Fragments.ws is devoted to adult-themed, SCI-FI and Speculative Fiction. In most of these stories, men are turned into statues, animals, mythological creatures, and other transformations.
Please call him Harold?
uh sure, Harold it is.
Hmmm Never had a Harold before..Must never look up when there are arrows flying around
it's not Childe Harold, but Harold Blåtand, Harold the First of Denmark - - sometimes called Harold Gormson. He had a thing for blueberries and he had ugly teeth. Originally I named him C. Edward Hadley. I'll save that name for another story. I named a character Wesley Ashton Grinderson the Third - in honor of Wesley Crusher (get it) from Star Trek TNG. He's dead at the start of the story and dead at the end of the story.
Not Earl Harold Godwinson either, Mike...
I'm adding a rookie detective named Steve Reedy.
The first couple hundred words: Traffic patrol found the silvery, $70,000 extravaganza of a car – no skid marks, just a broken guardrail. The car's hood smashed into a tree, four-way flasher lights blinking, doors open and a dead body. Icy rain crept inside Detective Sergeant C. Harold Blantan's poncho as he walked towards the wreck. A white cloud of steam poured out of the engine, trying to rise before surrendering to the sleet and freezing rain. Lightning illuminated three policemen with flashlights picking up ice cubes from the car. Blantan's Bluetooth earpiece crackled with interference. /"What’s so special that the Chief of D's woke me? It looks like every other wreck caused by late winter storms." "Ice cubes, Detective. CSI already analyzed them, they're green tea." "What the hell?" Blantan looked at rooky detective Steve Reedy as if he spoke some alien language. "Each ice cube has diamonds frozen in the center. The wreck tossed them all over. The Uniforms picked up over 1000 so far." Reedy lifted the sheet off the body. The man used to be handsome before his face met the windshield. Blood stained the lace front of his shirt and bowtie while mud covered one side of his tuxedo. He pressed the man's hands to the fingerprint pad and transmitted the fingerprints to the office. "Smashed like that, how did he get all that mud on his tuxedo?" Blantan asked. "Traffic patrol found him ten feet from the car sucking the mud. The rain's scrubbed footprints, skid marks. It's impossible to drive this car without a seatbelt. The Medical Examiner thinks he died instantly when his head smashed into the windshield." "Or soon thereafter, wouldn't you think?" "I think he was almost dead before the crash, or at least nearly dead. There's not enough blood." Reedy said.
I like this bit, ya know.
It's slow, what with Easter Week. I deboned and trimmed a leg of lamb and made lamb stock today."I think dead before the crash, or at least nearly dead. There's not enough blood for his to have died in the car." Reedy said, shaking the water off his head. His clothing clung to his six foot four frame and outlined his muscles. Blantan looked up and smiled. Reedy steadied the dead man's head while a CSI Tech photographed the victim's face and transmitted the image to Central. Again, lightning flashed overhead. They cringed at the simultaneous crack of thunder. Flashlight blinked. Blackberries chirped. Blantan tapped his earpiece. It blinked twice. Reedy listened as his earpiece synched into the restored data stream. "Talk to me Jules. Fancy clothes, fancy car, diamonds? No embedded med chip. Who was this guy? Why was he out here?" Blantan said. "The car is registered to SkyCorp, Inc's carpool. No registered driver," Jules answered in Blantan's earpiece. "That's all?" "Yes and No. Something fried the car's electronics. Its silence is profound – no GPS, no com links, no black box, not even the odometer works. Ain't got no explanation yet." "Lightning?" "Nah, automotive chips are protected against electrical surges, magnetic pulses, heat, cold, tampering, almost everything except taking a sledge hammer and pounding it into teeny-weenie, itty-bitty." Jules spoke through the headset. "Bite me Jules. Get to the point, would'ya," Blantan interrupted. "I'm always concise, Harry." Jules broadcast on an open channel. No one but Jules could call Blanton Harry without suffering consequences. Images of the dead man's face filled their heads and morphed from dead to living and then to a full body shot. Jules spoke as the image resolved.
I had an inspiration - post the first chapter to Electra's Crapometer blog. That wasn't such a good idea because they correct out the style. If they don't understand that it's NOIR, they take it apart. And they do it line by line and bit by bit. That's not a success if I need a read.
This will go up on EE's blog when Chapter two, now the beginning of a new story is posted: For those readers who saw similar writings on this and another blog. I've been having trouble with writer's block going back into the winter. One technique I use to break the block is to junk what I'm writing and start over. I didn't want to give up what was New Beginning 246. It's a really good opening. So I did the next best thing to throwing out everything; I severed parts of the story from each other. In this case, I took chapter two (the Squeezy and the Rump Rats portion) and removed it from the other portions of the story that arose from NB 246. This opening is now on its own. WHY? You ask... Squeezy and the Rump Rats do not exist in the world of Bobby Adonis. - - - - Detectives Harry Blantan and Steve Reedy can't iencounter the band (Squeezy) in Bluetooth while they investigate the death of Bobby Adonis. Part of the problem is that the Squeezy story occurs in late summer. The Bobby Adonis storyline occurs in late winter, early spring. ALSO, one member of the Rump Rats is a snitch known to Reedy and he has significant history with Detective Reedy. Like past military and sexual history. That made too many elements to introduce in one story before I even began to reveal the mystery of Bobby Adonis's death. The plotlines clashed and the brain froze. So rather than write the impossible, there will be two stories involving Detectives Blantan and Reedy in the same style (Cyperpunk NOIR). I hate effing writer's block! All of this is because Squeezy and the Rump Rats have baggage (you may roll your eyes, too. I did.).
One more post: Due to news events - the death of wrestler Chris Benoit and his family - the character of Bobby Adonis will not be a pro wrestler. He will be something else. I can't write the story with that real news in my mind. It's way too creepy.
Here's the opening of chapter two: A tumescence of erotic male statuary filled the inner courtyard of the mansion's marble entryway, sharing the space with potted palms, hanging baskets and marble benches. Reedy pushed a button below a video intercom. "Whatcha want?" a sleepy voice mumbled. "It's just us pizza delivery boys, we need to talk." Reedy held his badge up to the tiny camera. A man's face appeared in the screen and then disappeared behind a hand. Reedy quickly snapped a picture of the palm print. He could hear a drunk and sleepy voices hacking and coughing. "Pizza my ass... It's the cops... Damn that neighbor, every little noise... Whatcha want? Look, shitheads, the band left. Tell old lady ass-munch next-door to shove it up her... Wait, wait, it's not our pizza. It's the butler's pizza." The two voices gave the intercom a split personality."Must be your breath," Blantan laughed. "Yeah, whatcha want?" A third voice, a baritone answered. The viewscreen turned security blue.
Hmmm Harold had to be the detectve..... and the old golden rule of murder plays "The Butler did it" :o) Like it look forward to its completion When reading it i can see it performd in my minds eye
The Opening of Chapter 3A travesty of colored fabric dazzled Blantan and Reedy as they fumbled with the lighting panel in the bedroom. Draperies opened to the sunrise. Plush cloth fabrics lined the walls of the room creating what Zack Savage wanted, a desert oasis devoted to passion utterly unhinged from reality. Against one wall, a headboard twelve feet high covered in reds, greens, golds, purples and blues dominated a wall. A heart-shaped mattress extended to the middle of the room. Two men dressed in scarlet-red lace bras and matching crotchless panties, lay on the silken pillows, arm-in-arm legs knotted and genitals pressed together. Satin pillows framed their muscular bodies.
The start of chapter 4An effluvium of barnyard danced in their noses, clung to their shoes. Zack Savage's barn rested on the low ground near a stream at the back of his property. The laughter of young men floated out of the barn doors along with the whinny of horses and bray of donkeys. "The pony boys," Blantan said, gesturing for Reedy to enter first. Reedy stepped gingerly through the door. "Afraid of the roadcakes? You shouldn't wear Ghillie Brogues to horse around in a stable filled with young stallions. " They laughed.
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