Sunday, April 17, 2011

Opening Scene From "The Figment of Doom"

I thought I would post the opening scene from a story in the upcoming eBook Mythik Imagination #1:
I woke up in a gutter, face down in a pool of muck.  It was a miracle I hadn’t drowned.  I spit out some sludge, coughed, slowly sat up and considered the situation.
It was raining, and I was soaked, freezing and aching all over, but especially my head and feet hurt.  It was dark, and I was on some deserted city street I didn’t recognize.  The only light came from a feeble street lamp that projected an icy cone of illumination in the rainy mist across the street.
Oh yeah, I had absolutely no idea how I got there or even who I was.  My pockets were empty.  I was wearing cowboy boots.  That was odd.  They were also about two sizes too small.  I guess that explained the aching feet.  As a matter of fact, the torn jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket all seemed too small.  Either I had spent so much time in this rainstorm my clothes had shrunk, or I was a man with a serious wardrobe problem.
Over the soft rain sizzle I heard footsteps.  I stood up and felt a blazing pain in my head.  I made a note to miss the gutter mud puddle if I fell back down, but managed to stay on my feet.  Okay, this was a headache the size of New Hampshire.  Why, did I think that?  Was I from New Hampshire?  Had I ever been to New Hampshire?  This really sucked.
I remembered the footsteps and tried to focus.  Yeah, across the street was a man standing under the light.  Trench coat, some kind of hat.  He looked like somebody out of a Mickey Spillane novel.  He gave me a quick glance and pulled something out of his coat.

Uh oh.  If I had some kind of lightning quick super power reflexes in my mysterious past, they better kick in now.  Yep, it looked like he had a gun.  As I stood there dumbly, he pointed the gun at the street light.  The was a soft popping sound, then a crack and the light flickered off.
Damn it was dark.  Through my mental fog, I dimly realized that I should probably do something since I happened to be alone on a dark deserted street in a no doubt less than upscale part of town with a gun toting thug taking pot shots at city property.
Suddenly a long, low black car roared down the street, headlights blazing.  As if I could use another gallon or so of H20, it splashed me good as it screeched to a stop in front of me.  The suicide door was thrown open, and I could barely make out a dark figure behind the wheel.  Over the gurgling engine I heard the driver speak.  A woman’s voice.  Not urgent.  Not calm.  If anything, she sounded a tad annoyed.  “If you want to find the key, get in.”
I didn’t know jack about any key, but given the choice of getting in or hanging around for Mr. Trench Coat’s target practice, I got in the car.  Besides, I could barely walk in these miniature boots, much less run.  The woman jammed the car into gear, and we took off...
* * *