Thursday, May 9, 2013

WIP Wednesday: Triggered

This is the new title of the novel I once called Lockdown. I can thank J. Anderson Coats for that. I wrote this book a few years back, in fact, I think I wrote it for NaNoWriMo 2009, so it's rough, really rough. I've decided to do a major overhaul on it and perhaps put it out as my next indie project after Dissected. We'll see. Anyway, here's a snippet, keep in mind, it's rough. Setting the scene, it's a book about a school shooting, these kids are on their bus on the way to school.



Cameron, a junior, was absolutely gorgeous.  His skin was like dark chocolate and he had these bright penetrating hazel eyes.  With a tall, muscular, lean body, he was a perfect fit on the basketball team.  A ready made star.  Only he didn’t play basketball, he played the drums.  Instead of being on the court, he was in the stands, in my opinion, a likeable choice.  He seemed like a cool guy, friendly with everyone, always cracking jokes and acting goofy.   He and Brady were best friends.  He sat with Kimberly across from Brady and Kat.  Cameron and Kimberly’s sister were a couple, another thing for her to be jealous of.
     “Hey Brady,” Cameron said.
     “Yeah.”
     “Why do men find it difficult to make eye contact?”
     “I don’t know, why?”
     “Because tits don't have eyes.”  Brady just shook his head.  He probably wanted to laugh, but dared not with Kat sitting right next to him. Cameron laughed at his own joke; a few giggles broke out throughout the bus.  “I have another one.  What did the blonde say when she opened the box of Cheerios?”
     Kat, being a blonde, shot Cameron a dirty look.  “I don’t know, what did she say,” Brady asked.
     “Oh look! Doughnut seeds!"  Cameron again laughed like a lunatic.
     “Cameron,” Kat said.
     “Uh-oh, I’m in trouble, huh,” Cameron said.
     “Kat ignored the question, “Why are blonde jokes always so short?”
     “I don’t know, why,” Cameron asked.
     “So guys can remember them.”
     “That’s a good one.”
     “ You know the problem with most men, Cameron?”
     “No, what?”
     “The problem is they’re assholes.  The problem with most women is that they put up with those assholes.  Cher said that.” 
     “Ooh, Cher’s smart.  You got served,” Kimberly said to Cameron.
     “So I did.  But who’s Cher?” 
     “You’re not serious,” Kat said.
     “What?”
     They all laughed together, happy little group.
     So many of the kids on the bus don’t even seem real, like they are imitations of one another, plastic and trying to be something other than what is real, a character in the teen movie of the week, a stereotype, a caricature of who they’re trying to portray.  In some ways, I suppose it’s expected, on other ways, it’s just pathetic.
     The bus driver closed the doors and began rolling down the street.  Angel was missing, Cameron’s girlfriend, Kimberly’s little sister.  She was my favorite to watch because she moved with this smooth elegance you only see on catwalks.  In fact, it was smoother than that even; it’s as if she glided.  She was beautiful enough to walk down a catwalk one day, with her long shiny black hair, her flawless brown skin, her deep brown eyes, and tall, slender frame.  Her name was fitting, as she was not only beautiful, but also soulful and kind.  If I were to have a friend, I’d want it to be Angel.   At first I was sad not to have seen her that day, but realized soon enough, she was one of the lucky ones.
    


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