The Kiss (Work in Progress)

It was the music that drew him in, that ensnared him like the song of the sirens.  The vocalist’s words, so eloquent and raw.  Her chords reverberating down his spine, sending chills and something more… euphoria.  It was a gentle caress, an intangible hand that lovingly slid over his face that drew him into the crowded club.  Behind the lyrics lurked a growing chaotic cacophony conspiring to crash forth with gusto as the singing took a momentary pause.  Distortion filled the air; in his eyes he saw fingers dancing across a guitar, everything slowed down as their movements blurred and shifted to create such a sound.  Following behind came a reverberating sensation that rushed through his skin, causing his hair to stand on end, the bass resonating throughout his bones.  And there… there it was behind it all the vivid thump of the drums, his heart keeping beat with them, slowing and stopping in complete rhythm; it drove him on, passed the line of those waiting and bouncer, into the mass of people reveling in the bliss of the sound.

He stood momentarily on the balcony, looking down upon the revelers on the dance floor.  In wonderment he realized that individuals could not be singled out, focused upon.  The gyrating, thrusting, primal urges taking hold making the group move as one.  Like water rolling in waves they danced; through the beat they created unity out of many.  Carefully the man walked down the stairs, his legs weak from the enthralling trance of music and dance.  In their faces there was a vacant gaze, lost in the pumping beat and soulful lyrics.  Jumping to the beat, a living heart of many all thumping in chorus to the pace of the drums.  Willing thralls in service to selfish and carnal desires that lurked deep within them.  He pushed his way through towards the bar; a mere foreign particle struggling to find its way in the grinding machinery of the dance floor.

Light danced off the bar’s polished obsidian surface; flirting, running, hiding, embracing.  Yet the colors seemed subdued, constricted, constrained by the black; unable to escape from their prison.  Behind stood the bartender, a weathered man that time had beaten its presence into his skin.  From brow to chin, swerving around his features, mark the trail of a scar deep and red; as if infected and never healed.  Alcohol was needed, a tremor in his hand signaled that, and the man attempted to gain the barkeeper’s attention.  Nothing, not a nod or a disinterested glance was offered in return.  His scarred face looking onward into the revelers or perhaps past them, the man couldn’t be certain.  But he did catch sight of the barkeeper’s eyes; dead eyes, glazed over, not aware of anything other than the dance floor.  They were tired, cold, something lurking beyond… something broken, beaten, and whipped into submission.

Thump.  Thump.  Thump…

Panicked, he frantically surveyed the club for some shred of sanity; desperately looking for something to hold onto.  Down the bar opposite of him, he saw her.  A resolve melting smile on her ruby lips, shining white teeth unsheathed to disarm.  Clasped around pale white hands and crimson nails was a glass of some dark liquid, which found its way to the bar as she continued to watch him.  For a moment there was calm as the two stared at each other, and ended when she stood to cross the floor.  Her dress flowed about her like water, gentle waves rustling through the deep blue fabric.  Crimson nails slid over the bar, islands of vibrant color in a sea of black.  As she strode towards him her onyx hair danced as if alive, falling over her face and obscured her eyes.  The woman stopped close to the man and let a single finger wander down his chest.  He tried to speak, only to have her cut him off with a look into her eyes, glimmering pools of sky blue that hinted at knowing that she was in control.   He remained transfixed, lost in those eyes as she took his hand and lead him towards the dance floor.  The bartender looked on, a hint of pity in his eyes.

Thump.  Thump.  Thump…

Despite the blank stares of the seemingly oblivious dancers, as the man and woman approached the crowd parted to offer passage inside.  Much like how an gated had been opened, when the two crossed the threshold it was shut tightly.  The man felt terror clawing its way through his mind once more and he found that he had to struggle to look away from the woman who guided him further into the pumping mass.  Hands rubbed against him, mapping out his features.  The air was hot and thick, claustrophobia set in as he realized he was trapped.  Fearful he looked back to the woman with the devilish grin as she leaned in towards him.  No.  Something was deathly wrong, but what?  The closer she came to his face the more terrified he became, his heart pounding at the bars of its cage.  He turned to flee, ready to push through the perverse crowd but she stopped him; with a kiss.

Thump. Thump.  Thu-

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This is the first half of a story I’ve had in my mind for a couple years.  Not much I can say about this story other than I do have roughly about the same amount written thus far for the second half of the story.  Though I am not nearly as happy with it as I am with what I have posted here.

The issue has been conveying what the woman is after, and what is behind the draw of the music.  And from what I can tell I need to go back and rework what she is after and plot out how the dialog needs to flow for it not to sound incredibly contrived and, to be completely honest, retarded.  With a lot of luck I may in fact succeed in finishing this story soon.  Any thoughts, comments, or criticisms of what I have thus far are of course welcome.

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Committing to a Cause

I am pledging to you, my Word Press blog, that I shall over come my desire to do nothing this weekend and instead write.  Yes I know I have lied to you in the past, saying that I will pick myself up and change.  To become the conduit for words to freely flow.  Though it is true that here have been situations beyond my control blocking me from these attempts I can not completely evade the blame for my lack of attention.  I promise, should you take me back just one more time, I shall finish a story just for you because that’s how much I care.

With that brand of particularly disturbing imaginings into my relationship with this blog (its platonic I swear) I move onto actual semi-seriousness.  Which is actually double the seriousness that I usually employ on anything I write here.  I do plan to spend my Good Friday doing quite a bit of writing.  If I succeed I shall have a draft of my prequel chapter for my novel done and with luck perhaps a finished draft of The Kiss.  I am also going to post the first half of The Kiss here after this post… at some point.  Which really depends on my ability to not get distracted on the Internet.  Which is sadly not an encouraging statistic to go by.

I have also been thinking of doing some other side/silly writing attempts in the lead up to my blog project.  Nothing entirely lengthy, perhaps a few stories that are a thousand words or less.  I have some ideas that I haven’t attempted yet due to lack of creative grasp on how to tell the stories.  The entire last sentence is how I allude to procrastination if I feel like being fancy; it is also how I explain the writing process if I feel like going for the tortured artist feel, though that usually makes me want to beat the crap out of myself for being a tool.

With the warming weather and the fact that I now see more brown grass than horrifying snow I can say with certainty that the blog project is getting closer to completion.  I will be making a trip out to Davidson perhaps next weekend (the situation has yet to be determined) and I may take the opportunity to take some preliminary pictures.  As it stands I am aiming for the start of June to have the blog show up.  As things happen they will appear here as an update.  And if I feel like elaborating on the story as it goes on I shall of course post them here as well.

To sum up this rambling concoction of words: I am writing this weekend. Provided I don’t get distracted as I tend to.

Conflicting Thoughts

The problem (well one of my many problems) with my writing is that I am overly critical and think far to much about things.  Take for example the short story that I have been writing for years, The Kiss.  An original title as any that I’ve come up with to be sure; but I enjoy the simplicity and the focus on the main focus of the story.  The first half of the story is complete and it is something that I can honestly say I enjoy quite a bit.  It deals quite a bit with a club that has some entrancing music, and a devilishly devious woman.  And I know how it ends but the point between the kiss and and realization as to what is the driving force behind the music is lost to me.  I have absolutely have no idea right now how to fill in the gap.

Another good example is the novel.  I have been rewriting it for years now, changing chapter structure, shifting events slightly, adding or removing characters so that the story itself becomes more and more focused and desperate.  But through it all the same basic information has always stayed the same.  The four main characters are brought together, though not the same way they had been intended originally.  The same general struggle to ripe the world from Fate’s grasp is still there, though the how, why, and who is behind it all has changed many times over.  And until recently the opening chapter has changed so very little that I hazard to say that it was the most refined part of the book.

In its current form it is meant to serve as a contrast to the rest of the story.  It starts off with normalcy.  A sleepy town where not much seems to be happening.  An unnamed man is brought into focus, and is unnamed because he really doesn’t matter to the rest of the story.  He serves only to help further the illusion of a world that we could relate to.  And it is through this man that we are introduced to experiences that neither he, you, or I could conceive of in a safe and sane world.  The entire chapter itself is geared towards presenting the idea that the world that the man, and others like him, knows is nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

However, the idea for this little short story that takes place a few days before the previously mentioned start has intrigued me.  It would be a much more action oriented opening, which the original doesn’t have until halfway through.  It would focus on two of the lead characters chasing down a suspect through a crowded city.  From the way it would be framed and the thoughts of the characters it would reveal quite a bit about what was going on.  Assassinations of members of their organization because of information the assassins couldn’t possibly have without an inside source.  The goal would be to try and create the world as we have grounded in reality, until they catch their suspect.  And it is revealed that the supposedly supernatural are merely a natural occurrence.

I think I will be holding my judgement until I actually finishing writing the second opening that I have laid out.  I like the concept but it would be missing out on the slow realization of the unnamed man that things aren’t right, or getting to see his terror when he comes face to face with things that he believes shouldn’t exist.  Only time will tell.