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[P]
Stiff Fingers

By my gold bling shines in Fiction
Tue May 30, 2006 at 12:00:00 PM EST
Tags: fiction (all tags)

"What are the three things that tell you they're dead?"

Jimmy is testing me. He wants to make sure I've been listening. For Jimmy, the right answers alone are not enough. Order matters. Speed matters. Maybe I haven't been paying attention. Maybe I'm not cut out for this.

"Well, what are they?"

"One is that their letterbox hasn't been emptied."

"Emptied of what?"

"Mail. Free Newspapers. Anything."

"Why are newspapers important?"

"Because they're bigger. They stick out of the mailbox more. They're easier to spot."

I'm guessing. Jimmy knows it.


"Bull Shit! A newspaper is important because you know when some little prick is going to ride past and stick one in the fucking box. And if you've done your homework you'll know what time that old fucker is going to shuffle down to the mailbox and grab it."

For Jimmy, doing your homework is a full-time job. The first task is to narrow down your reconnaissance zones. Our active zone right now is 20 minutes south of the city, an area about six blocks square. It's a tired old pocket of post-war immigrants whose chief export right now is death. That's where we focus our energy.

"What else you gonna look for?"

"A breach of schedule."

If you are breaching schedule it means you've broken a habit. If you live in the active zone, chances are we know your schedule better than you do. We know when you go grocery shopping and how long you'll be gone. We've written it down. We know when you're gonna put the cat out to shit. Please don't put your bins out late. It makes us nervous.

"What else are you watching?" Jimmy prompts.

"Curtains and blinds."

During reconnaissance, Jimmy's all eyes. He's watching the windows in every house at once, from every vantage point. That's why a new zone is the hardest. Venetians, drapes, hollands. Every house. Every window.To get shortlisted you have to be elderly, live alone, and have virtually no visitors. If you live in our reconnaissance zone your life is our soap opera. If you've been shortlisted we never miss an episode.


-----


Before Jimmy taught me the ins and outs of preying on the walking dead we worked on the kill in a chicken plant. It was actually the machines that did all the killing. Mostly. Hung upside on a conveyer, the chickens were passed through an electric bath. This wasn't meant to kill them though. It was to relax their muscles and stop them wriggling. That way, they couldn't crane their necks out of reach of the blade that took their heads off. If Jimmy spotted a wriggler trying to buck the system, he'd wrench it off the line, and personally see to it that it died a memorable death. Jimmy didn't like independent thinkers.

Initially his favourite trick was to hold the chicken with one hand, and yank out its still-beating heart with the other. As time progressed though, Jimmy got more creative. In the last year we worked there he'd made a point of showing all the new guys how to shove a chicken's head all the way up its own ass before it died. If you ever wanted to know how to torture a corn-fed roaster to death so the bruises wouldn't show, Jimmy was your man.


-----


Jimmy is not the sort of person to follow a trend, but he's really taken a shine to all these new ways of having coffee. Most mornings this week have begun with me and Jimmy sitting side-by-side in deep blue Renault sipping frothy lattes. It would never occur to him that two gentlemen drinking expensive coffee in a French car might be more than a little bit gay. Things pretty much stop being gay as soon as Jimmy decides to do them.

Jimmy has a clipboard across his knee, and we've ticked off all but one of the morning's houses. After six months of this it's just another day in the office. Looking at my hands, I'm thinking I should've cut my nails this morning. I'm already thinking about lunch. Maybe pizza. Through gaps in the box thorn I'm trying to glimpse if the curtains are open yet. If they don't open soon, there will be no lunch today.

I finish my coffee. Jimmy presses his lips together and slams his clipboard shut.

"Let's go"


-----


If I play it all backwards in my mind, right back to when the downhill slide begins, I'm standing in the middle of last year in a pair of blood-spattered overalls. It was pretty much business as usual. Three thousand chickens an hour, all of them invisible if you'd worked on the kill longer than a week.

Sometimes to liven things up we would throw a new guy in the blood gutter, but on this day it was the regular crew and we'd all had our turn at coming up gasping and reaching from that grisly bath. I ducked away at what seemed like a good time to have a piss and opened the bathroom door onto Jimmy, snorting up a fat line of coke.

I wish I'd held on a bit longer.

He swung towards me and threw me a look that I had trouble interpreting. In those days I didn't know quite what to make of Jimmy, so I always tried to act cool around him.

"Man I don't know how you can afford that shit on what we earn here..."

Jimmy approached me. I watched Jimmy approach.

"You think I live on what I earn here?"

He was standing close enough that I could see flecks of white powder in his moustache. He whipped out his right hand, grabbed my testicles and squeezed. Hard.

The pain was incredible.

"You like working here with the fucking dirty chickens?"

I couldn't get my throat to make a noise. I couldn't even swallow. I nodded. It seemed like the right thing to do.

"You want some real money. You want a real life."

Jimmy watched a tear escape from my eye and roll down my cheek. That seemed to satisfy him and he gave my balls back.

I collapsed against the wall under the hand dryer for what seemed like a long time. Jimmy lit a cigarette, took a couple of drags, flipped it over and held it out to me. We've been friends ever since.


-----


Jimmy was a fan of on-the-job training. On our first job he told me about how old people put money in the strangest places. He took me into each room and pointed out all the places to look. In the wardrobe he rifled through the pockets of cardigans and shirts. He pulled odour eaters out of shoes. In the bathroom, he opened the shampoo and unscrewed pill bottles.

A cluster of tinfoil parcels in the fridge yielded us half a sausage, two fish fingers and $500 in a neatly folded stack of bills.

Jimmy had me stack the larger items near the door for later. I can't remember what sort of television it was during that first job, but it didn't look that old.

"Don't forget the remote"

I looked to where Jimmy was pointing. The television's remote control was jutting from a clawed hand that would never channel surf again.

Jimmy was never a big fan of delay so I did what had to be done. I pinched the head of the remote and gave it a tug. I was surprised at the resistance. Stiff fingers defied me, but the idea of touching them - prying them open - made me feel ill. So I clamped the meaty forearm of a dead man to the arm of the chair and just sort of yanked, freeing the remote from his leathery grip. Then I puked all over the couch.

"I don't know if I'm cut out for this Jimmy."

"Grab the watch as well."

Then there was a knock at the door.

"Shit!" I panicked, but Jimmy was cool as a cucumber.

"It's okay. They're here to see me."

Jimmy went to get the door, leaving me with a gold watch and a tv remote and a lifeless corpse. I wondered why the hell he needed to take guests during a burglary. Looking back, I wish I'd never found out. The two guys that shuffled into the room didn't look like friends of someone like Jimmy. One wore a turtleneck. The other had a camera; the kind with the big flash that whines like a kicked Chihuahua between shots. Jimmy looked at me and jabbed his thumb towards the door - universal sign language for get-the-fuck-out. He stayed speaking with the men for a minute or so then joined me in the hall, shutting the door firmly.

"What the hell's going on Jimmy?"

"I don't know. I don't need to know."

"Why did you shut those men in with the corpse?"

"Like I said, I don't know. For the same reason I don't know why men will buy magazines filled with photos of two women pissing on each other. Like how I don't know why people turn up at emergency with a light bulb stuck in their shitter.

Last year I saw a documentary about how these guys will dress up in oversized baby's clothes, and have parties together goo-ing and ga-ing and shitting themselves, just so a fat nanny can wipe and powder their asses then read them a bed-time story and tuck them in. That fuckin' fat nanny wears diamond rings and drives a Ferrari! Do you see? People that do this shit, they have to do it. They'll pay to do it.

So to answer your question - I have no fucking idea what those freaks are doing in there with a stiffening corpse. But later on the man with the camera will develop pictures in some private darkroom, and the pictures will be of another man doing things to that corpse that would make decent people like you and me puke. But the money they're paying us, it's the kind of money where you just sit tight and you do not ask questions. For fuck's sake, did you think we were doing this for tee-vees and microwave ovens?

Muffled grunts came from the next room, punctuated by the sound of a flash recharging.


-----


The person from the chicken factory is not me. The person that sat sweating against the wall under the hand-dryer with achy balls and a coat-hanger feeling in his guts, it's not me. He looks and sounds like me, but he's a much nicer guy. There's no way he'd back a furniture truck all the way up to a dead man's house and steal his whitegoods. That would take a lot of front. The guy from the chicken plant would never kick down doors of the recently deceased, or crawl in through their bathroom windows. That chicken plant guy would never, ever have helped a pencil-necked albino shift a stinking corpse from the kitchen to the couch.

But for me, it's all in a day's work.

Today's door is kicked in by courtesy of a pair of taupe suede Birkenstocks which are surprisingly well suited to the task. On the other side we're greeted by a pair of writhing, hungry cats. When we find pets Jimmy insists that we get them fed as a priority. He says you never know when they last ate. So while I'm checking foils in the fridge, he's peeling the lids of single-serves of Fancy Feast.

The body's in the main room facing the television. I'm looking for the remote when I notice something's not right. A bottle of pills is open in her lap half spilled, but there's something else too. Making me feel uneasy. It's like I'm being watched. She's smiling at me. A big car-salesman grin. All teeth.

"Jimmy, fucking look at this!".

Jimmy looked at my face, then her face, and made an involuntary noise like a man spotting a spider on his sleeve.

"What the fuck is wrong with her face?"

All of a sudden I figure it out.

"Dude, she's got no lips."

Jimmy doesn't speak for a long time. When he's quiet like this it means he's thinking hard. He's looking for a clue. The pills on her lap. Nothing out of the ordinary there. We see this a lot. When the writing's on the wall some people will hasten things along with a handful of valium or xanax. Then he looks at me.

"Shit! The cats!"

"Huh?"

"The cats. They got so hungry... see! They've chewed her fucking lips off!"

Jimmy dances back and forth on the spot a bit, pleased with himself for figuring it out.

"But.....what are we gonna do?"

Jimmy puts his business face back on.

"Beggars can't be choosers."

Then he gets on the phone.


-----


The guest de jour is a solid man carrying a camera on a tripod. He's wearing baggy shorts and boat shoes. It's like he was cleaning the pool when he got the call saying his corpse was ready, and could he come by and feel it up. Jimmy doesn't call these people directly. He doesn't even know their names. There's a guy - a middle man - named Maurice. I wonder, where does Maurice find these people? How many guys does he have on stand by? It doesn't pay to think about these things for too long.

I'm looking for cash behind the lint filter in the dryer when I hear an angry scream. Not Jimmy's though. Fuck. The guy must've just met Madame No-Lips and he's freaking out at Jimmy. I'm looking for a weapon. Something heavy. I've got nothing. Out of desperation I yank the mop from a bucket of filthy water and head towards the noise. I can hear Jimmy's raised voice. I'm picking up speed and the mop's making rhythmic slapping noises, coughing grey water onto the walls with each step. In the main room, boat shoe guy is all red in the face. Jimmy's looking more surprised than ever. That's when I notice our body is, well, moaning. She's moaning and her eyes are moving. She's pushing one hand against the arm of the chair trying to sit up. The other hand reaches up towards her face. Towards her mouth. That's when all hell breaks loose.

Boat shoe man tackles Jimmy, pushing him back into the kitchen. I rush in. What I see is bad. He's a big guy, and he's holding Jimmy's head to the floor with one hand and punching him in the side of face with the other. Jimmy's trying to wriggle his hips out but it's no good. So I reach the mop handle around this guy's neck, and I grab either side - and pull. It's hard against his throat but he's not letting go. Then without warning, his head whips back, smashing me in the face.

Jimmy's got his head free, I can hear him screaming. Then just when I think my face can't hurt any more I'm hit again. He's smashed the back of his head into my face and now he's reaching up, grabbing at my ear, my hair. I know if I let that mop handle off his throat it's all over. I'm leaning back further and further, peeling him off Jimmy by degrees when and all of a sudden, Jimmy is free. Covered in blood he looms above us. He's got the toolbox and he's swinging it like a battering ram towards this guy's face. There's a heavy slap, then it's over.

I'm laying on the floor just trying to get my breath. The big guy's laying on my arm. Dead still. My nose doesn't feel right. I can taste blood. Jimmy's t-shirt is more red than white but he doesn't seem to care. He's got the phone against his ear.

"Yep, Maurice? Jimmy. Change of plan.....Don't ask.....Yep.Yep Yes. Sure. One, male. Big guy. Face is a bit fucked up, but he's young. Hasn't been dead long...Yep. Standard rate. Yep. .I'll explain later Maurice. Just send a guy."

The lady without lips is crawling down the hallway. I ease my arm out from under the big guy and sit up. The lady who spoilt my day because she couldn't fucking kill herself properly has just crawled into the bathroom. My nose is pissing blood down the front of my shirt. I hear the bathroom lock snap shut. Jimmy hears it too and turns towards it. I'm hoping Jimmy doesn't try and stick her head up her own ass.

I run my tongue around my mouth. I think I've chipped a tooth.

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Display: Sort:
Stiff Fingers | 63 comments (51 topical, 12 editorial, 0 hidden)
repost (2.90 / 11) (#1)
by my gold bling shines on Tue May 30, 2006 at 06:18:06 PM EST

it might be breaking with convention , but I wanted to give it another try, given that the only reason it failed to post last time was due to lack of comments, even though it outscored another story I wrote which made section.

I've done some fairly decent tweaking, fixing up a number of bits that didn't flow well, and got rid of a couple of typos that sneaked through.

ANyway I'm hoping by not posting it at the start of a weekend, it might get a similar score, but enough topical comments to please scoop.

thanks,
My Gold Bling Shines


Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
sorry, as a courtesy i should add (3.00 / 4) (#24)
by my gold bling shines on Wed May 31, 2006 at 10:19:21 AM EST

original comments here and here


Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
I still enjoyed it (2.90 / 11) (#2)
by aurynn on Tue May 30, 2006 at 06:47:47 PM EST

and I'll +1 it again. This is worth making it to at least section.

If not, I shall save it offline for posterity!

Good work, I enjoyed muchly.

--Nothing is so good that someone, somewhere, will not hate it.

thank you :) (2.83 / 6) (#3)
by my gold bling shines on Tue May 30, 2006 at 06:50:47 PM EST




Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
no matter how many times.... (3.00 / 9) (#6)
by terryfunk on Tue May 30, 2006 at 08:05:11 PM EST

you post it, I STILL like it dammit. Is this a test or sumptin'?

I mean, haven't I passed the test yet?

I like you, I'll kill you last. - Killer Clown
The ScuttledMonkey: A Story Collection

a test of scoop (3.00 / 5) (#10)
by my gold bling shines on Tue May 30, 2006 at 10:36:52 PM EST

I'm sure I'll pass this time :)


Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
time and place (2.88 / 9) (#8)
by yaksox on Tue May 30, 2006 at 09:27:28 PM EST

So ya want me to go off half cocked about evolution or not?

As for real comment, eventhough you mentioned something about this being south of the city - like grovedale or something - my head envisioned the break ins taking place in the front house of the property in g west where I used to rent a bungalow.
zom·bie n. 3. One who looks or behaves like an automaton.

not guilty! (3.00 / 5) (#11)
by my gold bling shines on Tue May 30, 2006 at 10:37:55 PM EST

I only ever nicked stuff in East


Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
great story!!!!! keep up the good work !! (3.00 / 8) (#12)
by SandBruja on Tue May 30, 2006 at 10:54:57 PM EST



Questions I would like to see in Myers-Briggs (2.94 / 18) (#15)
by livus on Wed May 31, 2006 at 01:03:14 AM EST

this story reminded me - why do they never include true/false statements like these:

As a child, I tortured animals

Fetishistic is a word that describes me well

I often have trouble making eye contact

I have difficulty initiating sexual intercourse

I focus on body parts rather than the whole person

I prefer to fuck a corpse than socialise with a large group of people

---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

lollers (3.00 / 7) (#16)
by my gold bling shines on Wed May 31, 2006 at 01:11:28 AM EST

but you can fuck corpses and socialise at the same time. It's the necro equivalent of ten-pin-bowling night. You just take it in turns to bring the corpse. Everybody else brings dip.

(interestingly, I never said anyone actually had sex with the corpse. I left that to the reader's imagination.)


Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
you bring dip?? (3.00 / 3) (#30)
by livus on Wed May 31, 2006 at 07:47:48 PM EST

I always thought corpses were what's called "self-saucing".

Exactly why it makes a good question for that damn test, though. It's full of false binaries.

Weirdly, I wasn't actually imagining them having sex with it - I was imagining that they just posed, because it seemed like the photographs were the end-point of what they were doing, not the acts with the corpse.


---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

[ Parent ]

lol weekend at bernies (3.00 / 4) (#31)
by my gold bling shines on Wed May 31, 2006 at 07:55:18 PM EST




Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
I haven't seen it (3.00 / 3) (#32)
by livus on Wed May 31, 2006 at 08:41:28 PM EST

is it any good?

---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

[ Parent ]
it hasn't aged well (3.00 / 4) (#33)
by my gold bling shines on Wed May 31, 2006 at 08:47:34 PM EST

but it's a must-see, just to get the pop references. I think it's hilarious but my sense of humour is never a good litmus test for what people generally find funny.




Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
neither is mine (3.00 / 4) (#34)
by livus on Wed May 31, 2006 at 09:05:39 PM EST

I'll rent it sometime.

---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

[ Parent ]
me too (3.00 / 3) (#36)
by yaksox on Thu Jun 01, 2006 at 05:23:47 AM EST

I think it's hilarious too and I regret that I've not yet seen weekend at bernie's 2 -- my life is that much less for it.
zom·bie n. 3. One who looks or behaves like an automaton.
[ Parent ]
from memory (3.00 / 2) (#37)
by my gold bling shines on Thu Jun 01, 2006 at 07:47:56 AM EST

weekend at bernies II has the waterskiing scene. you need to make sure you see that before you die.


Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
Oh yeah (3.00 / 10) (#17)
by eavier on Wed May 31, 2006 at 02:05:48 AM EST

Hollywood rang, they want you to make Seven Pt 2. Provisional name: Eight.

+1FP from me.

Whatever you do, don't take it into your house. It's probably full of Greeks. - Vampire Zombie Abu Musab al Zarqawi

Ufology Doktor in da house

How long... (3.00 / 10) (#20)
by alby on Wed May 31, 2006 at 07:09:14 AM EST

... has Chuck Palahniuk had an account here?

--
Alby

he's gotta have a sandpit somewhere (3.00 / 8) (#21)
by my gold bling shines on Wed May 31, 2006 at 07:23:08 AM EST




Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
Wow. (none / 1) (#62)
by Onna Otaku on Sat Jun 24, 2006 at 11:26:46 PM EST

That's exactly what I was thinking.
Absolutely great story.
Well.....at least it kept my attention throughout.

[ Parent ]
-1 lacks amusing tags $ (2.57 / 7) (#22)
by Quadruple Entendre on Wed May 31, 2006 at 09:20:32 AM EST



Had me glued from the first sentence. +1 FP $ (3.00 / 6) (#26)
by gzur on Wed May 31, 2006 at 11:15:59 AM EST



_________________________________________
"I'm not looking for work, but I wouldn't say no to a Pacific rim job."
This story creeps me out (3.00 / 7) (#27)
by saodl on Wed May 31, 2006 at 02:20:58 PM EST

It's the kind of story I kinda hate because of the way reading it makes me feel.  I wish I hadn't read it.  

But then it is damn effective and rather well written...

+1 section

-1 wtf? (2.28 / 7) (#28)
by A synx on Wed May 31, 2006 at 02:41:46 PM EST

Stealing possessions from dead people?  o.O  Write it if you like, but I don't wanna look at it!

Forget polls; It's stories like these (2.28 / 7) (#29)
by alevin on Wed May 31, 2006 at 04:48:46 PM EST

that make me wish he had multiple -1 voting options.
--
alevin
i still like this (3.00 / 8) (#35)
by empty thought on Thu Jun 01, 2006 at 04:51:42 AM EST

and the fact that "lack of comments" kept it from being posted is complete bullshit.

yes, i totally agree with this! (3.00 / 3) (#38)
by SandBruja on Thu Jun 01, 2006 at 08:48:14 AM EST



[ Parent ]
I am glad you reposted this. Good reading. (3.00 / 5) (#39)
by UniverseCloud on Thu Jun 01, 2006 at 09:23:50 AM EST


.. Albert Einstein: "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, ...
teh typos gave me teh cancer (3.00 / 4) (#40)
by HackerCracker on Thu Jun 01, 2006 at 12:00:11 PM EST

+1FP anyway.

"Stiff Fingers"? (3.00 / 4) (#41)
by Patrick Chalmers on Thu Jun 01, 2006 at 02:22:59 PM EST

I thought this was gonna be about wanking or summat.
Holy crap, working comment search!
Well who says it's not? (nt) (none / 0) (#55)
by Eight Star on Sat Jun 03, 2006 at 11:13:25 PM EST



[ Parent ]
Good luck on not hitting (1.50 / 2) (#43)
by tetsuwan on Thu Jun 01, 2006 at 05:38:03 PM EST

the "boring story threshold".

This reads well. Fortunately, my imagination is not vivid enough to make me disgusted.

Njal's Saga: Just like Romeo & Juliet without the romance

I'm not sure I want to keep reading K5... (1.50 / 2) (#45)
by static on Thu Jun 01, 2006 at 11:59:19 PM EST

... if this is what the fiction is turning into.

cool (none / 0) (#46)
by my gold bling shines on Fri Jun 02, 2006 at 01:53:42 AM EST

now there's 11 good reasons to leave k5. I'll add it to the list.


Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
blame localroger. (none / 0) (#47)
by tetsuwan on Fri Jun 02, 2006 at 02:40:29 AM EST


Njal's Saga: Just like Romeo & Juliet without the romance
[ Parent ]

Uno Momento, Par Favor (3.00 / 2) (#49)
by localroger on Fri Jun 02, 2006 at 08:19:57 AM EST

When the fiction sector was created I believe there was a general agreement that we wouldn't vote up crap. If you look closely, the problem of voting up crap hasn't been limited to the fiction sector lately.

I suppose I should get off my ass and write something new myself, but RL events have made it kind of hard to get in the mood.

I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds -- J. Robert Oppenheimer
[ Parent ]

but one's man's crap is another man's treasure (none / 1) (#50)
by my gold bling shines on Fri Jun 02, 2006 at 08:35:41 AM EST

people either love or despise this story, but not much in between, so is it good or crap?

also: was a general agreement that we wouldn't vote up crap

deconstruct that for a moment - It probably means a handful of people that don't even come here any more had a vague discussion about it. What sort of safeguard was that?


Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
We may not comment... (1.50 / 2) (#51)
by Zapata on Fri Jun 02, 2006 at 08:58:17 AM EST

but at least one of us still comes here.

FWIW, I liked it. I think it would make a great dark comedy as a movie. Send it to Tarantino.

Roger, any luck on TOPI?

"If you ain't got a camel, you ain't Shiite."


[ Parent ]
TOPI (none / 0) (#52)
by localroger on Fri Jun 02, 2006 at 07:06:15 PM EST

Fully plotted, six chapters written, been that way since the middle of last year. Same deal with Revelation Passage. It's just kind of hard to get in that OMFG omnipotent/immortal mindset when there are so many immediate reminders of the transience of things.

I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds -- J. Robert Oppenheimer
[ Parent ]
mood is the mother of tone (none / 0) (#53)
by my gold bling shines on Fri Jun 02, 2006 at 07:22:51 PM EST

this should get your head in the right place


Stop your blubbering prima donna - BottleRocket
[ Parent ]
LOL too intense though $ (none / 0) (#54)
by localroger on Fri Jun 02, 2006 at 10:26:37 PM EST



I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds -- J. Robert Oppenheimer
[ Parent ]
Read the Lucifer comic series. (none / 0) (#58)
by Russell Dovey on Mon Jun 05, 2006 at 10:53:21 AM EST

That'll get you in an OMFG apocalyptic-type mood.

"Blessed are the cracked, for they let in the light." - Spike Milligan
[ Parent ]

by which you mean what? (none / 1) (#48)
by zootropic on Fri Jun 02, 2006 at 06:00:58 AM EST

what do you want, stories about little people who live inside flowers?

[ Parent ]
I've noticed... (none / 1) (#56)
by VoteForEvil on Sun Jun 04, 2006 at 02:46:24 PM EST

The name "Jimmy" is so seldom used in real life, it completely pops my suspension of disbelief bubble. Why do people use it in fiction? Fuck if I know.

"You know why you do not see me styling wit my homies? Because I have no homies!!" -Mojo Jojo

Good line o' dark, cutter. (none / 1) (#57)
by Russell Dovey on Mon Jun 05, 2006 at 10:46:43 AM EST

+1 from me, this was an enjoyable read in that "glad I'm not Catholic" way. Really drew me in.

Now, where's the bloody rest of it? The ending, for example? Are you intending to finish it, or expand it into a proper short story later? As it is, it's half a story. There's got to be a denouem... den-yoo-mon... resolution.

"Blessed are the cracked, for they let in the light." - Spike Milligan

nope, that's it :) (none / 0) (#61)
by zombie HollyHopDrive on Fri Jun 09, 2006 at 08:13:13 AM EST





[He blew]inside..m..e.. [and verily] corrected a deviated septum and cauterized my turbinates. - MichaelCrawford
[ Parent ]
skin stealer? (none / 1) (#59)
by tzanger on Thu Jun 08, 2006 at 10:17:49 AM EST

You're not the same guy who wrote the story about the skin stealer a few years back, are you?  The two pieces have a similar writing style, which I dig.

not the same person (none / 0) (#60)
by zombie HollyHopDrive on Thu Jun 08, 2006 at 06:05:07 PM EST





[He blew]inside..m..e.. [and verily] corrected a deviated septum and cauterized my turbinates. - MichaelCrawford
[ Parent ]
holy... (none / 0) (#63)
by zenofchai on Mon Jul 31, 2006 at 11:51:21 AM EST

+1 FP, 2 months too late.
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Stiff Fingers | 63 comments (51 topical, 12 editorial, 0 hidden)
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