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Story snippet
Oops! In all the excitement earlier, I forgot to post an excerpt for you! Here’s a little snippet of my story in Sindustry 2
SUNSHINE BY JL MERROW
DANIEL always looks at the shoes first. You can tell a lot from a bloke’s shoes: what sort of work he does, how well off he is, how much it’ll hurt if he gives you a kicking. Then he slowly raises his gaze, taking in all the details on the way, until he gets to the man’s face. A punter once told him it’s dead sexy, like he’s drinking in the sight of them, savouring every inch. Talk about making a virtue out of necessity.
’Course, sometimes he doesn’t need to go that slow. He’d know those boots anywhere—he knew them the minute they turned the corner from Market Street, just from the sound they made on the pavement. So as soon as he sees those boots, Daniel flicks his eyes straight up to the face and gives the bloke a smile, although really it’s a shame to be so hasty, as the bits in between are well worth lingering over.
“Evenin’,” the boots’ owner says, as usual. His voice is so deep Daniel was surprised when he first heard it. The bloke’s six foot six if he’s an inch, and his chest measurement must be something similar; you’d almost expect him to have a squeaky little voice to compensate.
“Evening,” Daniel returns. “Any trouble tonight?” He doesn’t know the bloke’s name, but he knows he’s a bouncer down at the King’s Head. He helped Daniel out one time when a punter got nasty and went for him with a knife, and he always passes this way on his way back home after work.
“Nah, dead quiet. Well, the usual, you know. Couple of young ladies pissed off their heads we had to persuade into a taxi, but no rough stuff.”
Anyone else would have called them slags, or slappers, or something equally derogatory, but Bob the bouncer (well, he’s got to call him something, hasn’t he?) is always polite about the people he deals with. Daniel likes that about him.
“’Ow’s tricks, then?” Bob asks Daniel in his turn.
Daniel shrugs. “You know. So-so. Bloody credit crunch. Last bastard asked if I was going to cut me prices.”
Bob grins. “Tell him you’re a luxury item. They’re s’posed to sell better in a recession, ain’t they?”
Daniel grins back. “I wish,” he says, although he’s not sure which part of Bob’s statement he’s referring to.
“Night, then,” Bob says, and the boots clomp off home.
“Night,” Daniel calls to their echoes, the night already feeling a little colder as the sounds die away.
SUNSHINE BY JL MERROW
DANIEL always looks at the shoes first. You can tell a lot from a bloke’s shoes: what sort of work he does, how well off he is, how much it’ll hurt if he gives you a kicking. Then he slowly raises his gaze, taking in all the details on the way, until he gets to the man’s face. A punter once told him it’s dead sexy, like he’s drinking in the sight of them, savouring every inch. Talk about making a virtue out of necessity.
’Course, sometimes he doesn’t need to go that slow. He’d know those boots anywhere—he knew them the minute they turned the corner from Market Street, just from the sound they made on the pavement. So as soon as he sees those boots, Daniel flicks his eyes straight up to the face and gives the bloke a smile, although really it’s a shame to be so hasty, as the bits in between are well worth lingering over.
“Evenin’,” the boots’ owner says, as usual. His voice is so deep Daniel was surprised when he first heard it. The bloke’s six foot six if he’s an inch, and his chest measurement must be something similar; you’d almost expect him to have a squeaky little voice to compensate.
“Evening,” Daniel returns. “Any trouble tonight?” He doesn’t know the bloke’s name, but he knows he’s a bouncer down at the King’s Head. He helped Daniel out one time when a punter got nasty and went for him with a knife, and he always passes this way on his way back home after work.
“Nah, dead quiet. Well, the usual, you know. Couple of young ladies pissed off their heads we had to persuade into a taxi, but no rough stuff.”
Anyone else would have called them slags, or slappers, or something equally derogatory, but Bob the bouncer (well, he’s got to call him something, hasn’t he?) is always polite about the people he deals with. Daniel likes that about him.
“’Ow’s tricks, then?” Bob asks Daniel in his turn.
Daniel shrugs. “You know. So-so. Bloody credit crunch. Last bastard asked if I was going to cut me prices.”
Bob grins. “Tell him you’re a luxury item. They’re s’posed to sell better in a recession, ain’t they?”
Daniel grins back. “I wish,” he says, although he’s not sure which part of Bob’s statement he’s referring to.
“Night, then,” Bob says, and the boots clomp off home.
“Night,” Daniel calls to their echoes, the night already feeling a little colder as the sounds die away.
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Remind me (am going senile) - is this your first published story? Because it really is better stylistically than so much stuff out there. (and are you, hint, on my mailing list, hint, where I pass on details of any calls for submissions, hint, I come across?)
And I should have said, any paragraph with 'Bob the bouncer' and a reference to slappers (a fave word chez nous) gets 10/10 from me.
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*g* It's actually my fourth! There's been a bit of a rush of them lately! My first was my Torquere Sip, Good Company, which has just had a lovely review *is on Cloud 9*
That came out on June 20th, so by this time next week I'll have been a published author for a whole month!
And no, I'm not on your mailing list - but I should very much like to be! I'm at jl(dot)merrow(at)gmail(dot)com. :D