short story : "Blood in the Water"

Dungeon Snake · 01:10 AM

i dunno, here's some short story i rote for a creative writing class years ago in california. fuck it here it is

Blood in the Water

________The storm clouds gathered dark and low as we inched across the border from Arizona to California and it seemed like every bad omen from Tucson to Carlsbad had gathered up to wish us ill will. Long and straight, the street slid underneath our shifting, sweaty feet with a snake's syrupy alacrity. Fat, tarry drops began to splatter on the windshield. I looked at you, looking at me, with your mouse-colored bun of hair in disarray, and I honestly felt sick. The interior of my car smelled like your food and I could have counted every pimple on your nose from three days without a shower. Your glasses were beaded near the ears with sweat. Sitting between us on the console was the newspaper clipping -

Local Lottery Winner Found Dead
GARDEN GROVE – A man was found dead holding a winning lottery ticket, authorities said Tuesday.
Police responded to a call around 5 p.m. Monday, shortly after the winning numbers were announced. They found the body of Arnold Weiner, 43, seated in an easy chair in his apartment.
Police said Weiner had been shot in the head. Weiner held in his hand a lottery ticket, printed with the winning numbers for the California State Lottery.
“At the time, we are investigating this death as a murder,” said Police Sergeant Shaquille Hugo. “No note was found indicating that the death was a suicide; in addition, though the door had not been forced, it was not locked when police arrived on the scene.” A handgun was found near the body; police analysis confirmed it to be the weapon which inflicted the fatal wound. Several sets of fingerprints, including Wiener’s, were found on the gun.
“I heard the shot over Jeopardy,” said neighbor Dolores Grump. “It sounded like it came from [Weiner’s] room. I went over to knock, but nobody answered. That’s when I called the police.”
Police are still unsure as to how Wiener’s death occurred. “It’s possible that someone broke in, and, when he wouldn’t reveal the location of the valuables to the assailants, they killed him,” said Police Captain Gnarls B. Alexander Pope. “It’s also possible that he misread the numbers on the lottery ticket, and inflicted the gunshot wound himself. At this point, we’re not ruling anything out.”
“He was a nice young man,” said Grump. “Always bought a lottery ticket. Every day.”

Weiner is not survived by any apparent relations.

The article wasn’t entirely accurate - there was one living relation. So now we were cruising across the state line, hungry for blood, and the car smelt like a fresh grave and I felt a more-than-casual kinship with the vultures tailing us down the freeway. You patted my flesh, one ghoul to another. Soon, if all went well, we would be truly fuck-all rich, rotting like truly rich fuck-all people are allowed to rot. Sweltering in the Caribbean or Mediterranean or whatever, getting petrified like pharaohs instead of molting in shit and being gnawed on by wolves. Because you were better than that on the inside. Your mother always liked to reinforce the belief that you were entitled. Luckily I gave you what you wanted - you had landed me before I knew how to stay away, and everyone was proud. Had I been a poor man, you would have picked me apart with tricuspid-style single-rowed teeth til I collapsed into stupor, and probably alcoholism, and probably ground our poor, ugly children down like chalk until they were failure-prone and neurotic. Instead, you grew fat and pale like rising bread, and we went to parties on boats where you laughed too loudly and showed your teeth like a chimp. In the sticky swamp of the car you opened a stick of eraser-pink gum; slowly and with relish. Long, fake nails; crinkling paper, and the slow rise of an aspartame and glucose brick to your lips. As they passed that moist, fleshy threshold, there came a soft moan of pleasure, followed by mushy snapping and jawing noises. I tried, instead, to fix my eyes on a dead dog lying with burst stomach by the side of the road, but it was no good, and I felt hot bile rising in my gullet.
“I think this is gonna be fun,” you said. I could see every inch of your gums. snap, snap, snap.

I wish I could say this story had a happy ending - something dramatic where I shoot you and leave you dead by roadside, or I take the money and run or a serial killer takes us both as we celebrate in a motel room. Instead, we checked into a Hyatt-Regal and had sex on the duvet. I didn’t particularly want to, but you were insistent and it was easier to give in. As usual, you enjoyed yourself far more than I. Afterwards, as you lay facing away from me and I stared at the notches of the spine in your back. The Carribbean turned over and over in my brain - a sand trap, with no escape. Nothing to do but grow old and desiccated in the sun like old oranges. Nothing to do but bask like wrinkled lizards until we sank into goo and fungus, til death do us part. I wanted to turn you over and hit you in the stomach, or break the window and slit my wrist with a shard of glass, or grab one of the taupe pillows and smother you to death. Instead, I turned off the desk lamp, and you farted once, softly, as you were falling asleep.

Compcat · 01-04-2012, 11:26 PM

I like it.

Cubert · 01-05-2012, 12:20 AM

That was great man, it had a really distinctive 'voice', like the descriptions all had the same feel, but weren't repetitive, if you know what I mean? Very cool. Do you have any more stuff?

Slade · 01-05-2012, 07:26 AM

Hahaha, very bizarre but cool. You certainly have an eye for poetically-disgusting details and stuff. The whole thing is very dark and sort of nauseating.

Very readable though, after the first few lines I just kinda fell into it. Post more stuff if you have any.

Dominator Dan · 01-10-2012, 01:17 PM

hahah the last line triggered the most odd reaction, i think that was the most seriously i'd ever taken the event of a fart, as we all know it's always seen as something comedic, but with all the in-depth storytelling before it, it made it almost serious, which is a hell of a thing to accomplish with a fart

also i like the idea that a guy shot himself because he didn't get the winnining lottery numbers.

great little read man, definitely got something there, KEEP WITH IT

Random Pants · 06-30-2012, 05:45 PM

Pretty significant bump here, so I'm not sure if you'll see this Christo, but writing is about the only thing in the Art Gallery I feel qualified to offer criticism on, so it's nice to have an opportunity to offer it.

First of all: nice story. I particularly enjoyed the ending. Like Dan said, using the fart as the conclusion was unexpected, but it also felt appropriate, given all the visceral descriptions that had preceded it. Fundamentally, I think this is pretty good writing, so I just have a few very specific criticisms to make, rather than anything I think you need to work on generally.

Here we go:

The snake simile is a bit strained and out of place. I'd get rid of it entirely. "Long and straight, the street slid underneath our shifting, sweaty feet" reads just fine, and already has enough sibilance without "snake's syrupy" being added into the mix.

Moving into the car directly after that description just confused me. If they're on a street which is sliding underneath their shifting feet, presumably they're walking, yet suddenly they're now in a car.

What is mouse-colored? Mice come in a variety of colours.

Is the word "honestly" in "I honestly felt sick" necessary? In my opinion it isn't. Not a big deal, but it's just good to be aware of redundant words. Do we, the reader, or the fictional potential addressee, have any reason to believe the narrator has been dishonest previously? On the contrary, he seems pretty consistently candid to me.

There's nothing particularly wrong with the newspaper text, but I can tell you from experience that newspaper editors abhor the semicolon and almost always work on a one sentence per paragraph basis, so some syntax would need to be altered there if you wanted to make it authentic.

Outside of the newspaper, the narrative itself needs to be broken up into more paragraphs. Obviously just a personal opinion, but I think it would make it easier to read and give the reader a better idea of where they're situated.

"failure-prone": what does this mean? Prone to what sort of failure?

Okay, I'm just now noticing that even outside of the newspaper you have a fondness for semicolons, and they're mostly misused.

"Afterwards...I stared at the notches of the spine in your back." Great sentence, but is there any reason why it isn't merged with the one that succeeds it? Ending the sentence would indicate that the thought the narrator has afterwards is concluded before it even begins, but the next sentence details that thought anyway.

"in my brain" - I'd suggest "mind" as a more appropriate term. The mind is the metaphysical birthplace of thought, and the brain is its physical manifestation.

On the whole: nice work. If you want to post more stuff, I'd be happy to read it.

01-04-2012, 11:13 PM	#1
Dungeon Snake Senior Member Join Date: Feb 2004 Posts: 17,519	short story : "Blood in the Water" i dunno, here's some short story i rote for a creative writing class years ago in california. fuck it here it is Blood in the Water ________The storm clouds gathered dark and low as we inched across the border from Arizona to California and it seemed like every bad omen from Tucson to Carlsbad had gathered up to wish us ill will. Long and straight, the street slid underneath our shifting, sweaty feet with a snake's syrupy alacrity. Fat, tarry drops began to splatter on the windshield. I looked at you, looking at me, with your mouse-colored bun of hair in disarray, and I honestly felt sick. The interior of my car smelled like your food and I could have counted every pimple on your nose from three days without a shower. Your glasses were beaded near the ears with sweat. Sitting between us on the console was the newspaper clipping - Local Lottery Winner Found Dead GARDEN GROVE – A man was found dead holding a winning lottery ticket, authorities said Tuesday. Police responded to a call around 5 p.m. Monday, shortly after the winning numbers were announced. They found the body of Arnold Weiner, 43, seated in an easy chair in his apartment. Police said Weiner had been shot in the head. Weiner held in his hand a lottery ticket, printed with the winning numbers for the California State Lottery. “At the time, we are investigating this death as a murder,” said Police Sergeant Shaquille Hugo. “No note was found indicating that the death was a suicide; in addition, though the door had not been forced, it was not locked when police arrived on the scene.” A handgun was found near the body; police analysis confirmed it to be the weapon which inflicted the fatal wound. Several sets of fingerprints, including Wiener’s, were found on the gun. “I heard the shot over Jeopardy,” said neighbor Dolores Grump. “It sounded like it came from [Weiner’s] room. I went over to knock, but nobody answered. That’s when I called the police.” Police are still unsure as to how Wiener’s death occurred. “It’s possible that someone broke in, and, when he wouldn’t reveal the location of the valuables to the assailants, they killed him,” said Police Captain Gnarls B. Alexander Pope. “It’s also possible that he misread the numbers on the lottery ticket, and inflicted the gunshot wound himself. At this point, we’re not ruling anything out.” “He was a nice young man,” said Grump. “Always bought a lottery ticket. Every day.” Weiner is not survived by any apparent relations. The article wasn’t entirely accurate - there was one living relation. So now we were cruising across the state line, hungry for blood, and the car smelt like a fresh grave and I felt a more-than-casual kinship with the vultures tailing us down the freeway. You patted my flesh, one ghoul to another. Soon, if all went well, we would be truly fuck-all rich, rotting like truly rich fuck-all people are allowed to rot. Sweltering in the Caribbean or Mediterranean or whatever, getting petrified like pharaohs instead of molting in shit and being gnawed on by wolves. Because you were better than that on the inside. Your mother always liked to reinforce the belief that you were entitled. Luckily I gave you what you wanted - you had landed me before I knew how to stay away, and everyone was proud. Had I been a poor man, you would have picked me apart with tricuspid-style single-rowed teeth til I collapsed into stupor, and probably alcoholism, and probably ground our poor, ugly children down like chalk until they were failure-prone and neurotic. Instead, you grew fat and pale like rising bread, and we went to parties on boats where you laughed too loudly and showed your teeth like a chimp. In the sticky swamp of the car you opened a stick of eraser-pink gum; slowly and with relish. Long, fake nails; crinkling paper, and the slow rise of an aspartame and glucose brick to your lips. As they passed that moist, fleshy threshold, there came a soft moan of pleasure, followed by mushy snapping and jawing noises. I tried, instead, to fix my eyes on a dead dog lying with burst stomach by the side of the road, but it was no good, and I felt hot bile rising in my gullet. “I think this is gonna be fun,” you said. I could see every inch of your gums. snap, snap, snap. I wish I could say this story had a happy ending - something dramatic where I shoot you and leave you dead by roadside, or I take the money and run or a serial killer takes us both as we celebrate in a motel room. Instead, we checked into a Hyatt-Regal and had sex on the duvet. I didn’t particularly want to, but you were insistent and it was easier to give in. As usual, you enjoyed yourself far more than I. Afterwards, as you lay facing away from me and I stared at the notches of the spine in your back. The Carribbean turned over and over in my brain - a sand trap, with no escape. Nothing to do but grow old and desiccated in the sun like old oranges. Nothing to do but bask like wrinkled lizards until we sank into goo and fungus, til death do us part. I wanted to turn you over and hit you in the stomach, or break the window and slit my wrist with a shard of glass, or grab one of the taupe pillows and smother you to death. Instead, I turned off the desk lamp, and you farted once, softly, as you were falling asleep.
	Last edited by Dungeon Snake : 01-06-2012 at 01:10 AM.

01-04-2012, 11:26 PM	#2
Compcat Senior Member Join Date: Mar 2004 Posts: 8,810	I like it.
Compcat Senior Member Join Date: Mar 2004 Posts: 8,810

01-05-2012, 12:20 AM	#3
Cubert Senior Member Join Date: Jun 2006 Posts: 4,990	That was great man, it had a really distinctive 'voice', like the descriptions all had the same feel, but weren't repetitive, if you know what I mean? Very cool. Do you have any more stuff?
Cubert Senior Member Join Date: Jun 2006 Posts: 4,990

01-05-2012, 07:26 AM	#4
Slade Senior Member Join Date: Jul 2003 Posts: 9,390	Hahaha, very bizarre but cool. You certainly have an eye for poetically-disgusting details and stuff. The whole thing is very dark and sort of nauseating. Very readable though, after the first few lines I just kinda fell into it. Post more stuff if you have any.
Slade Senior Member Join Date: Jul 2003 Posts: 9,390

01-10-2012, 01:17 PM	#5
Dominator Dan Senior Member Join Date: Jan 2004 Posts: 11,564	hahah the last line triggered the most odd reaction, i think that was the most seriously i'd ever taken the event of a fart, as we all know it's always seen as something comedic, but with all the in-depth storytelling before it, it made it almost serious, which is a hell of a thing to accomplish with a fart also i like the idea that a guy shot himself because he didn't get the winnining lottery numbers. great little read man, definitely got something there, KEEP WITH IT

06-30-2012, 05:45 PM	#6
Random Pants Junior Member Join Date: Nov 2001 Posts: 167	Pretty significant bump here, so I'm not sure if you'll see this Christo, but writing is about the only thing in the Art Gallery I feel qualified to offer criticism on, so it's nice to have an opportunity to offer it. First of all: nice story. I particularly enjoyed the ending. Like Dan said, using the fart as the conclusion was unexpected, but it also felt appropriate, given all the visceral descriptions that had preceded it. Fundamentally, I think this is pretty good writing, so I just have a few very specific criticisms to make, rather than anything I think you need to work on generally. Here we go: The snake simile is a bit strained and out of place. I'd get rid of it entirely. "Long and straight, the street slid underneath our shifting, sweaty feet" reads just fine, and already has enough sibilance without "snake's syrupy" being added into the mix. Moving into the car directly after that description just confused me. If they're on a street which is sliding underneath their shifting feet, presumably they're walking, yet suddenly they're now in a car. What is mouse-colored? Mice come in a variety of colours. Is the word "honestly" in "I honestly felt sick" necessary? In my opinion it isn't. Not a big deal, but it's just good to be aware of redundant words. Do we, the reader, or the fictional potential addressee, have any reason to believe the narrator has been dishonest previously? On the contrary, he seems pretty consistently candid to me. There's nothing particularly wrong with the newspaper text, but I can tell you from experience that newspaper editors abhor the semicolon and almost always work on a one sentence per paragraph basis, so some syntax would need to be altered there if you wanted to make it authentic. Outside of the newspaper, the narrative itself needs to be broken up into more paragraphs. Obviously just a personal opinion, but I think it would make it easier to read and give the reader a better idea of where they're situated. "failure-prone": what does this mean? Prone to what sort of failure? Okay, I'm just now noticing that even outside of the newspaper you have a fondness for semicolons, and they're mostly misused. "Afterwards...I stared at the notches of the spine in your back." Great sentence, but is there any reason why it isn't merged with the one that succeeds it? Ending the sentence would indicate that the thought the narrator has afterwards is concluded before it even begins, but the next sentence details that thought anyway. "in my brain" - I'd suggest "mind" as a more appropriate term. The mind is the metaphysical birthplace of thought, and the brain is its physical manifestation. On the whole: nice work. If you want to post more stuff, I'd be happy to read it.