More behind: Day 10, 10,500 words and going...

“Yes,” said Brittni. Her lips pressed together thin and pale, then continued. “And No. At least, not according to my grandmother. Peter asked that same question, and you could tell from his voice that he was extremely disappointed to find out that a Gypsy Santa he could finally relate to had met his demise just as he had finally heard of the fellow. My grandmother explained to Peter that in the gypsy world, there was a difference between dead and gone, and dead and still here. Remember, Raba Kas only showed up during the coldest, most desolate of nights. That just so happens to be great preservation weather."

Day 9, 12,682...behind, behind!!!!

“You actually think there are rivers and lakes and valleys under the floor?” It seemed crazy. The floor was the floor.

“There’d have to be plenty of room for those dick spiders to creep around,” Dub speculated. “Things are big, cust.”

“I don’t buy it. Wouldn’t we hear about people, I don’t know, seeing stuff?”

“Like on the news?” Ermina asked. “The news is just a bunch of commercials.”

I shrugged.

Ermina pressed on. “And anyway, you do hear rumors sometimes. A few anyway. Like people seeing deer.”

“Cust. Or dick spiders.” Dub was nodding.

“Okay, I can almost believe there are lakes under the floor, but not giant arachnids with dicks on their legs. I mean, come on, it's just stupid.”

“No cust, for real,” Dub shouted excitedly. “We get a few sightings a month. Job Jorgenson, right? This janitor who works the back aisles where the big water pipes start, he fucking fought one of them. It attacked him over near the fuckable teddy bears. Tried to fuckin' rape him, cust, for real. Like eight-way rape. He fought it and chopped off one of its dick feet. That's where I got my specimen.”

I looked at the gnarled, black spider dick in the bag I was holding. Its bristles stood up defiantly, daring me to doubt its existence.

Nanowrimo Update ~ 6500 words

No one said anything for a moment, and then Mr. Connolly stood up and puffed out his chest. He looked around at each member of the family with his jaw set and his brow furrowed. He spoke up to start the family meeting.
“As you boys know,” he began, “your mother and I love you very much. We have done everything in our power to bring you up right, with proper morals, and a proper sense of dignity.” Mr. Connolly placed his hands behind his back and looked up at the ceiling. “But tonight it is apparent that we failed in our duties as good parents.”
Mrs. Connolly let out a wail and put her hands up to her face. She snivelled into her palms and shook her head. Mr. Connolly lifted his chin and pursed his lips.
“Yesterday we were informed by the lawn keeper at the Rockport Eternal Peace Funeral Home,” he continued, and the words came out high and strained, “that their cameras had caught a most disturbing activity.”
Joseph turned to look at Peter, who stared blankly ahead at nothing. Peter was remaining stoic before his family firing squad. Mrs. Connolly kept shaking her head, muttering “No, no no no.”
“Yes, it is true." said Mr. Connolly. "We have a grave robber in the house.”

Na20wri10!

The teachers were toning down their lessons with only a couple weeks to go before the Christmas break began. In first period English, Joseph and his classmates spent the entire time making Christmas cards based on literary themes. Joseph cut a sled and Christmas tree out of cardboard, used glue and glitter to accent a snowy incline, and pasted the sled against the tree. He titled the card “Silas Night, Holy Night.”

In second period History, their teacher had them get into groups and work on a worksheet asking questions about the three branches of government, while he played old Bing Crosby records on an ancient phonograph machine. The record sped up and slowed down, and Joseph daydreamed about being caught in a time warp. A time warp created by Peter, of course. He was always the disturbance creator.

NaNoWriMo 2010!!!!! An Excerpt!

The oldest looking guy knelt in front of the netting. He pulled out a tazer and tazed the raccoon over and over again. The little animal twitched and made weird shrieking hissing sounds and started smoking.

“Yee fucking haw,” the rookie whooped.

It was only when the smoldering raccoon stopped twitching that one of them noticed me.

“Damn,” I said. “Criminal animal?”

The oldest guy—I’d guess he was the seasoned veteran—stood and holstered his tazer. He kicked the dead raccoon. “You got no idea.”

“Shoplifter,” the rookie sneered. He flipped off the dead, netted animal.

“How does an animal shoplift?” I asked.

The veteran answered. “They got very agile hands, these guys. They’re grabby as hell. Open garbage cans and what not.” He kicked the raccoon again. “Garbage is still property of the US of A.”

NaNo 2010!

Post stuff!

(o)_(o)

so, who has read my story so far? i am waiting.

waiting.