I’ve done some outlining and have started a new short story. It’s still early to decide on an apt title, but I’ve begun penning all the same. Below is a short look at the beginning. I hope you enjoy it.
The girl on the screen clawing at the concrete wall was a ratty blood-stained mess. Long disheveled clumps of hair rolled wildly down her face, but the viewer didn’t have to guess at the face she wore. The liquid pain that jumped out of her eyes seemed to do all the talking. Her adolescent stature shook in full with each silent scream, as if it wasn’t just her that was screaming, but the whole of her spirit. And with each shake, she watered the wall, scraping the nibs of her hands against its unforgiving face, grind after desultory grind.
The quality of the video was shit, but Oliver Sutton didn’t need an instructional manual to know the girl wasn’t at Disneyland. He had just leaned in for a closer look at the black-and-white clip when the door of the small office flew open. Sutton jumped more at the rattle of the door’s drawn blinds than at the opening itself.
Eyes wide, Ed Kern brought one pudgy-fingered hand to his chest as though it were the natural accompaniment to almost shitting one’s pants.
“Jeezus Christ, Ollie, thought I caught you jerkin’ off in here. What the hell you doin’?”
Sutton pointed to the screen at the room’s center with the clicking end of his Bic[Do we need this? Do we need to show a pen and a pad early on or is this the introduction.], “I was just about to orgasm, actually. Appreciate the warning.”
“Ah yeah, the Gleason girl,” Kern said, relaxing his hand, “such a sad story. Never found her, did they?”
The open door now allowed for the incessant tapping of keys from the newsroom, the one sound Oliver Sutton had been meaning to drown out, at least long enough for him to watch the short film. Kern’s unintentional disruption of that was only slightly irritating, though, and not enough to kill the mood of the day. As long as no one else crashed the party, all would still be well in the world.