I have decided to offer for your consideration a sneak peak at a work in progress. It may or may not ever be published and I have a much more work to do on it, but for those of you who may not be familiar with my writing, I thought I would offer a never-before seen (oh and not yet edited) sample.
I welcome all comments and suggestions. Sorry about the formatting....this isn't the easiest site to format long passages
A predictable round of unsatisfying sex with Justin, her wanna-be hipster boyfriend, had Mia
revisiting the all-too-familiar sensation of feeling used and unappreciated.
“Guess I’ll go shower,” he said planting his feet on the worn wood floor and tossing his used condom onto the bedside table with a flick of his wrist.
Mia curled her lip. “Really, Justin? You’re just going to leave that there?”
“What?” he asked, absentmindedly running his fingers through his dirty-blonde hair.
“Your cum wad! Are you seriously going to leave that on the nightstand? It’s disgusting.”
He rose from the bed, padding naked across the floor towards the slash of light coming through the bathroom door.
“Mia, I don’t have time right now for your little passive-aggressive act. Darryl and Artie are coming over in a minute.”
Mia rolled her eyes, snatching her clothes off of the floor and yanking her jeans over her hips with a vengeance. She was really getting the shits of Justin’s condescending attitude.
“Justin, I just don’t think that someone, anyone, should leave their nasty-ass used condom right out where other people have to look at it.”
Justin turned around, forearm cocked against the door frame, his flaccid member now reduced to nothing more than an angry inch.
“Well Mia, I suppose that’s where you and I differ,” he sniffed. “I think there are more important things on this planet to worry about than one offensive condom.”
As the heat rose in her cheeks, Mia could practically feel her blood begin to boil.
“Oh yeah, Justin, you’re gonna change the world,” she replied shoving her feet inside of her Uggs. “How are you, Darryl and Artie going to effect world-change tonight? Discuss the merits of Caribou Coffee’s Soy Mocha Latte over that of Starbucks?”
Justin scratched his balls. “I refuse to engage in this conversation any longer. I’m just not buying into it.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” spit Mia as she tore a brush through the tangles of her long, dark hair. “You don’t buy anything, because you don’t have a job!”
Justin turned his back, continuing down the hallway on his way to the bath. “Not doing this…” he called out, dismissing her with wave of his hand and closing the door behind him.
“Arrgh!” she grunted, gritting her teeth against his smugness and flipping her middle finger in his direction. It seemed all they had left for each other were angry words.
She finished dressing, listening to the patter of water from the shower and half-wishing Justin would slip and fall, knocking some sense into his head.
With a sideways glance towards the rumpled bed, she threw on her coat.
She had to get out of this place. She just couldn’t face another night hanging out with Justin, Darryl and Artie listening to the three of them talk about how “deck” they think they are.
She’d go down to the bar where she beer-tended and kill time with people who actually had some real-world experience.
Before leaving, she scribbled a note and pinned it to the pillow.
We used to hate all of the same things together.
I thought that would be enough.
Walking into the darkened dive on Colfax Avenue, a balmy rush of beer-stale air greeted her. Mia inhaled its aroma, finding it as comforting as the smell of warm cookies. The Nob Hill Inn—her home away from home.
With an acknowledgement to a few of the regulars, she bundled herself onto a stool toward the end of the line and ordered a rum and diet, settling in for an evening of people watching peppered with bouts of fuming confusion about Justin.
It was a Tuesday and the too-small tavern wasn’t even half full. She stirred her drink, half-heartedly eavesdropping on a couple of stool warmers, Butch and Sadie, as they reminisced about the good old days when a person had the right to smoke a “goddamn cigarette” in a bar if they wanted to.
The front door opened with a violent bang. A shiver ran through her body as a bone-chilling gust of wind tore through the length of the bar, fluttering napkins and inciting a raucous round of “Shut the fucking door!” from the patrons.
A tall, lanky Goth dude strode in, his long, black leather coat sounding like an angry flock of birds as it flapped behind him.
For one brief second Mia’s eyes tangled with his. She felt a strange revulsion as if her skin was sliding off of her bones and she quickly dropped her gaze.
He sidled up, squeezing into the narrow space between her and Sadie and ordered a shot of tequila with a voice as intimate as a sigh.
Mia was careful not to make eye contact with him again, keeping her eyes lowered and staring into the amber pools of her drink.
A maelstrom of unease whirled in her gut. Something about the man caused Mia to lean her body away from his. The guy creeped her out and she silently wished he would just get his drink and go.
Mitch, the bartender, served him his shot and as the Goth laid the money on the bar, she noticed that his fingernails looked like polished glass.
That was the very last thing Mia recalled until she awoke in the darkened room. There had been a sensation, a rush of consciousness returning to her corporeal body after a time—how long she could not tell—of nothingness, nowhere. She didn’t recall feeling fearful, lying alone in the unfamiliar place. Rather only, a vague sense of restlessness permeated her body.
As her eyes scanned the shadowy room, she was overcome with an alien sense of thirst; a sense so demanding she felt she could drink the river dry of its last icy drop.
Spying a chipped porcelain sink on the wall, she stumbled to it, her knees weak and wobbly. She pulled a cup from a shelf, filling it with water from the tap.
Mia lifted the cup to drink, but try as she might, her lips quivered and her stomach retched so brutally that she was incapable of taking the liquid into her mouth.
She raised her bewildered eyes to the mirror which hung above the basin. The sight before her caused the cup to slip from her hand, shattering into daggered shards as it struck the hard porcelain. Reflected in the mirror’s surface, was no sign of her face or body, only a vague amorphous mist.
Terror gripped her with such a dreadful embrace, it was as if all of the air had been pinched from her lungs. She stumbled backward as her legs gave way, her body sinking to the floor with a thud.
As if the walls might hold an answer, her eyes darted frantically from one corner to another. But in the shadows of that inky room, her knees huddled to her chest, the only thing Mia knew with certainty was that she had somehow been fatally altered.