- Serious Musician
- Posts: 2187
- Joined: Thu Mar 22, 2007 1:43 am
- Gender: Male
I got the idea for Life Wish several years ago and originally planned on writing it as a screenplay. I abandoned that and wrote it as a novella. I’m very proud of it, especially since I’m even less drawn to changing my ways at fifty-two than I was when I first hit the internet in Feb. 1999.
I’m fairly certain people will be entertained by it, or I wouldn’t have published it on Kindle. Below is a link or you can just do a search for “Life Wish, Robert George “, on Amazon.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074Y87FPQ/re ... ert+George
Here is an excerpt to give readers a sample of its flavor. There is a post on Musesmuse from 2014 in which someone mentioned they preferred my style of writing from when I first came on the internet to the style I developed later on. Anyone else who feels that way should enjoy the book. I hope they, and anyone else who buys it does.
I’m grateful to all those who’ve read my stuff for nearly twenty years now, especially those who turned my lyrics in to wonderful songs. At any age, there’s always time for one more life wish.
Robert George 8-19-2017
Claire walked to her prowler car, stood and looked around. The Camry. The VW bus. A calico cat staring through the glass door of the office. What could it hurt? Van Zandt’s off for two weeks starting tomorrow. She walked over to the VW and looked at the doors in front of it. She put her ear to a few. Then she walked up the cement stairs. They were stained with fossilized gum, bird shit, dried soda spills, a few shards of glass and cigarette butts. She put her ear to a few more doors, feeling like an Apache brave with his ear to some railroad tracks. Bingo…205. TV…Skinemax from the sound of it.
She knocked firmly three times. She heard footsteps and a balding man in his mid-30s answered the door. No chain. Light brown hair that hadn’t been washed in weeks was imprisoned in a pony tail tied with a big rubber band. He wore a wrinkled white t-shirt with a decal on the front. It resembled that famous blurry picture of “Big Foot” strolling through the trees. He had a mole that looked like a melted Hershey’s Kiss on the left side of his upper lip. He spoke with a squeaky, rodent-like voice.
“You’re early…aaand you’re dressed like a cop. Dammit, you’re supposed to be dressed in plain clothes, with a trench coat. Plus, you’re supposed to be a redhead. Fuck. Never mind…you’ll do.” He looked out the door, right and left. “Well…get in here.”
Claire hesitated a moment. Just go with it. This guy seems harmless. And stupid. She walked in and looked around. A 40 of Schlitz and a bong with a naked girl on the side graced the night stand. Next to it was a baggie with a teaspoon full of white powder. A pack of beer nuts lay on the bed. The TV was blessed with a topless girl sudsing up a Bullit Charger with a big, purple sponge. In the bottom right hand corner of the screen was a PSA that read, “You are watching Wild Things 4 on Cinemax Ultra. Her mind wandered for a second…”You know, the first one wasn’t bad…Kevin Bacon’s bacon was…”
His hands snaked around her waist from behind. “What do you say we get down to business, Agent Scully? I’ve got an alien ready to burst out of my pants…”
She instantly wedged her hands between his arms and her waist and forced them out, breaking his light grip. She whirled and whipped her baton in one fluid motion, hitting him square across the midriff. He stumbled back, doubled over while holding both hands to his gut. His face was pointed down at the shit-brown carpet. He moaned, let out a hybrid of a burp and a hiccup, then he puked. Foamy gold liquid
and beer nut splinters. He gasped for breath, his chest jerking up and down. He burped again and out dropped more splinters. Claire watched him without compassion, gripping the night stick like she was preventing it from whacking him in the head.
He straightened up slowly. “Bitch, whadjyoudothatfor?”
That stick really wanted to go upside his jaw. “If you wanted to get paid up front, you coulda just said so. I usually pay after.”
“I’m a cop, you fucking moron. A real cop.”
“A cop? What’re you doin’ here?” He hustled to the window and looked out the curtain. All quiet. He wiped a cobweb on his pants and said, “You alone? What is this?”
“I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the other night, dipshit.”
“That’s it.” He caught his breath for a second. She looked around a little more. An iPad on his bed was open to a webpage that said, “Talk of the Town” in tawdry red letters at the top. She looked at his feet. His toenails were more jagged than the glass on the outside stairs. She noticed a wet spot around his zipper. He saw where her eyes were looking and clasped his hands over his zipper. “I-uh-spilled my beer when you knocked.”
“Pull yourself together, for Chrissake.” The stain had spread down his pants. He walked over by the bed and stepped in the sick. He wiped his heel on the carpet.
“I told that guy the other night that I didn’t see nothin’”
“No. Wait, what…you think I did it??”
“I kinda doubt it, Doc Holliday.”
He was almost dispirited. “Then what?”
“Just a follow up. That’s all. Walk me through it. What’d you see?”
“I told you…I didn’t see a thing.”
“I was working on my iPad and I…”
“What time was this?”
“Like I already told the other guy, sometime around seven.”
“Ok, what then?”
“I heard a loud bang that sounded like a backfire, maybe louder. I looked out the window and went back to doin’ what I was doin’.”
“That’s it? You didn’t see a car driving off?”
“How long did it take you to get to the window?”
“A few seconds.”
“We’re you shitfaced?”
He looked at his feet, then at the TV. She was drying off the hood. She…
Claire waved the night stick in his face.
“We’re you shitfaced?”
“Yeah. So what? I…didn’t…see…nothin’.”
He saw Claire looking at the bong and baggie. “Are you gonna bust me?”
“Do you have any priors?”
“You’ve never been arrested?”
“No, I said.”
“Keep it that way, Brainiac. You wouldn’t survive a week in jail. What’re you even doing in town?”
“I’m on disability.”
“I—travel around and…report stuff.”
“Stuff? To who?”
He wiggled his right leg a little. His foot was wet.
“Look…just forget it. Good-bye….for now.”
She opened the door and saw a dyed red head in a trench coat walking up the stairs. She looked puzzled when she saw Claire. Claire shook her head, smirked and said as she passed her,
“I hope you’re gettin’ top dollar for this one, Honey.”
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