Here's The Word
Okay, last Friday, I asked for words to use in a scene/story, and boy, did y'all give them to me!
So . . . here's the result. I hope you enjoy!
***
Gossip zinged about Coney, Georgia like popcorn in a microwaveable bag. Everybody had to know everything, to talk about everything and everybody, and he was damn sick of it.
Dix Singleton closed his office door with a quiet click. He wanted to slam it, to sling everything off his desk in a soul-satisfying display of ire. No, that wasn’t right. What he wanted was to not give a dippity-do-da that Altee’s engagement was all over town.
He shouldn’t care, not after that absolutely luciferous last conversation, when she’d told him quite succinctly that he should give up, because she never intended to commit to any man. He’d been just another in a succession of her bedroom conquests. It should be a plaguy concept, not the source of absolute anger it was.
Enough of the schizothemia – he didn’t need the long reminiscence. He needed to get to work, to not let himself get caught up in the elliptic nature of his relationship – make that former relationship – with Agent Altee Price.
Enough of wondering what kind of man had altered Altee’s thinking about long-term commitment.
Seeking to shake off the sharp sense of malaise still dogging him, he picked up the topmost file from his desk and dropped into his chair. A sticky note from his head detective marked the top of the folder, a terse sentence relating a similarity between their murder case and one in Louisiana.
He flipped the manila folder open and spilled the glossy crime scene photos across his desk. In the first photo, the corpse lay along a drumlin created by river erosion, the same erosion which had revealed her shallow grave. The mud surrounding the victim had been mucid, with copious amounts of virescent algae. Advanced decomposition, the skull’s teeth already showing in a weird kind of lockjaw grin. He frowned, lifting another, closer photo of the head. Unique dental work – a bridge of some sort featuring a gusset. A fringe of pink and black hair, a punk skunk look, framed the remaining skin at the ear.
Who was she, this girl? If the timing had been right, he’d have been tempted to attribute her death to the serial killer who’d worked the area the summer before. Except the coroner insisted she’d been killed after the abscissin had started to flow in the trees around the river, the leaves drifting down to share her shallow grave. Her death seemed personal, though, not the act of a quaestuary hitman, someone into killing for profit. No, the damage inflicted on her body, evidenced by the slashes and blood on her black t-shirt with “dance” emblazoned on it in silver, had been some sick son of a bitch’s idea of fun.
Her body. Maybe they should be looking for a male missing person, since the epicene features of the body indicated a recent sex-change operation.
Voices filtered through his office door, his secretary’s shrill tones lifted in the familiar obloquy of her “he’s not to be disturbed” harangue. A grin quirked at his mouth. Shirley Maidenhair was a dragon, that was sure. He loved that about her.
“I said I didn’t care. Didn’t you get that?” The dulcet tones, admitted by his opening door, sent shivers down his spine.
Altee. Standing in the doorway to his office, a white take-out bag in hand, the scents of tomato sauce and oregano wafting in.
He stared. What the hell?
Shirley reached for the doorknob. “I’m sorry, Chief. I told her you didn’t want to be disturbed-”
“That’s okay.” He waved a hand at her. A disconnected part of his brain tried to prod him to stand up, but he couldn’t make his knees obey. Altee, here, with what smelled like his favorite meal from D’Angelo’s, and the diamond gone from her left hand as if a magician had waved a magic wand with a smirking “abracadabra.” “Thanks, Shirl.”
Ignoring Shirley’s glower, Altee swung the door shut behind the older woman. Still sitting, he let his gaze trail over her – the skinny sweater that skimmed her slender torso, the hip-hugging jeans that let just a little of her smooth pecan skin show.
She turned to him, silver earrings dancing against her turtleneck collar. “I feel like I should yell ollyollyoxenfree. Playing games with that woman is not fun.”
He looked at her, trying to read the expression in her big dark eyes.
Eyebrows lifted, she cocked a hip against the leather chair before his desk. “Cat got your tongue, Dixon? I bring you this supercalifragilistic surprise for lunch, and you have nothing to say?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you up to, Altee?”
So . . . here's the result. I hope you enjoy!
***
Gossip zinged about Coney, Georgia like popcorn in a microwaveable bag. Everybody had to know everything, to talk about everything and everybody, and he was damn sick of it.
Dix Singleton closed his office door with a quiet click. He wanted to slam it, to sling everything off his desk in a soul-satisfying display of ire. No, that wasn’t right. What he wanted was to not give a dippity-do-da that Altee’s engagement was all over town.
He shouldn’t care, not after that absolutely luciferous last conversation, when she’d told him quite succinctly that he should give up, because she never intended to commit to any man. He’d been just another in a succession of her bedroom conquests. It should be a plaguy concept, not the source of absolute anger it was.
Enough of the schizothemia – he didn’t need the long reminiscence. He needed to get to work, to not let himself get caught up in the elliptic nature of his relationship – make that former relationship – with Agent Altee Price.
Enough of wondering what kind of man had altered Altee’s thinking about long-term commitment.
Seeking to shake off the sharp sense of malaise still dogging him, he picked up the topmost file from his desk and dropped into his chair. A sticky note from his head detective marked the top of the folder, a terse sentence relating a similarity between their murder case and one in Louisiana.
He flipped the manila folder open and spilled the glossy crime scene photos across his desk. In the first photo, the corpse lay along a drumlin created by river erosion, the same erosion which had revealed her shallow grave. The mud surrounding the victim had been mucid, with copious amounts of virescent algae. Advanced decomposition, the skull’s teeth already showing in a weird kind of lockjaw grin. He frowned, lifting another, closer photo of the head. Unique dental work – a bridge of some sort featuring a gusset. A fringe of pink and black hair, a punk skunk look, framed the remaining skin at the ear.
Who was she, this girl? If the timing had been right, he’d have been tempted to attribute her death to the serial killer who’d worked the area the summer before. Except the coroner insisted she’d been killed after the abscissin had started to flow in the trees around the river, the leaves drifting down to share her shallow grave. Her death seemed personal, though, not the act of a quaestuary hitman, someone into killing for profit. No, the damage inflicted on her body, evidenced by the slashes and blood on her black t-shirt with “dance” emblazoned on it in silver, had been some sick son of a bitch’s idea of fun.
Her body. Maybe they should be looking for a male missing person, since the epicene features of the body indicated a recent sex-change operation.
Voices filtered through his office door, his secretary’s shrill tones lifted in the familiar obloquy of her “he’s not to be disturbed” harangue. A grin quirked at his mouth. Shirley Maidenhair was a dragon, that was sure. He loved that about her.
“I said I didn’t care. Didn’t you get that?” The dulcet tones, admitted by his opening door, sent shivers down his spine.
Altee. Standing in the doorway to his office, a white take-out bag in hand, the scents of tomato sauce and oregano wafting in.
He stared. What the hell?
Shirley reached for the doorknob. “I’m sorry, Chief. I told her you didn’t want to be disturbed-”
“That’s okay.” He waved a hand at her. A disconnected part of his brain tried to prod him to stand up, but he couldn’t make his knees obey. Altee, here, with what smelled like his favorite meal from D’Angelo’s, and the diamond gone from her left hand as if a magician had waved a magic wand with a smirking “abracadabra.” “Thanks, Shirl.”
Ignoring Shirley’s glower, Altee swung the door shut behind the older woman. Still sitting, he let his gaze trail over her – the skinny sweater that skimmed her slender torso, the hip-hugging jeans that let just a little of her smooth pecan skin show.
She turned to him, silver earrings dancing against her turtleneck collar. “I feel like I should yell ollyollyoxenfree. Playing games with that woman is not fun.”
He looked at her, trying to read the expression in her big dark eyes.
Eyebrows lifted, she cocked a hip against the leather chair before his desk. “Cat got your tongue, Dixon? I bring you this supercalifragilistic surprise for lunch, and you have nothing to say?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you up to, Altee?”
Labels: Linda's Posts
posted by Linda Winfree at 4:04 AM
8Comments:
OH. MY. GOD!
I'm going to be late for work because I couldn't stop reading. I don't have time to tell you how utterly AMAZING that passage is.
All I can think at the moment is OH. MY. GOD!
You're a writing goddess!
Great job, Lin! Although I still think I need a dictionary in places. LOL
Okay, so I have a minute now and I have to know -- did you take a passage you had written and rework it to fit the words or did you write the passage around those words? And how long did it take you?
LOL, E! We don't mention how many I had to look up to write it!
It's not anything I had written. I took the list and spent a couple of days thinking about the words -- after I'd looked up several.
I knew from the time I had the words that some type of crime scene stuff would be involved -- I mean, come on . . . how else am I going to use corpse?
Originally, I'd planned to do a two POV piece to tie into HOTM, but Tick gets his way too much and I've been wanting to play with Dix's character.
I started actually writing Wednesday, wrote until I'd used half the words, then finished it last night so I could post early this morning. I probably spent, with interruptions from Monster #2 who didn't want to go to bed . . . an hour maybe?
Glad you liked it!
I don't know whether to laugh or just sit in shocked amazement you used all those words (half of which I have no clue what they meant!)
Linda,
I am totally and completely amazed, not just that you managed to get all those words in their. But that you did it in a way that made sense!! LOL
Plus-- you managed to build characterization and plot too.
Wonderful job.
Joan is right. You are a writing Goddess.
Awesome, Linda! Great job. :) I'm in complete awe.
Okay, well, the others used all my adjectives already, but I'm in COMPLETE agreement.
Awesome, amazing writing Goddess about sums it up.
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