A Brief Excerpt
Something pretty crappy happened today, so I'm coping by sharing a bit of something with you folks. Some of you may know that I've been working on a novel for a few years now, and I've decided to post a bit of it for you. Enjoy.
But don't steal. Stealing leads to killing, and I'd rather not take the time to hunt you down and stuff a pitchfork up your butt. K, thanks.
-----
Tiny claws tore miniscule furrows in the flesh of Carbo Montrier's leg as he lay tangled in the covers of his bed. He plucked the kitten off of his leg, deposited it on the floor, and flopped over so the bloody wound was against the sheets. The sheets were criss-crossed with a delicate hash of dried blood streaks.
The kittens were the result of Carbo's last case, where he'd located a missing miniature bonsai tree. After hours of delicate and difficult sleuthing, he'd discovered that the tree was inside the neighbor's 400 pound cat, who'd inadvertently sat on it. Although it did nothing to further his already dubious reputation, he appreciated that he could now claim to have rescued a tree from up a cat.
Through a bizarre chain of stupid events, Carbo ended up with a litter of six genetically modified kittens, each of which would eventually tip the scales at between 100 and 120 kilos. At the moment, they were about the size of his head, and viciously attacked anything that moved.
The kitten jumped back on the bed and was staring intently at Carbo's big toe. When it twitched, the kitten bit it. Carbo exploded out of bed, a howling, five foot tall male of african/samoan extraction, wrapped in blood stained sheets, who promptly pitched headfirst off the bed at a steep angle and swift velocity.
The kitten seemed to wince from its perch on the bed, but then thought better of it, hopped primly off the bed and sauntered out the door, looking for food or new prey.
-----
But don't steal. Stealing leads to killing, and I'd rather not take the time to hunt you down and stuff a pitchfork up your butt. K, thanks.
-----
Tiny claws tore miniscule furrows in the flesh of Carbo Montrier's leg as he lay tangled in the covers of his bed. He plucked the kitten off of his leg, deposited it on the floor, and flopped over so the bloody wound was against the sheets. The sheets were criss-crossed with a delicate hash of dried blood streaks.
The kittens were the result of Carbo's last case, where he'd located a missing miniature bonsai tree. After hours of delicate and difficult sleuthing, he'd discovered that the tree was inside the neighbor's 400 pound cat, who'd inadvertently sat on it. Although it did nothing to further his already dubious reputation, he appreciated that he could now claim to have rescued a tree from up a cat.
Through a bizarre chain of stupid events, Carbo ended up with a litter of six genetically modified kittens, each of which would eventually tip the scales at between 100 and 120 kilos. At the moment, they were about the size of his head, and viciously attacked anything that moved.
The kitten jumped back on the bed and was staring intently at Carbo's big toe. When it twitched, the kitten bit it. Carbo exploded out of bed, a howling, five foot tall male of african/samoan extraction, wrapped in blood stained sheets, who promptly pitched headfirst off the bed at a steep angle and swift velocity.
The kitten seemed to wince from its perch on the bed, but then thought better of it, hopped primly off the bed and sauntered out the door, looking for food or new prey.
-----
coughed this up at 3:41 PM
4 El Commentos:
That is genius. Can anyone say Nobel prize, anyone?
I wait with baited breath for more installments...
This has nothing to do with anything, but I'm reminded that: When I was in elementary school, a kid in my class accidentally killed his sister's kitten by throwing it against a wall. Apparently, the kitten attacked him in the middle of the night, and without really thinking of the possible consequences, he grabbed the cat and hurled it. And its skull shattered.
Have a good night.
San Nakji: Thank you! I may very well post more in the future. And I'd be happy if someone just BUYS the damn book. Nobel might be shooting just a TAD too high. Besides - I'm pretty sure books about space detectives don't get the Nobel Peace Prize. ;)
Angela: That is really disturbing. Rest assured that no cats were harmed in the making of my book. A koala was slightly injured, but that was his own fault.
damn Koalas...
Post a Comment
<< Flee!