Tag Archive: character development

Her fat hand

Her fat hand had landed in front of him on the pavement. The index finger seemed to be pointing directly at him. It hadn’t been his fault; it wasn’t my fault he felt himself saying in his head, rehearsing what he would say to her. But of course he wouldn’t be saying anything to her ever again. The hand was all that was left. He grabbed it quickly, looking around, hoping no one saw. He needn’t have worried , the smoke and dust obscured all but a few feet around him. It was very quiet and nothing moved. He heard the first scream, behind him. He turned towards it standing up and placing the hand in his bag, zipping it up.

The scream was getting louder now and other noises were emerging: a faint siren, a man shouting Helen over and over. The screaming woman was the loudest; it drew him to her. He saw that she only had one leg and from the stump of her missing leg a steady stream of blood was gushing.

He took off his jacket and tore it into long strips, bent down and tied it on the remaining stump of upper thigh as tightly as he could. The woman continued to scream throughout, no actual words just a wailing moan, looking upwards and occasionally looking around and at him.

Once he had tied off her leg he stood up and walked away; away from the noise, the dust, the blood and guts covering the road and pavement. His feet sloshed through it and he almost tripped on the remains of an old woman’s head as he reached the outer edge of the chaos.

The sirens were louder now and from several directions. He slipped through the crowd of gathering onlookers and walked away as fast as he could.



A bit fishy

SAN FRANCISCO - APRIL 11:  A farmed Loch Duart...
Image by Getty Images via @daylife

Haddock, cod, salmon and loads of other  fish that I didn’t remember the names of but it didn’t really matter if I remembered really. The point was that I had to live here now, above the bloody fishmongers and although I’d spent most of my life hating fish, the smell of it, the taste and the look and the texture of it, I had to find a way to cope now. After all, I would probably be here for years, maybe for ever, a horrible thought but not so horrible as going back. At least I was safe here and the hideousness of the fish was nothing compared to the hideousness of waking up in the middle of the night thinking I’d heard someone downstairs or being afraid to open the front door just in case it was someone coming to kill me.

Karen said I was being melodramatic, well, dear, you wouldn’t say that now would you, if you could say anything, you might be saying,  yes dear, I’m so sorry you’re right, I am scared, in fact more scared than you and can we go now, get away, like you suggested.

Didn’t get a chance though did she, poor cow. Borrowed my car, without asking, serves her right, obviously didn’t check it, not that she would have known how, or what to look for and then bingo, up in smoke.

Funny in a way but not really, she was harmless, if a little irritating. Didn’t deserve that did she, still, rather her than me frankly. It might sound harsh but who didn’t think like that, really, deep down, who didn’t want someone else to die rather then them.

Parents maybe, wouldn’t know, never been one or wanted to be one, all those snotty nosed little brats running around in the school near the old place was enough to put me off for life

Frankly what I want, what I really want, is to just be left alone. Not sure I would have chosen this dead end seaside resort in a flat smelling of fish day and night, but that’s why I left it to the experts. It might be a little bit unpleasant but frankly, not as unpleasant as getting your throat cut, like Greaves, or having your cock cut off and stuffed down your throat like Harrington.

No, in comparison a little whiffy fish seemed OK. Lately though, I’ve been feeling  a bit like I used to, back before I got involved in all this bullshit and had a normal life,  socialised a bit, had a laugh, spoke to people  without having to hide anything, well not too much anyway.

I fancied, yesterday when I woke up, I fancied a bit of a chin wag, with an old friend, someone like Graham Jenkins, good old Jenksie. Whatever happened to him? No idea, no idea about any of that lot. Once I joined the firm I left it all behind, they insisted and I was happy to, at first anyway, seemed totally worth it. The thrill of not being able to tell anyone. All a bit childish and like boys playing at war but so fucking what, that’s what I thought, so fucking what,  why not have a bit of a thrill.  If only I’d known.

Inspired by: http://www.writingforward.com/exercises/fiction-writing-exercises/fiction-writing-exercises-step-out-of-your-shoes

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