Fiction: Funky Little Demons C8 P3
From here on there’s a lot missing of the story. All that filler material you add after the fact. The stuff you use to flesh out characters more or fill in the gaping holes in your plot structure. I plan to self- publish this novel. It makes sense to leave all that stuff out. Why would anyone want to pay for something they could read on the internet? For now it’s a work in progress. Isn’t everything?
FUNKY LITTLE DEMONS
A novel by AJ Beamish
copyright © 2013
CHAPTER 8: YOU LOST YOUR CHANCE KID
“You don’t remember anything?” Carmen asked.
Marley looked around the clearing. “Not really.” He walked over to Benny’s body. “I remember shooting him.” He said kicking at the corpse. “In the arm. I don’t remember shooting him in the chest.”
“How’s your headache?”
“It’s going. How’s your stomach?”
“Flat.” Carmen paused thoughtfully. “Marley.” She looked at him sadly. Marley cocked his head to one side. “He raped me.” Her eyes began to well up with tears and Marley stepped forward to embrace her.
“Sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” He held her for a moment then walked over to the corpse that was once Khalid. It was mummified, lusterless black skin clung tightly to skeletal bone like something out of a museum. He picked the gun off the floor and pocketed it. “What do we do now?” He looked at Carmen as she sat cross legged on the floor. Crying.
The clearing looked as though a bomb had hit it. There was no crater like he had seen in the photos of WW2 Liverpool his mother had shown him once. The trees and brush were all blown outward. Broken branches and leaves littered the edges of the clearing and on, the sand was all but gone, the trees above no longer formed a dome. Almost as though the sylvan oddity had never existed. Marley’s eyes began darting between the two corpses in front of him.
“Oh shit.” He said.
“I’m gonna go to jail.” Marley fell to the ground in a sitting position. “Oh,” he said as his face grew in shock, “my Mom’s gonna fucking murder me.”
“Your mom don’t seem like the murdering type.”
“You shoulda’ seen her the first time dad left.”
Carmen squatted next to him. She wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled at him. “Give me the gun Marley.”
“I’ll say it was self defense. They don’t have to know you were here. Just give me the gun and everything will be fine.”
Marley hesitated. This was his doing. He should fess up to it, accept the consequences of his actions.
“I’ll say Benny had the gun. I’ll tell them I took it from him when he wasn’t looking. It’s okay Marley. Give me the gun.”
Marley reached into his pocket and reluctantly handed her the gun.
Posted on January 31, 2013, in Fiction, Productive Pondering, The Dead Console, Writing and tagged crime fiction, fantasy fiction, fiction, Funky Little Demons, horror fiction, Writing. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.