Saturday, September 7, 2013

Sneak Peak!

Well, not really, since it's on the internet and all.

How have you all been? Those of you with real seasons, is it cooling down yet? I'd kill for some cooler weather, myself. I'm not a big fan of 103 degrees.

Anyways, I can't tell you too much, just that this is definitely the next project. And that you will like it-it's a huge change from the others, I can promise you that. More details later on. Like the title, the synopsis, the know. That kind of stuff.
"Alice Garden sat at her laptop and cursed three things: the blinking cursor on the screen, her lack of coffee and mints, and-and this was the big one-her muse, Layne.
“Layne,” she said, “if you don’t wake up right now, I am going to murder you in the most creative way possible. Medieval torture experts have nothing on me. So wake up!”
If he heard her, he did not care. Chances were that he’d gone back to sleep. Her nights’ sleep was ruined. His job was done.
Alice pushed the off button on her laptop a bit harder than necessary and closed it.
“Night, sweet pea.” she said tenderly. “And Layne, so help me God, if you keep pulling this shit, I’ll…I’ll…I’ll take up math teaching!”
There was no answer. Alice rubbed her scalp and shuffled back off to bed, cursing the pink-haired bastard.
* * *
            “Morning, Sweetheart.”
“Shut up.” she seethed. “I mean it. Why do you do that to me?”
“Because I can.” She smacked his arm. The skinny, pink-haired man frowned at her and inched a little ways away. “Jeeze! Is that anyway to treat your muse?”
She stuck her tongue out at him. Layne smirked and stretched out, his fingers wrapping around his purple rolly pillow. Alice scowled. How dare he be in such a good mood after ruining her nights’ sleep?
“Have you no shame?”
Of course not. Of course she would get stuck with the sociopathic being. What had she done as a child to deserve this? Maybe she shouldn’t have stolen her mother’s jelly beans so often.
“You should have shame.” she said.
“Because why?”
“Because…because…oh, fuck off.”
“If you want to help me, sure.”
I will not kill my muse. I love my job, honest!
She swiped his pillow, relishing the put-out look on his face. It was nice to know that he did, in fact, feel something besides the urge to troll.
“That’s mine!”
“Mine now.”
“Alice…” He wouldn’t. “Don’t make me do it.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Just watch me.”
She watched his fingers warily, prepared to roll away like some kind of super-spy. He would not win this time. She wouldn’t let him.
One of his hands darted towards her and she screamed. Both of his hands then landed on her ribcage.
“N-no! Stop it! I h-ate being tickled, it was a…”
Oh, she hated him for this! He did this to her every time!
She got her hands under his and shoved. To her surprise and delight, she rolled him onto his back like some sort of beetle. Revenge was hers!
Before he could sit up, she pounced on him and pinned his hands above his head. Unfortunately, this gave him the perfect opening for, “I didn’t know you were into this sort of stuff, Alice.”
“There seems to be a small barrier.” He squirmed a little. “If you let me up, I…”
He knew damn well there was a problem! Layne was the cause of ninety-nine percent of her life’s problems. And he loved every minute of it.
She hated to give up her position-what terrible things could she do to him for revenge!-but he was stronger than he looked. One quick jerk of his shoulders reversed them. Oh, dear.
“Get off of me before I knee you.” she growled. He scrambled off, but not before grabbing his pillow.
“Mine.” he said firmly. “Get your own.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
His expression turned from a smug grin to a pout.
“Hey, if I was any bigger I could crush you.”
“Yeah, but you’re not.”
That shut him up for a few minutes. Tragically, the silence didn’t last long.
Why, oh why did he have to butcher her name?
“What do you think of having the serial killer…sorry, forgot you were grounded.”
Oh, that wasn’t fair.
“What do you want, Layne?”
“Promise never, ever to call me Beanpole again.”
“And tell me that you love me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll give you writer’s block.”
“All right, Sweetheart.” He shrugged his skinny shoulders and flopped back. “What shall we talk about?”
“The serial killer?”
“Ah-ah-ah!” He wagged a finger at her. “Writer’s block, remember?”
Oh, God, he’d been serious. She was doomed.
“Layyne!” she wailed. “Please don’t give me writer’s block!”
There. He was amused by groveling sometimes. Usually he told her to quit acting like a five year-old, though.
“You sound like a five year-old.” Damn. “My terms will be met, or you will be stuck with writer’s block for a very long time.”
“But it’s my only defense against you!”
“I see it lasting for many months.” he intoned. “With only the loveable me for company.”
“Layyne!” She grabbed his sweater and shook him. He rolled his eyes. “That’s unfair!”
“Yeah, well, so’s life.”
She sighed. She would have to lay her pride down for a few minutes.
“I promise never to call you Beanpole again.” she said. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice that she was telling lies.
“All right, you’ve only got writer’s block for a month.”
“Wait, I’m not done!” He folded his arms behind his head. “And…I love you.”
“I love you, too, Sweetheart.” That son of a… “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Warm fuzzies all around, and you don’t have writer’s block.”
Easy for him to say.
“Shut up, Layne.”
He grinned at her and reached lazily for a bottle of orange juice.
“Shall we begin?”
One of these days, she was going to teach him a lesson.
Yeah, right."

No comments:

Post a Comment