Dfrang
New Member
I just thought i'd try to get some feedback on the start of a novel im starting. First attempt so very rough...any feedback is welcome:lol:
Armageddon, apocalypse, Qiyamah, ragnarok all religions had some sort of judgement day. Hah Judgement day everyday was judgement day for Scot Miller. That is everyday he thought was judgement day untill it finally happened. It was one of those unfortunate defining moments in a mans life where you can't run or hide you've gotta stand and be all you can be. In that moment a mans life is judged perhaps by God or some othere divinity and definently by yourself. It is a time when you really see how good or full of shit you really are. Theres no hiding it from yourself, theres no lieing, theres only truth. And in this judgement Scot Judged himself to be wanting, to be a damn pussy if truth be told. Thats the sort of thing that brings a man close to that line of wanting to live and wanting to die.
Scot with one damn t was sitting in a gutter in downtown Redfern knees pulled to his chest rocking back and forward muttering to himself. Redfern was a suburb of Sydney Australia's largest city it's equivalent to New York, if New York was a fifth of its size and was in Australia and had Australians living in it and was called Sydney. So in other words it was nothing like New York. Redfern was one of those suburbs that was probably nice 60 or 70 years ago and as it got older it started to get run down untill it eventually deteriorated into a slum. Then this little thing called the olympics came to town and the government decided to offer all the locals a tidy sum of 14k each if they'd relocate to the country. Long story short city was nice and clean for the olympics, the country towns are still reeling from the influx of addicts, hookers and criminals.
Next to him on the footpath was a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his days. His wife, mother and sister were dead...lifeless, their faces set in masks of soul wrenching pain. Blood was everywhere on the walls, floors and ceilings all over their bodies except for their faces. Which were unnaturally free of any corruption, which was perhaps the worst sight of all because of the faces. The faces oh god the faces of terror, anguish and pain. He couldn't believe they were gone, he couldn't believe what had happened to them. No one would believe what had happened.
"What happened here?" said a hazy voice some where in the distance. Scot didn't respond.
"What happened here...Sir do you know what happened here?" repeated the policeman. A typical Australian policeman, Six feet tall solidly built, like a keg with arms. Maybe 90kg's brown hair and eyes totally unremarkable a generic cop.
"Sir?" he repeated like Scot was some sort of an idiot. Well he had been an idiot at times but not now. He was so shocked, so stunned at what had happened he couldn't speak. He could barely believe what had happened himself, let alone tell anyone they wouldn't believe him. How could you say something had come to life thrown you like a teen tossing a cigarette. Still far to shocked to even speak Scot sat there rocking back and forth trying hard to process something which he could never process the deaths of all the women in his life he had ever loved.
Some where on the footpath some voices drifted into his cocooned shock piercing his thoughts.
"Chris check this out"
"I aint coming anywhere near that Jack, I've already vomited five times I can't face it anymore lets just keep people back till forensics show up"
"No seriousely, check this out if i didn't know any better I would say there bodies form a number"
"huh?"
"Get over here what do you see?"
"Your right 6...1...6"
"What kind of number is that?"
616...616 what the hell did that mean, that had no meaning what so ever.
"Excuse me Mr Miller, Mr Miller my name is Dr Pearson they sent for me so i could try and help you". Dr Pearson hey well if i could be bothered talking i would say tell your story walking. As it is I think ill keep on replaying what happened untill I either go fucking insane or I get some god damn answers.
"I know what your doing Mr Miller your replaying in you mind whats happened, aren't you?". Damn this doc isn't bad how did she...oh this damn muttering i can't stop doing she's just finally deciphered what i've been saying. Well love if i could stop i would, but i can't so why dont you...what the where am I?
"Mr Miller do you know where you are?" No i don't bloody know.
"your in a holding cell at Redfern police station, please dont be alarmed" Alarmed, alarmed no sane man of anglo decent would not be alarmed here. That is if I really cared what happened to me right now. Hey i got a great idea love why dont you keep walking through that door and don't let it hit you on the way out.
Scot was still hugging his knees to his chest and muttering to himself, the police men who had arrested him had had to pick him up like a canon ball to put him in and out of the car.
Miller could hear muffled voices from a distance...
"Dr Miller how is our homicidal maniac? nice and comfortable in his cell?"
"Bob he is suffering from post traumatic stress, I think his mind might be snapped?"
"Theres no way this guy will be able to confess" she said
"This fucker better be able to confess, I've got half the station ready to go in there and beat a confession out of him and I don't know if i'd be prepared to stop them"
"Well Bob I am going for a walk to get some lunch ill be back i say two hours?" Bob replied with a grunt.
" I suppose we'd better move him to a more isolated cell down below while your gone".
What the **** was that all about.
Ten minutes later three officers walk in to move scot. There a mix match sort of group if ever there has been one. The leader of the three was old school around 45 years old huge gut, thick arms, a big frame gone to fat. The other two one was about as solid as a microphone stand, must have been one of those officers the police recruited when they decided to make it compulsory for police men to have a uni degree to become a policeman. What ended up happening is a whole lot of short string bean guys and petite girls whose thigh was about as long as the colt they carried. The third policemen was different he would have been 6"2 late 20's lantern jaw. He actually looked in shape like a member of SWAT or something.
"Excuse me sir we need to move you to another cell are you going to get up".
" No reply hey, well i wouldn't say anything if i was you either."
"Righto boys let's move Mr. Miller here to the special cell." said the leader of the group.
"God damn your a heavy prick, this guy is heavy he's gotta be tippng the scales at 100kegs easy and theres not much fat. Let me guess your an ex league player." said the leader of the three.
"No reply again hey, lets get thi piece of shit into the special cell." laughed the leader in one of those stupid laughs people who think there clever do.
Armageddon, apocalypse, Qiyamah, ragnarok all religions had some sort of judgement day. Hah Judgement day everyday was judgement day for Scot Miller. That is everyday he thought was judgement day untill it finally happened. It was one of those unfortunate defining moments in a mans life where you can't run or hide you've gotta stand and be all you can be. In that moment a mans life is judged perhaps by God or some othere divinity and definently by yourself. It is a time when you really see how good or full of shit you really are. Theres no hiding it from yourself, theres no lieing, theres only truth. And in this judgement Scot Judged himself to be wanting, to be a damn pussy if truth be told. Thats the sort of thing that brings a man close to that line of wanting to live and wanting to die.
Scot with one damn t was sitting in a gutter in downtown Redfern knees pulled to his chest rocking back and forward muttering to himself. Redfern was a suburb of Sydney Australia's largest city it's equivalent to New York, if New York was a fifth of its size and was in Australia and had Australians living in it and was called Sydney. So in other words it was nothing like New York. Redfern was one of those suburbs that was probably nice 60 or 70 years ago and as it got older it started to get run down untill it eventually deteriorated into a slum. Then this little thing called the olympics came to town and the government decided to offer all the locals a tidy sum of 14k each if they'd relocate to the country. Long story short city was nice and clean for the olympics, the country towns are still reeling from the influx of addicts, hookers and criminals.
Next to him on the footpath was a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his days. His wife, mother and sister were dead...lifeless, their faces set in masks of soul wrenching pain. Blood was everywhere on the walls, floors and ceilings all over their bodies except for their faces. Which were unnaturally free of any corruption, which was perhaps the worst sight of all because of the faces. The faces oh god the faces of terror, anguish and pain. He couldn't believe they were gone, he couldn't believe what had happened to them. No one would believe what had happened.
"What happened here?" said a hazy voice some where in the distance. Scot didn't respond.
"What happened here...Sir do you know what happened here?" repeated the policeman. A typical Australian policeman, Six feet tall solidly built, like a keg with arms. Maybe 90kg's brown hair and eyes totally unremarkable a generic cop.
"Sir?" he repeated like Scot was some sort of an idiot. Well he had been an idiot at times but not now. He was so shocked, so stunned at what had happened he couldn't speak. He could barely believe what had happened himself, let alone tell anyone they wouldn't believe him. How could you say something had come to life thrown you like a teen tossing a cigarette. Still far to shocked to even speak Scot sat there rocking back and forth trying hard to process something which he could never process the deaths of all the women in his life he had ever loved.
Some where on the footpath some voices drifted into his cocooned shock piercing his thoughts.
"Chris check this out"
"I aint coming anywhere near that Jack, I've already vomited five times I can't face it anymore lets just keep people back till forensics show up"
"No seriousely, check this out if i didn't know any better I would say there bodies form a number"
"huh?"
"Get over here what do you see?"
"Your right 6...1...6"
"What kind of number is that?"
616...616 what the hell did that mean, that had no meaning what so ever.
"Excuse me Mr Miller, Mr Miller my name is Dr Pearson they sent for me so i could try and help you". Dr Pearson hey well if i could be bothered talking i would say tell your story walking. As it is I think ill keep on replaying what happened untill I either go fucking insane or I get some god damn answers.
"I know what your doing Mr Miller your replaying in you mind whats happened, aren't you?". Damn this doc isn't bad how did she...oh this damn muttering i can't stop doing she's just finally deciphered what i've been saying. Well love if i could stop i would, but i can't so why dont you...what the where am I?
"Mr Miller do you know where you are?" No i don't bloody know.
"your in a holding cell at Redfern police station, please dont be alarmed" Alarmed, alarmed no sane man of anglo decent would not be alarmed here. That is if I really cared what happened to me right now. Hey i got a great idea love why dont you keep walking through that door and don't let it hit you on the way out.
Scot was still hugging his knees to his chest and muttering to himself, the police men who had arrested him had had to pick him up like a canon ball to put him in and out of the car.
Miller could hear muffled voices from a distance...
"Dr Miller how is our homicidal maniac? nice and comfortable in his cell?"
"Bob he is suffering from post traumatic stress, I think his mind might be snapped?"
"Theres no way this guy will be able to confess" she said
"This fucker better be able to confess, I've got half the station ready to go in there and beat a confession out of him and I don't know if i'd be prepared to stop them"
"Well Bob I am going for a walk to get some lunch ill be back i say two hours?" Bob replied with a grunt.
" I suppose we'd better move him to a more isolated cell down below while your gone".
What the **** was that all about.
Ten minutes later three officers walk in to move scot. There a mix match sort of group if ever there has been one. The leader of the three was old school around 45 years old huge gut, thick arms, a big frame gone to fat. The other two one was about as solid as a microphone stand, must have been one of those officers the police recruited when they decided to make it compulsory for police men to have a uni degree to become a policeman. What ended up happening is a whole lot of short string bean guys and petite girls whose thigh was about as long as the colt they carried. The third policemen was different he would have been 6"2 late 20's lantern jaw. He actually looked in shape like a member of SWAT or something.
"Excuse me sir we need to move you to another cell are you going to get up".
" No reply hey, well i wouldn't say anything if i was you either."
"Righto boys let's move Mr. Miller here to the special cell." said the leader of the group.
"God damn your a heavy prick, this guy is heavy he's gotta be tippng the scales at 100kegs easy and theres not much fat. Let me guess your an ex league player." said the leader of the three.
"No reply again hey, lets get thi piece of shit into the special cell." laughed the leader in one of those stupid laughs people who think there clever do.