An alphabetical Love Story
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
X was hard. I was gonna do Xerox, but I discovered this awesome word instead. It's the cactus.

Can't find the cut, so here it is, out there, open, unashamed.

An approach! A monstrous hand soars through the sky and picks its prey delicately, locking the rest away.
A bite. Teeth clench and then tear through the soft skin. Juices squirt through the mouth. A rip and the chunk is torn away from the core and swallowed, unnoticed by the eater, who goes on to take another untasting bite of the peach he is not doing credit to. There are other things on his mind.
A cacophony! On the other side of the room, a book is dropped. A large book. A flat book. A large, flat, wide book with a lot of surface area to slap the landing pad with. From a height of ten feet, that is to say, the height of the eater’s friend, standing on a chair, holding the book above his head.
“A disaster!” Screams John Skeritt, the man in theoretical control of a room of stressed, disaster-happy, overheated, rebellious sixteen-year-old males, as he hurries towards the disaster, all his concentration focused on the dropped book.
An escape! Fast as he can, the eater, hereafter to be known as Luke, dives through the window, ostensibly open in an attempt to waylay the un-waylay-able heat, rolling on the ground and ducking sideways, beyond sight of his escape route.
A flight. Moving with all the speed his un-aerodynamic genes ever granted him, Luke races across the grass, aiming for the cover of the trees, planted for management’s boasts about environmental awareness.
A grove. Among the trees, Luke can slow, and puts his hands to his knees, surrounded on all sides by what passes for nature in the middle of a high school, in the middle of a city, in the middle of an unnatural world. He pants.
A hastening. Escape now forgotten, no longer thinking of where he is coming from but where he is going, Luke hurries forwards again, further into the nature and out the other side, hidden more by his green uniform than the negligible cover of the trees.
An intrusion! In his place of secrecy, Luke sits, and immediately stands. He reaches beneath himself and pulls out an empty bottle. He throws it away and sits again, watching intently at an angle from the way he came.
A jealousy. As the reason for his mission hoves into view, Luke wonders why it does – surely he is unworthy of such divine beauty? He has nothing to compare to it. But she comes, the object of his adoration, as he is apparently hers – with a smile.
A kiss. As she reaches him, she stands, and their lips lock in a long, lingering embrace, a kiss of intensity and forbidden love.
A loss. After a short eternity, made short by bliss and long by the dissolution of the world, Luke’s lips leave those of Kay, the girl he loves so much he burns with it. He wants more.
A meeting. Luke’s arms slip from Kay’s face to her waist, and hers slide around his shoulders, which she has told him are the most masculine in the five-thousand-strong school, despite much evidence to the contrary.
A need. Luke’s love flares up strongly and he responds in the way he knows. Kay’s breath escapes in a gasp as his arms tighten slightly, and Luke kisses her open mouth, almost lifting her from the ground in his intensity as she responds in kind.
An oaf. He releases his love, afraid he has overstayed his welcome within her, steps back, looks into her eyes, worriedly. The smile he sees there assures him he is wrong and reminds him of the times he has done this before.
A pause. Luke stands a moment, seeing Kay as if for the first time, and she smiles, reading his face with an ease that has grown over the years they have had together, escaping their teachers at school, writing at home and arranging holidays to meet. She asks what he sees.
“A queen,” He responds, dry mouth mangling and mushing the words monsyllabilistic as they are. She has progressed in his mind from a princess, a step from the uppermost tier. He regards her as the supreme creation of nature, above all else.
A reason. He must give a reason, or he will panic and look a fool. He attempts to find a way to cull his revelation to mere words but fails.
A seat. She pushes him to the ground and sits beside him, leaning on him. All his muscles tense to keep from being pushed over. She tells him he need not explain – she knows what he has thought. Feeling his tenseness, the weight eases.
A trespassing. The figure of John Skeritt looms suddenly, grabbing each of them by one hand and hauling them to their feet. A quick glance is all the lovers are allowed before they are hauled behind him towards the school proper.
An ululation. As students see the two of them hauled across the field, a cry rises, individual shouts lost in the clamour of derision, sorrow, support and encouragement.
A violence. John Skeritt is not gentle with those he sees as criminals, and as he hears what is interpreted by him as a cheer, he jerks the two close to off their feet and increases the pace of his march.
A weariness. The eyes of the principal project the crushing of a hope that this would not happen again, although it is unclear who he blames.
A xerophyte. While a long-ago-memorized lecture washes over them, the two take more notice of other things in the room – the moisture on John Skeritt’s upper lip, the edge of a hastily shoved away magazine under the principle’s desk, a cactus in the corner.
A yell. The shout of students breaks through the principal’s office, a moment before the students themselves, storming their way in, surrounding the Principal, the teacher and the lovers in a screaming mass, happy to be rebelling against the school that has held them down.
A zoo. Students mill about with no care for privacy. The cactus is toppled, and the magazine is yanked to reveal a brunette in a leotard on a matching car seat. Luke and Kay see none of it, lost once again in each other’s lips, as a gradual collective sighs steals over their audience.

Writer's Block: Baby, you can drive my car
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
Do you have a "dream car"? If you had money to spare, would you buy a new car? If so, would you be more likely to get an eco-friendly vehicle, a vintage model, or a luxury sportscar?

Dream car? Totally. 1977 Pontiac Trans Am Bandit. Preferably black, with a celtic cross on the hood, because eaghles are expected.
And duh, I totally would.

(no subject)
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

This year I've been busy!

In January tearoha and I robbed a bank (-50 points). Last Friday I signed my organ donor card (28 points). In September I helped wtfmalfoy see the light (8 points). Last Sunday I committed genocide... Sorry about that, thelasteddis (-5000 points). Last Monday I invaded Iraq, broke it, and couldn't glue it back together before Mom got home (-1012 points).

Overall, I've been naughty (-6026 points). For Christmas I deserve a lump of coal!

Sincerely,
Maccalla

Write your letter to Santa! Enter your LJ username:

(no subject)
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
I've won! 50, 333 words!
And I've discovered a kind of cheating way to get an LJ-cut, which involves copy-pasting, HTML code, and three half-hours spent staring at my old computer's screen watching it try to hack into microsoft without even an internet connection. It didn't work. So I decided to get past my writer's block and get writing a little more.
I've also reformatted the whole thing so that it's like an actual book. No double-spacing and indents for new paragraphs. Dunno if it'll show up on LJ.

OK, my cheating cut didn't work. I'll have to email LJ about that.
But still. Here's the final bit, and I'm going to keep posting, more slowly now that the deadline is April 1 (When Script Frenzy starts!) but still going. And nothing before my final exam, French, on Wednesday.
Bye for now!

Bridge Kanulu... FINALLY!Collapse )

(no subject)
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
Is the cut working? No, the cut is not working.

It's quarter to three in the morning. I've been involved with the 24-hour prayer vigil, and I'm going ncturnal anyway. I spent almost three hours there, writing two long letters to God.
I mean, LONG letters.

But anyway, I still haven't had an email back from Jeph, but he's been postng mainly low-work comics lately, so he's amazingly busy or amazingly tired, which means he may not have been checking emails

Let's hope.

Anyway, I'm not posting it up, since I can't use the cut, but I've got 46,842 words.

*Bangs the bloody flashdrive against the wall. Feels better*

ack
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
Well, I'm still on target. I can say that much that's good.

I went to a librarian dinner today. It was pretty cool, I met a couple of the other volunteers, and we had meeet. Rachael insisted on sitting me nest to a year nine called Celine, who seems to be slightly smarter than the rest of her group, except for liking Twilight. We argued about that until forced to call a truce. I told her we'd continue the argument in ten years and se who around us knew what we were talking about. (no-one will) but other than that, we got on OK, and our musical tastes actually overlapped a little which is not normal. I generally try to keep as far away from mainstream as humanly possible, unless the song has some amazing redeeming feature, like actually being good. I'll tell ya something - don't happen often.

Anyway, story. 45,147 words.

And LJ cut's still not working, so rather than post the whole thing in the normal space, I'm going to deprive you, and you can email me and beg for it.

OK, don't beg, just say you want to see it and I'll be nice o you and email it across.

Yawn, nyup nyup
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
Aaargh, he hasn' go back o me ye, so I can' pos he coffee shop scene. Bu I'l ps everyhing else, jus so you don' whine. he key beween r and y is broken, in case you didn' noice. So is he LJ cu, so I'M SORRY EVERYONE< BU I'M IRED AND I CAN' FIX I RIGH NOW!

“It’s always a possibility. Assuming, of course, that we ever get to this so-called coffee shop. Which one?” We’re walking as we talk. I let management know we’re out of the room and we leave the building. It’s not owned by the Warriors, so it’s kind of refreshing. I spend a lot of time around the gang. Almost too much, but I don’t think like that.

COFFEE SHOP SCENE I HAVEN't GOt PERMISSION FOR

“Well, I’ll let you figure it out for yourself, then. What d’you wanna do?” I check my watch.

“Well, I’ve got an hour before my shift starts, and I don’t feel like doing anything that too closely resembles work. And we didn’t go anywhere near the toilets…”

“Your place or mine?”

“Dad’s working.”

“Let’s go.” The sentences get shorter and shorter, as we head back towards my bike. Within minutes, we’re in my room, in an otherwise empty house, on the other side of Bridge Kanulu.

* * *

When we’re done, we feel a little lazy, so I take us to the park we’d rushed through on that night. I sit on the bench and she sits on me. The water flowing through the fountain’s the only sound for a while.

“What’re you thinking now, motorbrain?” It looks like that’s going to be her new name for me. I nod my head at the fountain.

“Must’ve taken a while to make that, it doesn’t look like run-of-the mill stuff.” It’s an old-style fountain in marble, nothing modern about it. A huge, topless bearded man kneels in a pool of water, arms stretched out at his sides, face turned to the sky, screaming water. I think it’s amazing.

“Probably took a team of a hundred slaves two years to finish him.” She’s definitely in a lazy mood, curled up like a cat on my lap. I hug her and she tucks her head under my chin. “Like the pyramids,” she murmurs. I can sense that her eyes are closed.

“Pyramids would’ve taken longer.” I say, even though I know it’s geeky. She shakes her head and makes a little pah sound.

“Stop thinking, motorbrain.” I stop talking, but I can’t stop my brain. She goes to sleep on me, actually sleeps. It’s a very nice, protective feeling.

I wonder how long it did take to make it? A skilled craftsman today would be able to, maybe do one of his feet in a day, but there would’ve been more, and they wouldn’t have had such good tools, probably, and they may not have been as skilled. I wonder who would have been hired to make it, and change my mind. So, a lot of skilled craftsmen, using inferior tools. Maybe a year, for ten of them? He’s pretty damned big, and they wouldn’t have worked full-on, and then there’s the plumbing. I wonder where the water goes in? Maybe he sucks it in through his toes or, heh, his crotch. There’s a turn-out for the books, “Fountain Discovered to be Constantly Urinating Backwards”

Ew.

I try my best to shut down my brain, like Julia has, but the espresso’s made me hyper, and the sex didn’t even take the edge off of it. The best I can manage is to shut down that train of thinking, and my brain reverts to Judas. I wonder where he is now. Must be a good hiding spot, no-one’s found him yet? Is he staying still or moving around? Has he skipped the country? He could be in America by now, faking an accent, or Mexico, where he’d fit right in and I’ll never find him. Is he hunting me like I’m hunting him? Is he even still alive? All questions I’ve asked myself a thousand times, no answers to any of them. I’ve actually hired a private investigator to track him down, and he charges me three hundred a day. I can live with it, because at the moment, I’m making almost three thousand a day.

Julia stirs on my lap, and I take the opportunity to check my watch. There’s not long before my shift starts. I’m going to be working with Julius today, we have to go and talk to a couple of members from the Aryan Vanguard, a white supremacist group we want to be allied with. We’ll take Judy and Judah with us as well, the Joel twins are massive. They’re a relatively small gang, so we want to freak them out. They’re mainly run out of a prison in America, so there’s not much happening over here. It should be simple enough.

Julia starts to snore. I wonder how fast asleep she is? I work my arms under her and stand up with her arms. She wakes up, and I smile at her. “Time for me to go, baby. Do you want me to drop you somewhere?”

“Can you take me home? I’ll finish my nap.” She doesn’t even seem worried that I’m just suddenly holding her off the ground, but she might just still be sleepy. I put her on the bike and step on behind her. I grin as I get a thought. I’m treating her like she’s made of china.

Before I can convince myself she’s fragile, I kick my bike in the guts, and it roars at me, almost in protest. We roar off towards her house, carefully avoiding the steps.

When we get there, she’s woken up a little more, and hops off the bike. She kisses me quickly then goes into the small house she shares with three other girls from the gang. I’ve offered to get her a better apartment, and some privacy, but she didn’t want to. Said she liked the little place, so instead I’ve been paying a workman to come in when they’re all out and do a little fixing up. The place is running smoother than it ever has, I think. I’ve got no time now, though, and roar off, fast, to Julius’ house. It’s on the complete other side of town, over Bridge Kanulu.

* * *

The intimidation tactic works. We talk for a while then start deciding the details of the allegiance. When they get a bit picky, one or other of us would flex muscles. I think my arms are the size of their main guy’s legs, and Julius is still bigger than me. I don’t think about how much bigger Joan was.

They cave pretty quickly, and have changed their name to the Aryan Vanguard of Bridge Kanulu, but they’ll just refer to themselves as the Aryan Vanguard unless they’re being formal. They give us a list of their members, with their rank. We’ll return it in a couple of days, with their new status among Bridge Kanulu members. Job’s always top of the pile, and most of the gang leaders we’re allied to are just below him, except Big Jimmy, who’s beneath almost everyone, because he tried to usurp Job’s place. I don’t think I really need to explain that he failed. His whole gang suffered for it, but enough were loyal to him that he’s still alive. Not always the case.

These people have something else they can give us, though, and so we don’t give terms as harsh as we want. They have information on Judas.

“Yeah, I heard about him. I think he’s meant to be up north, that city, what’s that city called?” He turns to his vice, who has a thick, slow American accent. The place we burnt that park bench?

“Ardougne.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I hear Judas is in Ardougne.” I thank him, and argue to let them keep their territory. It’ll be ineffectual, but I want to show my good will.

I go straight to Job afterwards.

“Is revenge worth it, James? He’s probably waiting for you, and he’ll probably have his Killer friends with him.”

“I’ll kill him before they can get a chance at me.”

“Live and let live, James.”

“If everyone did that we’d be overcrowded. I kill things every day. I ran over a slug this morning, I didn’t let the slug live. I can’t let him live, Job. Where’s this pacifist preaching coming from anyway? You’re the most feared man in the city.” He sighs.

“OK. You can go. I assume you’ll take Julia with you?”

“I hope so. I haven’t talked to her yet. We’ll drive out tonight or tomorrow.”

“OK. But I want you to report to me every night, OK? Even if it’s just to tell me you’re alive. Take two hundred dollars from the gang’s bank account to supply yourself.”

“I’ve got over twenty million dollars, Job.”

“I suppose you do. Alright then. Give me your first call tomorrow night.”

“I will. Bye, Job.”

“I hope it’s not goodbye, James. See you.” He seems really thoughtful maybe, or depressed. Or weary. I wonder why?

Julia agrees to go with me almost immediately. She doesn’t hate Judas as much as I do, but she’s been seeing my hate for the last two years. I can’t see a picture of him without destroying it. I think she wants him dead just so I can stop hating him.

We drive off the next morning. Driving solidly, we’re only about halfway to Ardougne by lunchtime, according to Google maps. Coffe is imbibed to keep us going, and we hit the road again. I pull into a hotel carpark at five. It’s posh, and I chose it because it’s got a pool. The receptionist sniffed when he saw me walk in wearing leathers, but softened up a lot when I pulled out my wallet and he spotted the cards. Most are forged, but he can’t know that.

We sleep together in a king-size suite that night, and next morning, while Julia checks out the pool, I take to the streets, trying to find he underworld of Ardougne. It’s not hard. It’s as close to the surface here as it ever was back home.

I ask a homeless guy about gangs. He rattles off about ten names, but the Killers aren’t among them, so maybe he’s on his own. Or maybe this guy doesn’t know about them. He doesn’t know how I can get in contact with any of them, but he gives me the name of a biker’s pub. I drop a note in his bowl and walk off without even bothering to check what I gave him. Judging by the little gasp as I walked away, it was more substantial than he’s used to. I don’t care.

The biker’s pub is a mean, nasty little place, down an alley off a main street. Bikes are parked In a thick bunch, five to a park, up the street in front of the alley, and there’s a few in the alley as well. Most of the bikes aren’t as good as mine, though. I park, lock it, and go inside. At the bar I ask for a beer, and sip it while I sit there, listening to the conversations around me. With any luck they’ll all think I’m just thinking about something. My story is that I’m thinking about a guy I saw earlier, a mate from ages ago I think. I’ll describe Judas and see if anyone knows him. But that’s the back-up plan, the least helpful plan. I don’t want Judas finding out I’m here, so I just listen, and hope to find some gangbangers.

Conversation rattles off the walls like machine-gun bullets. Subject is varied, and a couple of the bikers seem educated, or at least they’re arguing politics. Most are talking about girls, bikes, beer and rallies. Finally, I hear the word “Gang” mentioned, and snap my head up to look at the man who said it. He’s about my size, with a beard he probably hopes would be described as thick enough to hide a house in, but it’s small enough I can see the outline of his jaw. There’s a tattoo of a snake going up one arm and down the other, of a snake. I can see it at the back of his neck. He’s Mexican. His companion looks about the same, only shorter and wider – he looks tough. His beard is even weedier, and he’s Mexican too. I walk over to them. They look up from their beers, hostile.

“Hey, dudes, I’m wondering something.

“What’re you wondering, boy?” It’s the first guy who’s spoken. His voice is gruff and deep. It seems the part, even if his beard doesn’t

“I’m wondering about gangs here. I’m new, see. Can you tell me anything?”

“Maybe.”

I drop two fifties on the table, enough to buy them drinks for the rest of the night. The money’s gone in a moment.

“Flashing money like that around could get you killed, boy.”

“Maybe it could, but money’s not the only thing in my pockets.” He nods, approving.

“Alright, then. Yeah, we know about the gangs here.” He takes a look at his mate, who looks right back without saying anything. “You don’t have a chance in hell of joining ours, it’s a Mexican gang. But there’s a few white-boy gangs around.” He spits, a long stream of brown.

“I’m looking for one in particular. Have you heard of the King Street Killers?”

“Nope.”

“Well, the guy I know used to be in that gang, but he may have joined another. I saw him just earlier, I think, and I wanna find him. He’s a mae of mine, see. He’s Mexican and handsome. Clean-shaven. About six foot and skinny. He use to be called Judas. I dunno now.

“Judas?”

“Yeah, Judas.”

He mutters to his mate briefly, and I catch the words “Judas,” “New” and “shit.” I grin. I’m getting closer.

“We know a Judas. A pretty-boy.” I nod, even though it wasn’t a question. “Just joined up. But like I said, you got no chance in hell of getting in to see him. You set foot in Onda territory and you’re dead.” I raise my hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“It’s cool, I’ll find somewhere else. But d’you guys know where I can get hold of him? I haven’t seen him in years.” I’m just beginning to realize, that if they call him “pretty-boy” and “shit”, they’re tougher than hell, and saying I was his friend wouldn’t have been a good move.


No-one panic!
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
Alright, so before you all panic, yes, I have written today, but I can't post it. Not because of faulty electrics, but because I reckoned it would be absolutely cool if I were to include a little joke or two about my favourite webcomic of all time, www.questionablecontent.net. So I did, but I also realised that, if I'm sending James and Julia to Coffee of Doom, and having them meet and talk with the QC characters, It'd be only polite of me to ask Jeph's permission first. I've sent him an email, and thus far there has been no reply, therefore, there has been no update. If you want to bother him for me, he's here on LJ, as qcjeph and his contact page (on his site) is here, www.questionablecontent.net/contact.php. Bother him, if you want to see my update, but be nice, because he's awesome. And if you've got time to trawl through all 1542 comics, they're well worth it. It only took me a week to read them all, and he updates every day :D My total word count so far is 41,726.

Hallelujah!
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
It's back! After two days of hard work, and this morning off to do my drama exam (a breeze, by the way, they asked about Shakespeare, and I wrote three-mile answers) I'm back to where I was two days ago! I came by a slightly different route, better in some parts, worse in others, but the thirs section is finally done! I didn't cry when I killed him this time. Either I'm a bad person or I didn't kill him convincingly enough. Tell me if you cry. Or if you don't. Either way.

Oh yeah, the other part of my drama exam was a little harder - I was writing about Killer Joe, and they asked me about the importance of love in the story. Like, excuse me? It's a story about a family who decide to kill the ex-wife/mother for the insurance money. The brother rapes his mentally retarded sister, both paents are cheating, and the guy they get in to murder her can only think about the retarded sister's arse! That's as close as it gets to love. "Love was important in this story, as it was significant by it's absence." Hrumph. But you don't want to hear me complaining. Here's the latest lot of Bridge Kanulu, what's pushed me to 40,268 words. I'm trying to show that he loses more and more of his innocence as he gets deeper into the gang. But anyway, James just finished his first knife-throwing lesson.

Bridge Kanulu XVIIICollapse )

Just checking in
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
After much hard work (har har) I've managed to get the novel back to where it was two days ago. I'm going to try to get it back to where it was yesterday tomorrow. Which will actually be on word target.

Confused? Sorry.

I've got my Drama exam tomorrow morning, though, so I might be a little groggy.

?

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