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theredbaron
September 6th, 2014, 02:25 AM
Staring unseeingly out the window, her mind occupied by thoughts of an absent husband, Lisa jolted in her seat as lightning split the sky. Her movement was so sudden, her nerves shot with her worry, that she bashed her knee on the bottom of her desk. A yelp escaped through parted lips as tears stung the corner of her eyes. No, she wasn't going to cry. Though she wasn't sure if the tears were from the pain radiating up into her thigh or the whispers she had overheard while getting her perm done. Those nosy old hens. Surely those rumours weren't true.

Keep telling yourself that, honey. Her mother's words curled through her brain, poisonous vapors that leeched into her thoughts. Rachel had never liked Thomas. But then her mother had thought all men were nothing more than dogs, slobbering pigs all of them.

Wiping hastily at her eyes, cursing her own weakness, Lisa gasped softly as another bolt of lightning rent the sky. Like the previous one the lightning lit up an otherwise starless sky for less than a heartbeat. So short was it that she could have imagined it. There was no thunder. No rattle of the thin windows in their old frames, the paint beginning to chip from the water-logged wood.

We could have gotten these fixed years ago. Eyes focused at one piece of paint resting directly behind her computer. If she didn't know any better she'd have thought they had gotten termits, the wood was so worn, but it was too cold up this north. Or so she prayed. The windows looked as they had years ago when she had first moved into the old house with her husband. Despite his promises, all that Thomas had done was use their money in fueling his zealous beer consumption.

Another flash of light, this one close enough to cast shadows in the garden below. She always hated the wrought iron fence. Old ancient thing it was a miracle that it hadn't fallen over yet due to its own weight. But then Thomas was insistent it remained. It had belonged to his father. Lisa couldn't help but wonder if Thomas didn't mean that his father had stolen it from some house further to the east of where they lived. That was where the good houses were, not this hovel.

Lightning flared and then once again dissipated, bleeding back into the shadowed night. One-Mississippi... two-Mississippi... three-Mississippi.... four... oh. This time it wasn't one single bolt but rather three in quick rapid fire succession. One to the north and the other two lashing the heavens further to the east. For a brief heart-stopping moment the skies were nearly as light as they would be during that murky blue-black of twilight instead of the cruel colorless ebony they were now.

Again there was no roar of thunder but now Lisa could hear the wind outside. It was picking up speed. Strength. She could feel the chill as it crept through the cracks of the window frame, tickling her bared toes in chilled wafts. For a brief childish moment she entertained the thoughts of Dorothy and Toto. If a twister came barreling through the town would it carry her off to the elusive happily ever after.

If ya want something girlie, go out and grab it. Grandpa had been an eccentric old man. Claimed he had assisted with the development of the nuclear bomb. Funny seeing as how he'd been in Australia during that time.

But his words had lasted all these years Lisa's fingers crept along the old weather beaten desk that supported her computer. It was nearly as old as she was. One of the originals. So slow that you'd make progress using a typewriter but Thomas said they didn't have the money for such a luxury. Whenever she wanted something printed out she had to trot down to the library and fish out a few dimes for a half dozen pages and that was that.

It wasn't the computer that held her interest now. No, it was her salvation.

The Smith & Weston had taken her over a year and a half of scraping, to buy. Even then the sleek dark ashen gray weapon had been above her price range. Lisa grimaced slightly. The guy behind the counter had been a bastard and tasted like an ashtray. But he had given her the gun, "at a discount", and even thrown in two extra rounds for what she had offered in trade.

Absentmindedly her fingertips strayed over the .40 Shield engraving behind the muzzle tip. It had been worth it. Light weight and small enough. Greasy bastard had promised it worked well for self defense. She had absolutely no clue what "9mm" meant outside of how news people always seemed to go on about it on the idiot box.

Plasticweld
September 6th, 2014, 02:35 AM
You start out like gang busters, very well written, great hook to keep me interested. You completely lost me in the end. I re-read a bunch of times and the last two paragraphs go right over my head, not sure what I missed but somehow you are talking about a .40 then a 9mm I like the way you describe how she got the gun and her discount just can't figure out how it all ties together or where it goes?

kyl
September 6th, 2014, 03:28 AM
The first paragraphs catched my attention. Good. My vereditc... good reading. Not fantastic, but very good nonetheless. :thumbr:

theredbaron
September 6th, 2014, 11:50 AM
You start out like gang busters, very well written, great hook to keep me interested. You completely lost me in the end. I re-read a bunch of times and the last two paragraphs go right over my head, not sure what I missed but somehow you are talking about a .40 then a 9mm I like the way you describe how she got the gun and her discount just can't figure out how it all ties together or where it goes?

I got to laugh. I was bored, writing this as merely an idea to get rid of some writer's block for a 800 page non-fiction as I was stuck on a chapter's focus. It really took no thought. Just ramblings.

As for the end, yeah, I lost myself there but then it was nearly midnight and I'd been going on 8 hours of sleep in the last 72hrs.

jakegenebarnes
September 6th, 2014, 06:25 PM
Some of your descriptions are flowery to the point that they no longer make sense- others are unessential to setting the scene. It felt as though you were trying way too hard.

Plasticweld
September 6th, 2014, 09:24 PM
I got to laugh. I was bored, writing this as merely an idea to get rid of some writer's block for a 800 page non-fiction as I was stuck on a chapter's focus. It really took no thought. Just ramblings.

As for the end, yeah, I lost myself there but then it was nearly midnight and I'd been going on 8 hours of sleep in the last 72hrs.


I get that! there is something about letting your mind shift gears that gives you a rest and lets you re-focus. I always think about it as, a runner who takes a break but still has to keep walking to get the lactic acid out of their muscles. You now have less lactic acid in your mind, still enjoyed your brief journey...Bob

theredbaron
September 6th, 2014, 10:20 PM
Some of your descriptions are flowery to the point that they no longer make sense- others are unessential to setting the scene. It felt as though you were trying way too hard.


I wasn't trying at all. As for "flowery" there's a way of writing without spelling stuff out - steps 1, 2, 3.

It's quite easy to visualize a lonely woman watching a storm come in while awaiting a loser of a husband from this rambling.