I have to confess, I have been lacking in the blogging department. Where in the heck did September go? I have been writing new material and developing characters for a script, a series, and a few other little projects.
If I don’t write daily, those over editing gremlins come out. Let me tell you what I have experienced…they eat after midnight, rip up the place, and leave their dirty little footprints (writers doubt) everywhere! It’s dangerous!
I thought I would share a few of my projects. Keep in mind these have not been professionally edited. They are in the raw. Trust me, an editor for me, makes my story world right again. Still, I think it is fun to share a snapshot of my make-believe world just to make it a little more real.
Setting the Stage 🙂
Present Day – Independence Eve
Staggering down the lamp lit street toward the series of red and blue strobe lights, Dr. Maggie Fleishman concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Holding pressure with her open hand against her bloodied head, she could hardly stand the percussion of her own heartbeat in her ears. Deafening any noise around her, the memory of the screaming woman and Jackson Train’s confession replayed in a loop.
Rumbles of thunder and lightning flashed consecutively overhead. In the distance, early fireworks were set off in faultless harmony, decorating the black sky backdrop. She did not flinch when the rain hammered her skin, sluicing the evidence of the monster away. As she learned, he had a knack for planning. Recognizing the downward spiral she was on, she couldn’t die like this. She would help close these cases for the voiceless victims. The victim’s families deserved better than this. She and her family deserved better than this. The answer to the terror that was unleashed over seven years ago was finally within reach.
Every inch of her body burned with the desire to turn this madman inside out. Carve him up like a midnight butcher. The pleasure he thieved from each victim gutted her cleanly. Coiling her fists into hammers, she could not comprehend why, but understood his motives. Their bodies depicted their personal story of death illustrated by a madman.
Holding her mid section, she purged what little she had in her. Swaying, she stood, wiping her mouth with her soiled shirt. Fingers trembling beyond control, she removed the saturated tresses from her face. Blood cascading down her arm appeared like red rain staining the entire side of her body. The officers approached slowly, their mouths moved, but she heard nothing. Finally recognizing one, she clutched onto Special Agent, Eric Saint. She had so much to tell.
Developing a characters past in this example.
The subjects picture, aerial photos, and topical maps of the target location take on a different look through a rifle scope. The subject was overheard by a co-worker discussing the time he would deploy the explosive devices he had secretly placed on 32nd Avenue. Intelligence briefed that he could trigger the devices in less than a minute with his phone which was being disabled remotely. A female worker had recently been seen with him. The Hostage Rescue Teams mission: Capture/Kill the subject and secure his phone or any electronic device before he was able to detonate any explosive.
About three hundred yards away, on top of the neighboring building, the impending rain storm was threatening in the distance. The six Sierra snipers checked in from their hide. It was mid-day after lunch, a city full of people who had no idea what was happening around them. The humidity was rising. The smell of nitrogen from the building storm and gun oil lingered in his nose, hitting his olfactory nerve, consequently making a memory of this mission.
His tactical gear is hot, but he didn’t sweat like he used to when his index finger rested gently near the trigger. A stillness settled over him. With the stock tucked into his shoulder he waited for his target to move back into sight.
From his position, he becomes intimate with the subject through his scope. Watching the sweat bead on the brow, trembling hands, how they start to break down under pressure, if they become manic, or if they are calculated, well trained. A sniper can be a lonely job, in position or doing surveillance for long periods of time while waiting for the short adrenaline burst – the one you train for non-stop.
“Sierra One Alpha to TOC, I have subject movement on the black/green corner,” Noah Bridgewater whispered into the microphone near his jaw. “We have four, repeat four new hostages that are laying belly down in the black/green corner beneath the last window. Copy?”
Waiting for mission ops at the tactical command post to answer, Broadwater shifted slightly to move himself over and inch to gain better sight coverage on the subject. The current position of the subject made him lose some tactical advantage. Panning right two degrees, a brunette woman – the informant – is standing in front of him, blocking his shot. She wasn’t supposed to be there today. The thought of a setup flashes in front of him.
“Sierra Two to TOC, Lost him around the corner – door is now shut, blinds closed blocking off all visibility. Copy?” Broadwater knew the sniper to the east was out of range.
Making a mental note of where everyone is, TOC asks Sierra Two to hold his position. This situation involves six Hostage Rescue Team snipers who are scattered about the block radius covering the building.
“Sierra One Alpha to TOC,” Broadwater whispers into the mic. “Subject is armed with an AR-15 rifle and pistol. Copy”
“Copy Sierra One Alpha.”
“Sierra Six to TOC. I have a clear shot.”
“Sierra Six from TOC. Clear to take the shot.”
With much love,