Novella

[replicant_008]

I don't know if this is going to work but I will give it a go. Hopefully it works out because I know there are some very creative people here.

Anyway, when I was studying journalism (that was a long, long time ago incidentally before I switched to commerce) one of the exercises that we had to do was a piece of creative writing with other members of the class. You may have seen this before but the idea is someone writes a part of a short story and then someone writes the next installment and then someone else etc...

There are some rules that go along with this including
- No really wild plot swings, you have to try to go with the flow with this - twists are okay but we can't do a 'Dallas' and suddenly have someone dead reappear or find out the romantic leads are actually siblings etc
- No wild changes in genre eg it can't go from gritty dialogue in the streets of New York to the bridge of an alien spacecraft about to exterminate mankind - cute but nope
- You can introduce new characters but no more than two in a new sequence and you should try to include the previous characters in an integrative way
- You can't write the next passage without AT LEAST TWO others contributing intervening passages
- Nothing offensive in content - I'm pretty open-minded but anything too graphic (ie sex/violence) and anything involving bigotry, racism and anything in that category and this thread will be deader than a door nail pretty quickly.
- Remember this is a novella/short story so keep to that sort of style. This isn't War and Peace so we're going to wrap this up in 3000 words of less
- Don't hog the thread either. It will hard for some of you to stick to this limit but each contribution should be 250 words or less... that way we should be done in 12 stanzas.
- If you don't get a turn, don't worry if it works out we'll try and do another

Okay. I'm going start in the next post...

[replicant_008]

The sun had begun to rise over the ocean. Splashes of crimson and orange had begun to light the kitchen. On the wooden table, a glass ashtray was overflowing from discarded butts, ash and a crushed empty packet. Also on the worn timber tabletop was a empty tumbler and a bottle of bourbon with about an inch of the contents remaining.

Slumped on the edge of the table a man slept in a fitful sleep. The yellowing fingernails of his right hand betrayed him as the cigarette smoker while the gnarled and leathery skin on the back of his hands were those of one who spent time outdoors.

His unkempt hair sprang out from under his worn red cap and the raw stubble indicating that he had not shaved for some days. His heavy woollen cable-knit jersey was dusty and fragments of leaves and twigs were caught in the rough fabric.

The kitchen was simple. A single table, three unmatching wooden chairs, a single stove, one basin and a formica table top. In the corner, an ancient fridge rumbled and the sound of beer bottles vibrating in a wooden crate indicated its contents. The cupboards were closed and a threadbare tablecloth hung from a rail near the sink.

Outside the small holiday house (what the locals would have called a 'bach') was a small lean-to made from old weatherboards, corrogated iron sheets and was roughly constructed. Below the bach, a path lead to a stony beach where the sea crashed in waves whipped up by the cold sou'wester.

[Moppie]

The beach appeared disserted, only a long line of black stones interspaced with large pieces of driftwood. But as the sun climbed higher the out line of a small jet boat could be seen against the high tide line amongst the piles of old logs, and in front of the bach set back only a few feet from the edge of the beach an old and well used Landcruiser was parked.

Inside the bach the man slowly began to show signs of conciseness. He painfully opened his eyes and looked sickly at the glass of bourbon on the table.
Oh god he thought, why did I not bring the new curtains with me.
The sun now streamed through the bare window above the sink straight into his face, and although he closed his eyes at the light, it still burnt through his eyelids.
He would have to move, something he did not want to do.

The bach was made of two small rooms, the kitchen/living room and small bedroom.
A snore escaped from it, one of those snores that told the listener the snore was sound asleep, and quite comfortably so. The man at the table got up and moved slowly and carefully towards the sink, from the old tap he poured himself a glass of not quite clear water and drank slowly from it. Feeling refreshed, he shook a few of the sticks from his jersey and proceeded to head outside.
There was a lot of work to be done today, and he planed to get as big ahead start as he could before that damn Jaffa woke up and made another fuss. “Damn it” he muttered “the guy was dead when we got here”

[Ssom]

Bill (Let's call him that) walked outside the front door of the bach- which really- was the Kitchen door- he breathed in the clean unspoilt air- the waft of pine needles and sea breeze seeped into his nostrils- He smelt freedom "Poor bloody Jaffas" he muttered to himself as he took in the unspoilt air- However Bill couldn't stand around all day- as much as he would have desired to- He took one last look at the crashing waves and leaves shifting in the breeze and then headed toward the Landcruiser-

[Moppie]

That is a genuinly good peice of writing Moss.
All except for your last line which I have removed.


To all who wish to enter this topic be aware.

Rep set out some very simple and easy to follow guidelines in the opening post, and in the hope that this thread has a chance to work these rules will be enforced.


So let the story continue:

[taranaki]

Originally posted by Moss1O6GTi
Bill (Let's call him that) walked outside the front door of the bach- which really- was the Kitchen door- he breathed in the clean unspoilt air- the waft of pine needles and sea breeze seeped into his nostrils- He smelt freedom "Poor bloody Jaffas" he muttered to himself as he took in the unspoilt air- However Bill couldn't stand around all day- as much as he would have desired to- He took one last look at the crashing waves and leaves shifting in the breeze and then headed toward the Landcruiser-

The door squealed in protest and Bill climbed onto the frayed vinyl seat.He lit the glow plugs and waited an age for the glaring orange light on the dash to disappear.Reaching into his jacket pocket,he pulled out a pack of'tailor-mades' that the Jaffa had carelessly left on the tatty formica table before stumbling into the only comfortable bed.Oh well,thought Bill,whats yours is mine and what's mine,you've had....He cast a thought back in time and the bitter anger swept over him again.If only that scrawny little shit realised that Bill knew....
He slapped the transfer lever into four wheel drive,and cranked the engine.With a lusty clatter and a cough of blue smoke,the diesel woke up like an old farm dog.The tyres bit deeply into the black sand,and as he gathered speed,Bill treated himself to a smirk as he watched the half conscious figure stumble down the bach step and into the dazzling sun.Bill slipped on his sunglasses,and pushed back the brim of his battered stockman's hat.It would be much easier alone.It wasn't his idea to bring the damn townie along anyway.

[replicant_008]

However, in the context of the events of the past month - it was going to make things a lot more convenient. After all, he thought to himself as he sped along the black sands of the beach - there was no one around for miles. The nearest neighbour was at beast an hour's drive down the rugged track - which in summer was barely passable and in winter well that was what the jetboat was for.

And it would take a long time for any outside help to arrive - and even then only a handful of souls knew the location of the bach. And none of them knew what he had planned for this wintry weekend.

He slowed as he neared his destination. He carefully drove up the treacherous, soft sand away from the waterline and parked the 'cruiser in a patch of the coast thatched with marram grass. He then hopped out of the old truck, grabbed his duffle bag from the tray, paused for a moment before reaching into the cab. From behind the seats, he dragged out his 308 calibre carbine rifle and a box of ammunition. No sense leaving it where it could be found he thought.

He drew back the bolt and a single spent cartridge flipped out of the breech. He carefully picked it up off the sand, deposited it into his pocket before he made the short walk from the beach over the small hill and down into the small valley.

[Ssom]

Originally posted by replicant_008
However, in the context of the events of the past month - it was going to make things a lot more convenient. After all, he thought to himself as he sped along the black sands of the beach - there was no one around for miles. The nearest neighbour was at beast an hour's drive down the rugged track - which in summer was barely passable and in winter well that was what the jetboat was for.

And it would take a long time for any outside help to arrive - and even then only a handful of souls knew the location of the bach. And none of them knew what he had planned for this wintry weekend.

He slowed as he neared his destination. He carefully drove up the treacherous, soft sand away from the waterline and parked the 'cruiser in a patch of the coast thatched with marram grass. He then hopped out of the old truck, grabbed his duffle bag from the tray, paused for a moment before reaching into the cab. From behind the seats, he dragged out his 308 calibre carbine rifle and a box of ammunition. No sense leaving it where it could be found he thought.

He drew back the bolt and a single spent cartridge flipped out of the breech. He carefully picked it up off the sand, deposited it into his pocket before he made the short walk from the beach over the small hill and down into the small valley.

He didn't know why he did it.........but whatever the case the barstard deserved it- as he came to the top of the valley- he took a final look back- a man could see forever from here.......He hobbled back to the Landcruiser and after what seemed like ages- got the door open- much to the piece steels protest- he climed into the tattered old seat and tried to chug the ignition to life- suceeding only after completley flooding the cars humble diesel engine- he drove off back to his house as fast as the hmble tank would take him- He never realised how fast he was running away from his problems- until he almost pranged into the Jaffas Commodore convienently hogging 3/4 of the drive way.......