Monday, February 2, 2015

Drabble: Traffic Jam

Traffic Jam

“Right now?” Restin fumbled with his concealed holster.

“Get down-!” Joe wrenched the younger man lower. He elbowed the back of the driver’s seat twice. “That overpass up ahead, Ferise. Block the lane.” The top of her head gave a sharp nod in the rearview.

Restin was cursing. His Walther P99 finally came free. Joe watched him. The kid’s breathing was fast, but under control.

The engine growled and Joe felt the frame vibrate as Ferise downshifted. He locked his vz. 61’s wire folding stock into place.

“Stop under the span! If they have drones I want them in suspense.”

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Drabble: Picking Up the Pieces

Another drabble. Same character as before, but a different viewpoint. I've been writing about this corporate spook for some time now, trying to pin him down. These short pieces are great for experimenting with his role and backstory. I think these two snippets are part of the same incident.


Picking Up the Pieces

"Made it worse?" Joe’s hand was a claw as he pressed the smartphone against his ear. "Fuck that. The vase was falling before I arrived. It shattered. Don’t get pissed at me."

Restin watched his tirade from across the room. Ferise sidled up, dark eyes fixed on Joe while her mouth worked on a hard candy.

"What do you think?" she asked. Restin could smell orange.

"Of him?"

He watched Joe's fitful gestures.

"Weirdly pudgy," Restin said.

The call ended. Joe’s breathing was heavy.

"Bastards couldn't even die for their country," he murmured, "Ate it over a goddamn polymer patent."

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Drabble: Firearm Maintenance

I struggle to keep to any kind of writing schedule. Sometimes the best I can manage is a simple drabble of 100 words. I guess it beats the yawning emptiness of no post at all!


FIREARM CARE

Fieldstripping his weapon was simplicity. His trembling hands added a challenge.

Out came the receiver pin. The vz-61 machine pistol split like a seedpod. Spent propellant smell washed over him.

Harsh metallic rasps as he tried removing the bolt. One of the cocking points fell off and landed on the plush hotel carpeting.

"It bolted," Joe said aloud. He attempted a laugh, breathing in the chemical fragrance of his favorite weapon’s innards.

Why had the young man stood up? The others had known to stay down.

He eventually returned to the task at hand. The trembling was a little worse.