Chapter Two: Beginning the Story
Ok...I've got to get these chapters out before I lose my ideas. Here's my second chapter...doing it when I SHOULD be working on a school project, but oh well. I'm REALLY enjoying writing this story so far, and that is very rare. I usually just find a plot and am forced to finish it by my friends...*wink wink* but this one I really don't mind putting details into, so please let me know if you like it! Like they said at...I think it was the Grand Ole Oprey...if you like it, let us know! And if you don't, shut up...lol. I loved that, I don't mind flames, but remember...I DO have feelings, too.
Brilliant. It was just completely brilliant. But was it good enough? And could he get away with it?
Morton had spent that whole night pondering these two questions. He knew that it would be perfect, that's true...but how could he pull it off. He'd have to go through city records, a new driver's license. He would most likely spending months on this project, if he could actually successfully get himself into a government building with time to spare in order to convince a school that he could actually be fit to be hired for some kind of position.
Inwardly, he sighed. His whole plot was most definitely not going as he had planned it to be. There was just no angle...sure, a story about teenaged High Schoolers. Normal. But the more he got around to thinking about it, he figured it out. The perfect plot that would cause the story to flash in lights.
The horror of school students being stalked...the parents wouldn't believe it. No matter what, they would just think that they had come up with their own "universal" plot that could most likely create attention for the big finish. It would show the pain of parents that didn't believe them...oh, this was it. He had figured out his plot...and he was ready to start it. Grabbing his coat swiftly off of the one wooden chair, the only suitable thing to sit on besides the toilet...and that was including the bed. Soon after the coat was comfortably on him, he managed to make a nab for his keys to his truck, which made him think that now that he was most likely being searched for, he'd need a new vehicle with a new license plate, one with total uniqueness...maybe even a personalized one. He shook his head, he was even starting to act like teenagers, when they're getting their first vehicle and they figure they will manage to have the correct amount of money to be able to get a red mustang convertible, if not a Ferrari, and then get a completely outstandingly cool personalized license plate, one that would make everyone turn heads at...not even thinking about the possibility that there just might be someone out there who had the same exact idea and had managed to nab it just a bit before them.
As he whipped open his door more gently that he would have with his old on (last night he had discovered that it was rather rickety, and he didn't want to have to go off and purchase a completely new one for a damn run-down hotel that wasn't worth the fucking 300 dollars a week), he shifted his unzipped coat up a bit, ready for any wind or rain, but discovered rather quickly that the weather had improved quite nicely from the night before. Sure, there were puddles of mud everywhere, and damp sand in mounds in the corners where, no doubt, come summer there would be a cloud of ants just crawling about.
After his small criminal life, he had discovered that even the smallest details mattered...in order to be a good writer, you had to have good description. Without good description, it wasn't good writing. And of course, there could be no bad writing.
His shoes made small clappy noises as he passed the door he had seen opened the other night...it was number 7. Inside he heard some yelling and he couldn't help but think about sibling rivalry, and who could blame them? What could they possibly do in such a small room with no cable besides argue?
Opening up the door to his old beater...or atleast that was what it was now, after passing over all the roads...he jumped in and quickly shut the door. Starting the engine, he slowly began to gun it before he took off, a blur of wet dirt shooting out from behind him as his tires spun uncontrollably, and he headed out for town...or atleast closer to the middle of it.
After an eternity of driving, he hadn't seemed to have gained any ground, figuratively speaking. Sure, he had searched through the majority of the town, but he knew it had to be somewhere. That's when he decided to look at the obvious. He drove out onto a simple hill...it wasn't too big. It was crowded entirely with trees and little old parks which he figured would be taken out soon enough to put in some mall or another knew-time "necessity".
When he reached the top, he got out of the truck and look, but didn't see anything. Sighing, he leaned into the truck, and before he could get back in, he had a sudden thought. He turned back around and jumped straight onto the hood, then the top of the car. Straining his neck, he discovered a completely obvious clue to where the town hall was.
It was the local clock tower.
Completely satisfied with his new find, he jumped off in one swoop, yet a graceful and manly jump...he hadn't lost his mind, only his personality. As he grabbed a hold of the handle, he pulled open the door and threw himself inside. This was his break...it was sheer luck. He was going to get his story, and the kids would get their destiny...they worked together hand in hand.
As one, destiny and triumph would work together to create the best combination in all. It made Morton completely gleeful, he couldn't think of anything better.
While he was busy getting the truck in gear, he thought about how much of a twist this could be to his career. He would now be completely set for his future. A mixed up horror of students, ones that the teachers or parents would never believe...the tale would just be too unbelievable. And he would be there to make them sorry for their ignorance. It was almost too brilliant.
As he slowly parked his vehicle next to the tall clock tower, he walked into the door of the building and shook his unruly hair and walked up to the clerk desk.
"Hello, may I help you?" cheerfully asked a woman with curly, red hair that seemed as fake as her smile up in a tight professional bun. There was a portable microphone head set on her head and she had her fingers typing away on a computer and she made a slight tap as though to finish a sentence and shifted about to look up at him. He noticed immediately her fingernails looked entirely fake...there was no chance at all of them being real.
Shaking his head foolishly as he realized that even though it might come in handy later, it wasn't that important at the moment.
"I was wondering," he began, shifting his neck, "if you would be able to help me with some files. I recently went through a divorce and I had to take out my birth certificate, college degrees, everything. I need to know if there is a way to restore everything because, you see, my house recently was under the attack of arson, so it's all gone."
"Yes, of course. If you could just give some proof as to you're name, we'll be able to set you right back up...but it also includes a bit of paperwork," the woman said with the complete air around her as if she had just said, 'In three years, you'll still be working on signing the papers.'
"Alright, well...thanks. I've got my, er...old High School thing here somewhere. My license is in the car, so I'd prefer just to use this. Is that alright?" Morton asked, raising an eyebrow, his mind thinking how good it would feel just to rip the woman's head off right here and now, then take out the rest as he fought his way up to grab some files, but knowing there would be guards around the place somewhere, it just seemed more absurd.
"Right, then. Just pass it over here for identification, and we will get you situated," the woman nodded and stuck out her hand expectantly, her perfume on her wrist entering his nostrils and making him want to sneeze but he held back.
Inside, Morton was smiling to himself. This was brilliant, he had, in fact, been called Shooter in school and, as a request from the rest of the basketball team for a surprise for him, they had gotten him a card with Morton Shooter on it. He had always been called shooter...then for his good shots, now for another kind of trigger.
"Here you are," he said as he pulled it out of one of his back pockets, and he handed it over to her with complete chic, and he grinned at her, winking.
Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the computer and began to type, and while she did so, Morton pretended that he was choking her as he made an insane face, but when she turned back to him, he was normal immediately.
"Well, sir...it seems we have a slight problem," she said as though it wasn't a big deal to her at all.
"And that would be what, exactly?" Morton asked.
"All you're records were lost, but I don't see why we can't just figure out what you're professions were. What exactly did you major in during you're stay in college?"
"Er...Drama and band," he said immediately, inside he wanted to hit his head. 'Band?' he asked. 'I didn't do anything but play the bloody trombone for two years!'
I told you to let me back it. Give me my body NOW! You're not gonna do any of this...you're not gonna touch any students.
"And I don't really think you have much of a choice in this, now do you?" Morton asked himself sardonically.
"Er...what was that?" the woman asked, looking curiously at him with an arched eyebrow.
"What? Oh nothing...nothing. Just remembered a line from a movie, that's all," he shook his head, then turned to her. "What would your name be? For professional reasonings, if you will."
"I don't see what that has to do with anything," she said warily, but after a look from him she sighed. "Karen."
"Well, marvelous to meet you, miss Karen. I hope to be seeing you more in the future. While you get all of the rest of the things in order, would you mind setting me up with the paper work, so I can get it done as quickly as possible?" Morton asked charmingly...hoping to get in good, so he could get his things ready fast and then the rest of his fun-planned events could begin.
"Alright, then. Just let me call down a secretary with it and you can be on your way," Karen nodded towards him, even though she rather thought he was a psycho...not unusual in this town...or atleast what she thought as psycho.
"Thank you," Morton told her before turning. That was when he turned back again. "Should I sit down until it comes down, or will it be here fast enough so I can just stand here?"
"You should probably sit down," Karen said hopefully before adding, "Please do so."
"Er...right, then," Morton shrugged as he went to the seating area and took his spot in a vacant chair before he picked up a magazine entitled, "Tools."
"How original," he rolled his eyes before dropping it back down and noticed a hunting magazine. He grabbed that and began to flip through it and he stopped a page with a nice hunting knife...just perfect were his thoughts. After looking around a bit, he ripped out the page and hoped he would remember to find it again and send in the order form.
"Mr. Shooter?" Karen called out. "We have you're files here, you just need to fill out these papers in the next couple days and return it as soon as you're done, and by then we should be ready."
"Yes, thank you, Miss Karen," Morton nodded. "I'll be seeing you around then."
With that he walked out, his head pounded. It had been so long since he'd killed...and he was itching for it.
'Calm down,' he told himself. 'There will be blood soon enough.'
What do you think? R/R! Please?
Ok...I've got to get these chapters out before I lose my ideas. Here's my second chapter...doing it when I SHOULD be working on a school project, but oh well. I'm REALLY enjoying writing this story so far, and that is very rare. I usually just find a plot and am forced to finish it by my friends...*wink wink* but this one I really don't mind putting details into, so please let me know if you like it! Like they said at...I think it was the Grand Ole Oprey...if you like it, let us know! And if you don't, shut up...lol. I loved that, I don't mind flames, but remember...I DO have feelings, too.
Brilliant. It was just completely brilliant. But was it good enough? And could he get away with it?
Morton had spent that whole night pondering these two questions. He knew that it would be perfect, that's true...but how could he pull it off. He'd have to go through city records, a new driver's license. He would most likely spending months on this project, if he could actually successfully get himself into a government building with time to spare in order to convince a school that he could actually be fit to be hired for some kind of position.
Inwardly, he sighed. His whole plot was most definitely not going as he had planned it to be. There was just no angle...sure, a story about teenaged High Schoolers. Normal. But the more he got around to thinking about it, he figured it out. The perfect plot that would cause the story to flash in lights.
The horror of school students being stalked...the parents wouldn't believe it. No matter what, they would just think that they had come up with their own "universal" plot that could most likely create attention for the big finish. It would show the pain of parents that didn't believe them...oh, this was it. He had figured out his plot...and he was ready to start it. Grabbing his coat swiftly off of the one wooden chair, the only suitable thing to sit on besides the toilet...and that was including the bed. Soon after the coat was comfortably on him, he managed to make a nab for his keys to his truck, which made him think that now that he was most likely being searched for, he'd need a new vehicle with a new license plate, one with total uniqueness...maybe even a personalized one. He shook his head, he was even starting to act like teenagers, when they're getting their first vehicle and they figure they will manage to have the correct amount of money to be able to get a red mustang convertible, if not a Ferrari, and then get a completely outstandingly cool personalized license plate, one that would make everyone turn heads at...not even thinking about the possibility that there just might be someone out there who had the same exact idea and had managed to nab it just a bit before them.
As he whipped open his door more gently that he would have with his old on (last night he had discovered that it was rather rickety, and he didn't want to have to go off and purchase a completely new one for a damn run-down hotel that wasn't worth the fucking 300 dollars a week), he shifted his unzipped coat up a bit, ready for any wind or rain, but discovered rather quickly that the weather had improved quite nicely from the night before. Sure, there were puddles of mud everywhere, and damp sand in mounds in the corners where, no doubt, come summer there would be a cloud of ants just crawling about.
After his small criminal life, he had discovered that even the smallest details mattered...in order to be a good writer, you had to have good description. Without good description, it wasn't good writing. And of course, there could be no bad writing.
His shoes made small clappy noises as he passed the door he had seen opened the other night...it was number 7. Inside he heard some yelling and he couldn't help but think about sibling rivalry, and who could blame them? What could they possibly do in such a small room with no cable besides argue?
Opening up the door to his old beater...or atleast that was what it was now, after passing over all the roads...he jumped in and quickly shut the door. Starting the engine, he slowly began to gun it before he took off, a blur of wet dirt shooting out from behind him as his tires spun uncontrollably, and he headed out for town...or atleast closer to the middle of it.
After an eternity of driving, he hadn't seemed to have gained any ground, figuratively speaking. Sure, he had searched through the majority of the town, but he knew it had to be somewhere. That's when he decided to look at the obvious. He drove out onto a simple hill...it wasn't too big. It was crowded entirely with trees and little old parks which he figured would be taken out soon enough to put in some mall or another knew-time "necessity".
When he reached the top, he got out of the truck and look, but didn't see anything. Sighing, he leaned into the truck, and before he could get back in, he had a sudden thought. He turned back around and jumped straight onto the hood, then the top of the car. Straining his neck, he discovered a completely obvious clue to where the town hall was.
It was the local clock tower.
Completely satisfied with his new find, he jumped off in one swoop, yet a graceful and manly jump...he hadn't lost his mind, only his personality. As he grabbed a hold of the handle, he pulled open the door and threw himself inside. This was his break...it was sheer luck. He was going to get his story, and the kids would get their destiny...they worked together hand in hand.
As one, destiny and triumph would work together to create the best combination in all. It made Morton completely gleeful, he couldn't think of anything better.
While he was busy getting the truck in gear, he thought about how much of a twist this could be to his career. He would now be completely set for his future. A mixed up horror of students, ones that the teachers or parents would never believe...the tale would just be too unbelievable. And he would be there to make them sorry for their ignorance. It was almost too brilliant.
As he slowly parked his vehicle next to the tall clock tower, he walked into the door of the building and shook his unruly hair and walked up to the clerk desk.
"Hello, may I help you?" cheerfully asked a woman with curly, red hair that seemed as fake as her smile up in a tight professional bun. There was a portable microphone head set on her head and she had her fingers typing away on a computer and she made a slight tap as though to finish a sentence and shifted about to look up at him. He noticed immediately her fingernails looked entirely fake...there was no chance at all of them being real.
Shaking his head foolishly as he realized that even though it might come in handy later, it wasn't that important at the moment.
"I was wondering," he began, shifting his neck, "if you would be able to help me with some files. I recently went through a divorce and I had to take out my birth certificate, college degrees, everything. I need to know if there is a way to restore everything because, you see, my house recently was under the attack of arson, so it's all gone."
"Yes, of course. If you could just give some proof as to you're name, we'll be able to set you right back up...but it also includes a bit of paperwork," the woman said with the complete air around her as if she had just said, 'In three years, you'll still be working on signing the papers.'
"Alright, well...thanks. I've got my, er...old High School thing here somewhere. My license is in the car, so I'd prefer just to use this. Is that alright?" Morton asked, raising an eyebrow, his mind thinking how good it would feel just to rip the woman's head off right here and now, then take out the rest as he fought his way up to grab some files, but knowing there would be guards around the place somewhere, it just seemed more absurd.
"Right, then. Just pass it over here for identification, and we will get you situated," the woman nodded and stuck out her hand expectantly, her perfume on her wrist entering his nostrils and making him want to sneeze but he held back.
Inside, Morton was smiling to himself. This was brilliant, he had, in fact, been called Shooter in school and, as a request from the rest of the basketball team for a surprise for him, they had gotten him a card with Morton Shooter on it. He had always been called shooter...then for his good shots, now for another kind of trigger.
"Here you are," he said as he pulled it out of one of his back pockets, and he handed it over to her with complete chic, and he grinned at her, winking.
Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the computer and began to type, and while she did so, Morton pretended that he was choking her as he made an insane face, but when she turned back to him, he was normal immediately.
"Well, sir...it seems we have a slight problem," she said as though it wasn't a big deal to her at all.
"And that would be what, exactly?" Morton asked.
"All you're records were lost, but I don't see why we can't just figure out what you're professions were. What exactly did you major in during you're stay in college?"
"Er...Drama and band," he said immediately, inside he wanted to hit his head. 'Band?' he asked. 'I didn't do anything but play the bloody trombone for two years!'
I told you to let me back it. Give me my body NOW! You're not gonna do any of this...you're not gonna touch any students.
"And I don't really think you have much of a choice in this, now do you?" Morton asked himself sardonically.
"Er...what was that?" the woman asked, looking curiously at him with an arched eyebrow.
"What? Oh nothing...nothing. Just remembered a line from a movie, that's all," he shook his head, then turned to her. "What would your name be? For professional reasonings, if you will."
"I don't see what that has to do with anything," she said warily, but after a look from him she sighed. "Karen."
"Well, marvelous to meet you, miss Karen. I hope to be seeing you more in the future. While you get all of the rest of the things in order, would you mind setting me up with the paper work, so I can get it done as quickly as possible?" Morton asked charmingly...hoping to get in good, so he could get his things ready fast and then the rest of his fun-planned events could begin.
"Alright, then. Just let me call down a secretary with it and you can be on your way," Karen nodded towards him, even though she rather thought he was a psycho...not unusual in this town...or atleast what she thought as psycho.
"Thank you," Morton told her before turning. That was when he turned back again. "Should I sit down until it comes down, or will it be here fast enough so I can just stand here?"
"You should probably sit down," Karen said hopefully before adding, "Please do so."
"Er...right, then," Morton shrugged as he went to the seating area and took his spot in a vacant chair before he picked up a magazine entitled, "Tools."
"How original," he rolled his eyes before dropping it back down and noticed a hunting magazine. He grabbed that and began to flip through it and he stopped a page with a nice hunting knife...just perfect were his thoughts. After looking around a bit, he ripped out the page and hoped he would remember to find it again and send in the order form.
"Mr. Shooter?" Karen called out. "We have you're files here, you just need to fill out these papers in the next couple days and return it as soon as you're done, and by then we should be ready."
"Yes, thank you, Miss Karen," Morton nodded. "I'll be seeing you around then."
With that he walked out, his head pounded. It had been so long since he'd killed...and he was itching for it.
'Calm down,' he told himself. 'There will be blood soon enough.'
What do you think? R/R! Please?