We're trying something different today. It's a one-day round robin story over three different blogs. I'm writing part one, Amy's writing part two, and Britt's finishing it up.
We'd each love feedback, so if it's not too much fucking trouble, leave a comment on each part, will ya? If you do, Britt will finally show the world her golden globes of glory. And you know we all want that.
So, without further ado . . .
Clusterfucked
Part One, by Adam Avitable:
Chapter 1
I woke up naked. That wasn't a surprise. The surprise was where. All around me, cars hummed and whizzed as they passed me at breakneck speed. The concrete median was surprisingly cool on my bare ass, but I knew that would change quickly once the sun got a bit higher.
I sat up quickly, feeling like a prairie dog popping my head up over the barriers that had afforded me a bit of privacy. I caught a glimpse of a few drivers giving me incredulous looks. I gave them stupefied ones in return. It seemed like a fair trade.
Trying to struggle to my feet, I realized that my legs felt like dead weight, tingly like that fun lotion you can buy in the adult toy stores. Was the comfortable industrial strength mattress to thank for that, or were there more nefarious elements at play here? I filed that in my mental filing cabinet under "W" for "WTF". I'll check on that later, but only after I get some clothes and find my gun.
Gun? You wonder. Yeah. I have a gun. I don't go anywhere without it. It's saved my ass more times than I can count. I can't shoot for shit and I don't even think I have any bullets for it, but just pointing it around gets me a lot of things. And in my line of work, things are the currency that other things are built on. It's a trembling house of cards made of things stacked upon things stacked upon other things, and my gun got me the things that I needed to keep doing the things that I did. Thing is, without my gun, I was useless. I could point my finger at people, and lift my thumb, but that only worked on retards.
As I sat there, as confused as a blind lesbian in a fish market, I noticed a flash of color ahead of me, flapping in the breeze. Was it the shirt I had on the night before? I couldn't tell until I could get closer, which meant moving those dead, prickly legs in the way they were intended. I could crawl on my stomach, but the idea of rubbing my favorite parts raw on the concrete sounded about as much fun as I could imagine it actually was. Which is not at all, for those of you readers who would be afraid of my finger and thumb.
Gritting my teeth, I stood straight up. And the ensuing sounds of brakes squealing made me instantly regret not crawling, favorite parts be damned. I tried to sprint towards the flash of color, but my legs were betting against me, and my usual graceful gait started to resemble the shambling of the recently undead. The cacophony of horns and brakes and glass shattering and metal rending only served to motivate me to move as fast as my zombie legs would let me. In what was surely only a few moments but seemed like an eternity, I reached the clothing that my eyes had spotted. It was a small purple robe - the type that started halfway down your chest and ended right above your thighs. The kind that only whores and man-sluts would wear. Or midgets. At this moment, though, I had little choice. I slipped on the robe and stumbled towards the walkway that spanned the interstate. Behind me, the chaos spread like a stone thrown into a lake. A naked stone thrown into a lake filled with cars moving at high speed, that is.
Chapter 2
After a series of events that included stealing a bicycle, a horse, and a subway token, not necessarily in that order, I managed to make it home. The robe was now in tatters, but my legs and head had cleared. My goal was to find my gun, find my wallet, find those awesome sunglasses I was wearing, and find out who did this to me and why, necessarily in that order. All I needed now was a hot shower and some clothes that weren't made for midgets or whores, and I'd be just like new.
My spare key wasn't where I usually keep it, sticking out of the outside lock, so I had to break in. Which wasn't hard, since the door was open. My razor-sharp intellect informed me that this was a bad thing, so I was very careful as I shoved the door open, did a somersault in the door, losing my robe in the process, and skidded face first into the corpse on the ground. Lying face down in a sticky puddle of blood with an uncomfortable metal lump sticking in my gut, I had two thoughts. The first thought was that it looks like I found my gun, so yay me. The second thought was that I really needed someone to point my gun at before I got really frustrated.
At that moment, I heard someone approaching my front door, which was now stuck to the wall from the stealthy ninja force with which I had opened it. In a fluid motion that probably looked a lot better in my mind than it did in real life, I spun around with the bloody, sticky gun in my hand, only to hear, "Police! Freeze!" . . .
CONTINUED over at Amy's Musings!
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