Due to popular demand, here is an excerpt from the Fanfiction that I am working on. Honestly, this is a stand alone piece, as I have not introduced any concepts or characters from the series that inspired this. If anything this just serves to introduce my original character. This is also the portion where I worry about the Mary-Sue level of my character, and hope to goodness that I haven't created one. Mary-Sue's are scary creatures and are to be avoided at all costs- unless you are writing a crack fic, then it's perfectly acceptable.
This story takes place in the universe established in the mini-series Rose Red. Rose Red is a horror series that aired on ABC back in 2002 and was written by Stephen King. Here's the show in a nutshell for those who haven't seen it: If you take Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, Sarah Winchester and her Mystery House (this place is on my bucket list, it's just that cool), and a few good classic Stephen King elements such as psychics (including some very strong telekinetics) and Indian burial grounds, that is Rose Red. Is is the best horror mini-series ever made? Decidedly not. But, for some reason, I absolutely love it.
So, without further ado, here's a sample of my work. Just a disclaimer, I don't write for children- this goes for my original fiction pieces as well. So, if any of my original works ever get published, they will not appear in the Young Adult section of your bookstore. That being said, I don't go out of my way to be vulgar, or curse at every possible opportunity Everything in moderation. Moderation is key.
***
The room was littered with books,
papers, and clothes but it all went unnoticed. Violet Shaw lay
sprawled across the mattress, her headphones cupped over her ears
bombarding them with a cacophony of guitars, drums, and bass. She
found it completely intoxicating. The industrial thrum of the music
sent shivers down her spine as she took a drag from her cigarette, it
was almost orgasmic.
The music blocked everything out.
The traffic, the neighbors, everything was gone. The song changed,
the tempo slowed and there was a sensuality to the beat. Violet
arched her back, feeling her spine pop, her shirt riding up her
torso. She moaned as she eased herself back down and rolled over onto
her stomach.
The alarm clock came into her line
of sight and she glared at the green glowing digital face. She had
only ten minutes before she needed to leave. She took another drag
and stubbed out the fag in the cheap plastic ashtray that sat on the
floor, smashing the ash and paper right over the top of the
illustrated Space Needle, and pulled herself from the bed with her
Walkman clutched firmly in her hand.
The bathroom lights were harsh,
casting a sickening glow to the yellow tile and wallpaper. She
quickly brushed her teeth and reapplied her deodorant- the stick she
picked up from the organic market didn't last worth a shit, but since
it said “all natural” on the label she decided that it would all
be alright.
Her black hair had frizzed slightly
after laying on the bed so she yanked her hairbrush through the thick
tresses, snagging it once or twice on a knot. She applied another
coat or five of mascara and a swipe of lipgloss and stared at her
reflection. That was as good as it was gonna get. Though, she did
decide that her well worn, beloved Sex Pistols tee shirt was a bit
inappropriate for her appointment. She walked over to her closet and
pulled out a cream colored long sleeved lace shirt and shrugged it
on. Her jeans, she decided, were fine- they were perfectly clean
despite the holes in the knees. She slipped on a pair of black shoes
and spritzed a pit of perfume behind her ears. Again, that was as
good as it was gonna get.
Reluctantly, she switched off her
Walkman and laid it reverently on the bed. The sounds of the outside
world came crashing down around her. In their own way, she supposed,
they were beautiful and she truthfully didn't really mind them.
The emotions, the impressions, the
images, however, were a completely different story. She could feel
the lust coming from her neighbor upstairs as he watched the porn
tape that he had popped in his VCR five minutes ago; the neighbor to
her right had just gotten home from work and wanted nothing more than
to pull the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and drown his mind in
it, but he promised himself that he was done with that and he tried
to ignore the tremble that had settled in his hands; to the left was
nothing but pure concentration, finals were around the corner and she
had to pass this class, everything depended on it, then she broke
down into tears; downstairs a little old lady was knitting a blanket
for her new grandchild, she was filled with mostly contentment other
than the small grudge she still held against her daughter-in-law.
Violet pushed them all out of her mind, humming the song that she had
been listening to a few minutes ago to distract her. She pulled on a
blue jean jacked, grabbed her purse, and stormed out the door, down
the stairs and out of the building.
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