In the setting sun, the house stood like
Stopstopstop. We’ve agreed on this many times in the past, Splice. Don’t begin with another weather report. The sun, the clouds, the wind, the sky blah blah blah. No. Just no. Go straight to the point. Start where you must start. Make her move.
Well, OK Dice. So, how about this: As she laughed and stared him in the eyes, Anne pulled the knife from Mark’s chest and slit his throat, then his penis, until, finally, his scrotum. “I love you,” she whispered to his ears. She walked out of the room.
That’s a bit better. Just a bit. Still needs rewording, rephrasing, the basic stuff, but it’s good enough to start this last chapter.
And then? What do I do now?
Kill her, too.
As in right now? But there’s no one else left to kill her. All the others are dead.
You’re kidding.
No, Dice. I’m not.
You’re the one with the pen. You know what to do.
No.
Hurry up, she’s about to escape.
Where?
The house. She’s out. She’s approaching the gate.
Are you sure?
Yes! Now write something!
Anne stopped at the gate. She looked back. She thought she heard footsteps behind her.
Good. Continue.
She picked a rock and held it tight. Eyes at the door, ajar. Slowly, she retraced her steps. She could hear someone mumbling behind the door. She was certain: it wasn’t Mark’s voice.
Don’t show yourself yet. Keep hiding.
I hid behind the door, the bloody knife on my hand. For a while, I heard her footsteps across the lawn. She was closing in. I slowly rose to my feet. But then the sound of her footsteps vanished. Everything went silent. I listened closely.
What? What did you just do? Make her walk!
Something in my mind wanted me to take a peek at the space underneath the door, but I decided to stand and continue hiding. I heard Anne say, “Whoever you are, you will not kill me.” I figured she was standing at the other side. I pissed in my pants.
Ha ha ha! What a douche!
“Whoever you are, you will not kill me,” she kept saying. I stepped aside, held the knob, and swung the door open. Anne was gone.
You let her escape Splice. Fool! Let’s finish this tomorrow instead. Get back here. Someone's outside.
This is impossible, I thought. Anne should have been standing still by the door. Something is terribly amiss. This is not the story I wanted to write. I don’t understand. I’m holding this knife instead of my pen. I should be holding my pen. “Anne?” I said, “where are you? You should be here.”
I am.
“Where?”
Here, with your pen.
“Where’s Dice?”
Dead. I still had the rock in my hand, how quick you forget.
I shook my head. “No, Anne. You will not write me off. You will not kill me.”
Watch me.
Please, Anne. Don’t do this t
Stopstopstop. We’ve agreed on this many times in the past, Splice. Don’t begin with another weather report. The sun, the clouds, the wind, the sky blah blah blah. No. Just no. Go straight to the point. Start where you must start. Make her move.
Well, OK Dice. So, how about this: As she laughed and stared him in the eyes, Anne pulled the knife from Mark’s chest and slit his throat, then his penis, until, finally, his scrotum. “I love you,” she whispered to his ears. She walked out of the room.
That’s a bit better. Just a bit. Still needs rewording, rephrasing, the basic stuff, but it’s good enough to start this last chapter.
And then? What do I do now?
Kill her, too.
As in right now? But there’s no one else left to kill her. All the others are dead.
You’re kidding.
No, Dice. I’m not.
You’re the one with the pen. You know what to do.
No.
Hurry up, she’s about to escape.
Where?
The house. She’s out. She’s approaching the gate.
Are you sure?
Yes! Now write something!
Anne stopped at the gate. She looked back. She thought she heard footsteps behind her.
Good. Continue.
She picked a rock and held it tight. Eyes at the door, ajar. Slowly, she retraced her steps. She could hear someone mumbling behind the door. She was certain: it wasn’t Mark’s voice.
Don’t show yourself yet. Keep hiding.
I hid behind the door, the bloody knife on my hand. For a while, I heard her footsteps across the lawn. She was closing in. I slowly rose to my feet. But then the sound of her footsteps vanished. Everything went silent. I listened closely.
What? What did you just do? Make her walk!
Something in my mind wanted me to take a peek at the space underneath the door, but I decided to stand and continue hiding. I heard Anne say, “Whoever you are, you will not kill me.” I figured she was standing at the other side. I pissed in my pants.
Ha ha ha! What a douche!
“Whoever you are, you will not kill me,” she kept saying. I stepped aside, held the knob, and swung the door open. Anne was gone.
You let her escape Splice. Fool! Let’s finish this tomorrow instead. Get back here. Someone's outside.
This is impossible, I thought. Anne should have been standing still by the door. Something is terribly amiss. This is not the story I wanted to write. I don’t understand. I’m holding this knife instead of my pen. I should be holding my pen. “Anne?” I said, “where are you? You should be here.”
I am.
“Where?”
Here, with your pen.
“Where’s Dice?”
Dead. I still had the rock in my hand, how quick you forget.
I shook my head. “No, Anne. You will not write me off. You will not kill me.”
Watch me.
Please, Anne. Don’t do this t
5 comments:
Nice try, but I'm still alive. Try harder.
Ugh. Whatever.
Well this is clever :D
Just WOW. Always something new, Splice, huh? I crush you and your writing skills. :)
Sorry, Anne. I dint see it was you who wrote it? This is good stuff.:)
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