Piece of work, one scene told from three different points of view: 1st, 3rd person limited, and 2nd person.
A woman is dead because of me, because of what I am. I bow my head in shame and regret. How could I let it get this bad? I remember watching her leave the office, hurrying over the taxi cab parked at the curb, speeding off down 42nd Avenue. Her red hair glistened in the sunlight and made my heart race, pounding in my chest like a caged animal waiting to be released. Although her skin was soft and mesmerizing, it was her eyes that truly drove me wild. Their cold, gray hue sent me reeling after her, where I found her exiting the cab at her apartment building, though I only could guess that at the time. It was no problem at all to get past the security, simply telling them I was her brother ready to deliver a birthday surprise. I tend to rely heavily on people’s ability to believe anything I say; I can be very convincing if necessary. After I was inside and satisfied, I find myself back at square one: wondering if it the hunger will ever end. Heaving a sigh I get up out of the chair and prepare the body for removal.
Detective Sandra Marquez strolls down the hallway with confidence, having newly acquired her detective shield after solving the murder of playboy Mark Harris, who was killed by his now imprisoned ex-girlfriend. Marquez was the only one not fooled by the girl’s crying act, and it paid off in full. Fresh on the case of a new murder, she is ready to do it again. Reaching the room, she turns in to examine the scene. The room is empty of a body, and blood, and any sign of violence or struggle. The only evidence of a murder is the eerie display on the bed in the master room. Neatly made and clean, it seems like the victim was an organized person. Sandra shakes her head, feeling as if it’s always the good ones who get it bad. On the pillows, a single photo is displayed, along with a letter written in red ink. Scanning over the letter, Marquez hands it off to her forensics investigator for examination, while she takes a look at the photo. A woman is shown bound and gagged, slightly bruised which brings beating to mind, and stabbed once in the chest. The forensics team calls her over, and gives back the letter with chilling news. The ink is blood, seemingly blood from the missing victim. What kind of a person does this?
You cannot continue these foolish attempts to deny your very own vain of existence. It is no mistake or curse that you are who you are; you have a gift. Each time, as your hands close around their throats, the blood pumps through your body and you’re intoxicated from the adrenaline. Blind from the drunken stupor, you plunge the knives into their hearts and feel their lives ebb away into darkness, consumed by your hunger. Yet, your shame is painful and unnecessary, because none of it is your fault. You had no choice about whom you could be, your path was laid out before you could pick which to take. But never should you shun the instincts you feel whenever the urge hits you. Accept your uniqueness and embrace it to the fullest. Your work tonight was impeccable; no one will understand the capacity of your actions. The job is never done, rest now.
Copyright 2009 Liam Feldstein
Monday, September 28, 2009
Mia Character Sketch
Little of my own writing for a story, just a sketch of the character I have created. Let me know what you think.
Another monotonous day at the Stop and Shop in Glasgow, Kentucky, and Mia’s blood begins to boil. A slight breeze trickling in through the automatic doors each time they open does little to suppress the frustration mounting within her. Everything that enters her field of vision seems to stir the pot thicker and thicker, taunting every aching itch and desire she holds in store for her next victim. Hours go by and Mia watches the crowd with impatience, almost pining for someone to just step forward and offer themselves for her needs. But to her, it all has to happen from choice; pure and unadulterated opinion, a victim she picks on her own. No simpleton can fulfill her will to destruct all she touches; the man must be breathtaking and heart-stoppingly handsome with only a slight dash of bad in him. All other applicants need not apply to the position she is looking to fill.
The moist sweat on her olive-toned skin could give one the idea she just finished being doused in a light mist right before she got to work. Her green eyes appear hazy as she daydreams and disappears into her imagination, only snapping back to reality when she is interrupted by a man approaching her register. He has on a blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt with white khakis and Nike tennis sneakers. Although the shirt is obtainable at any Salvation Army, the Gucci sunglasses tucked into the neck of his shirt’s collar screams money to Mia, and her interest sparks instantly at this discovery. Looks as if God has answered her plea for satisfaction, and Mia has made her choice. Smiling flirtatiously and batting her eyelashes, Mia asks, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked,” replies the man, grinning and flirting right back, “do you know any good places to eat around here? I’m here visiting some family but am looking to have a meal at a nice place tonight. Any suggestions?”
Mia sees her window of opportunity but hesitates. He fits the profile of her victims perfectly, but something is unappealing. His hair is over-gelled, far too slick and plastic to be done with care. The stubble covering his cheeks and chin is patchy, showing signs of previous acne scarring, probably from a teenage breakout that lasted just a bit too long. His teeth, stained yellow from both cigarette and coffee addictions, makes the hair on the back of Mia’s neck stand straight. A cold sweat breaks out on her forehead, dominating the flashes she usually feels in the midday heat.
Although some may deem her a monster, Mia believes in her own morals and follows her own code. This man, although giving off a great impression when he approached, has now ruined it all by opening his mouth and letting Mia crawl right in. She would love to stab him in the throat and watch the blood spray from the wound like a sputtering hose spewing hot water on a dry day in Kentucky. She would love to pry each one of the rotten teeth from his skull, in hope of removing them from her subconscious that plays a mental motion picture of this guy’s mouth opening and closing in speech. To dance around and slather herself in his blood like sunscreen would make her heart pound and make her feel more alive than any adrenaline junkie feels from skydiving or bungie jumping. But, he is too feeble and sad to waste her energy and time on.
Bored, Mia says, “Sure, try this place Martin’s over on Ford Avenue. Real good burgers and fries.”
Obviously crestfallen at her lack of interest, he offers a weak thanks and shuffles out of the store. He’ll never know how close he came to sheer torture and death; his ugly, disgusting mouth actually saved his life. Heaving a sigh of irritation and dissatisfaction, Mia once again returns to the lull of the Stop and Shop. The cool breeze feels good on her neck, as if reassuring her that someone will walk through the door soon who will be the perfect specimen. Patience is now the game, with Mia vying for victory.
Copyrighted 2009 Liam Feldstein
Another monotonous day at the Stop and Shop in Glasgow, Kentucky, and Mia’s blood begins to boil. A slight breeze trickling in through the automatic doors each time they open does little to suppress the frustration mounting within her. Everything that enters her field of vision seems to stir the pot thicker and thicker, taunting every aching itch and desire she holds in store for her next victim. Hours go by and Mia watches the crowd with impatience, almost pining for someone to just step forward and offer themselves for her needs. But to her, it all has to happen from choice; pure and unadulterated opinion, a victim she picks on her own. No simpleton can fulfill her will to destruct all she touches; the man must be breathtaking and heart-stoppingly handsome with only a slight dash of bad in him. All other applicants need not apply to the position she is looking to fill.
The moist sweat on her olive-toned skin could give one the idea she just finished being doused in a light mist right before she got to work. Her green eyes appear hazy as she daydreams and disappears into her imagination, only snapping back to reality when she is interrupted by a man approaching her register. He has on a blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt with white khakis and Nike tennis sneakers. Although the shirt is obtainable at any Salvation Army, the Gucci sunglasses tucked into the neck of his shirt’s collar screams money to Mia, and her interest sparks instantly at this discovery. Looks as if God has answered her plea for satisfaction, and Mia has made her choice. Smiling flirtatiously and batting her eyelashes, Mia asks, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked,” replies the man, grinning and flirting right back, “do you know any good places to eat around here? I’m here visiting some family but am looking to have a meal at a nice place tonight. Any suggestions?”
Mia sees her window of opportunity but hesitates. He fits the profile of her victims perfectly, but something is unappealing. His hair is over-gelled, far too slick and plastic to be done with care. The stubble covering his cheeks and chin is patchy, showing signs of previous acne scarring, probably from a teenage breakout that lasted just a bit too long. His teeth, stained yellow from both cigarette and coffee addictions, makes the hair on the back of Mia’s neck stand straight. A cold sweat breaks out on her forehead, dominating the flashes she usually feels in the midday heat.
Although some may deem her a monster, Mia believes in her own morals and follows her own code. This man, although giving off a great impression when he approached, has now ruined it all by opening his mouth and letting Mia crawl right in. She would love to stab him in the throat and watch the blood spray from the wound like a sputtering hose spewing hot water on a dry day in Kentucky. She would love to pry each one of the rotten teeth from his skull, in hope of removing them from her subconscious that plays a mental motion picture of this guy’s mouth opening and closing in speech. To dance around and slather herself in his blood like sunscreen would make her heart pound and make her feel more alive than any adrenaline junkie feels from skydiving or bungie jumping. But, he is too feeble and sad to waste her energy and time on.
Bored, Mia says, “Sure, try this place Martin’s over on Ford Avenue. Real good burgers and fries.”
Obviously crestfallen at her lack of interest, he offers a weak thanks and shuffles out of the store. He’ll never know how close he came to sheer torture and death; his ugly, disgusting mouth actually saved his life. Heaving a sigh of irritation and dissatisfaction, Mia once again returns to the lull of the Stop and Shop. The cool breeze feels good on her neck, as if reassuring her that someone will walk through the door soon who will be the perfect specimen. Patience is now the game, with Mia vying for victory.
Copyrighted 2009 Liam Feldstein
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