based on a question Joelle chose from the list of discussion questions we were using with students on Tuesdays. So it's dedicated to Joelle.

We see a woman wake up in a nice place. Every thing about it is nice. The sheets look new but still soft. The room looks clean and the light coming in is low, but the lines of the room and the colors make it airy so the few rays go a long way.

Then the woman wakes up all the way and freaks out. It becomes apparent that she doesn't recognize the place. We see her searching frantically for clues. We hear noises. but they're low and easy to ignore. plus, she's making a lot of noise. Then she's looking at her arms in the low light. goes to the bedside table and turns on a lamp. She's checking her arms for needle marks or anything. She's trying to find out if she's been drugged. she sees the drawer to the bedside table is cracked. She pulls it open and sees some familiar rectangles. Two books that are hers. On top is her new journal. There's some noise of the doorknob rattling to open. She shuffles over to it to face whoever's coming in. She gets ready to attack.