Shane DeWitt tore into an apple like an adult entertainment star into a massive member, lips wrapping around the red peel like a horse before his teeth bit massive chunks out to the core. With such intensity he picked at it, finishing it in five bites, then he threw the core off the balcony into the dumpster adjacent to his room, several feet from the main road. He emptied the patio ashtrays out onto the sidewalk beneath him and brought the space heater back inside with him, plugging it in in the kitchen. He sat back down at the table and picked up his watercolor brushes and mixed. And mixed. And mixed. Killing time with the mixing, staring at the drawing of a little girl he'd just drawn, kneeling at a gravestone in a cemetary. "Hmm, tears are colorless....so is most cemetary scenery. Blacks. Greys with dark blue hues." On a dry erase board behind him were several titles he had marked and several titles crossed out. On the wall to the left were three framed book covers of his, blown up to 24x24's, placed in golden frames - One over the television, the other two on both sides of the hallway, in ascending order from first to most recent:

The Immature Shark
Bananas For Toby
What Happened To Sarah's Face?

As a teenager Shane would babysit his two young cousins and draw funny pictures for them to hang up in their bedrooms with thumbtacks and Scotch tape, which eventually led into a means to pay bills. At 22, Shane had become an American treasure for his children's books. Bananas For Toby paid for his apartment for a year and a half, and lined his liquor cabinets with a supply he hadn't yet burned through. The inscription to What Happened To Sarah's Face? read as follows - "To my lovely wife Claire, my beatiful seashell." Claire had been in Paris for a year without any phone calls. Shane assumed she had taken care of the divorce settlements, which he never wanted but she showed initiative towards upon departing for no reason other than to surround herself with relics of her dead sister rather than being the spouse to Shane that he had saught after, cared for, married, loved, indirectly destroyed. He would dedicate his new book to her, along with a plea to come home, which she would expectedly ignore.
Shane slopped splashes of blueish grey paints on the tombstones, the sky, the girl's dress. While fidgetting with a Zippo on the edge of running out of fuel, his doorbell rang. He straightened up his work station. He opened the door and invited Margaret Kinney inside.

"The care and time you've taken on this current project have exceeded contract length, but I have faith in you Shane."
Shane disappeared to the kitchen as she paced around his living room, wiping smudges off of his book covers, straightning books on the shelves and placing empty glasses on their coasters.
"Jameson is all I have opened, and I don't know many drinks with Bourbon, but I have Coke. Is that fine?"
"That's fine," she cried as she was arranging his television remotes in perfect order on top of his entertainment center. He came back with two tall glasses and the two took a seat. Margaret was Shane's publisher and agent. A young and gorgeous woman with shoulder length brown hair, neat and shiny, done up in a send-up of 50's Hollywood without the boredome and banality. With naturally beatiful lips, she never had to wear lipstick.
"I'm only halfway done with the drawings Margaret and I haven't written and ounce of text to accompany them, but I assure you I have a plot outlined. I'd give it another two weeks and then it'll be ready."
Margaret sank into the couch with her highball and crossed her legs. Her skirt rode up her calves and Shane averted his eyes from her cornflour baby blue panties. In 2003 a large gathering was thrown for Shane upon the succes of The Immature Shark at the Dago Hotel in Pittsburgh. After a few drinks Shane had forced his tongue into Margaret's mouth and she forcefully declined his advance. Several years later after the critical reviews but renownwed shunnery of What Happened to Sarah's Face? she attepmted to give him advice on his next book; "Stray away from life lessons that could send parents up in arms." He made another move on her that night. She accepted and the two fucked in the coatcheck at the reccesion which was held at Spitzer's in Portland. Claire was at home, asleep with a migraine.

"Can I see some of the drawings?"
Shane gathered a large folder and tossed them at her. She dug through them quickly, almost as if she was looking for something in particular.
"I see graveyards, and an ambulance, and a lot of people crying and a girl standing at the edge of a cliff yelling at the sky...but I don't see what the theme is. I mean, I do, but maybe I just don't understand. Care to explain, Shane?"
Shane sat up in his chair and wiped his mouth off. He threw his hands to his face to explain in body language along with his words but stopped short and put them back to his sides.
"The book is about a girl named Lauralynn. During a trip to the park with her family, her brother Josiah runs into the street to fetch a ball and is hit by a car. After the funeral Lauralynn has a hard time grasping where her brother has gone to. She's a little girl and the concept of death is beyond her. She travels through her town asking people if they have seen Josiah and no one can put it into a contex that she can understand. Towards the end, she realizes the idea. She recollects the events from that tragic day and after hearing many viewpoints on life and death, she finally realizes that her brother is dead."
Margaret sits her drink down and rubs her temples.
"Are you fucking with me, Shane?"
"No, I'm not. This is a life lesson, Margaret. This is a lesson to many children who are not being taught about life and death and the afterlife or the lack of an afterlife. Parents view it a touchy subject, and I'm trying to....what I'm doing is revolutionary, Margaret!"
"It's not marketable, Shane. Your last book wasn't marketable and it almost got you dropped from Merkin and Berman. You turned in a book on puberty and I swear to you, I almost wanted to give up on you."
Shane stood up and wen into the kitchen to refill his drink. He drank it down and started on another one. Margaret followed him, resting against the counters where Shane was frantically mixing and drinking. She wiped the hair out of his face.
"So why didn't you give up on me?"
"Well, because I guess I didn't want another woman to walk out on you."
Shane sat his glass in the sink and turned his back to her. She rested a hand on his shoulder.
"But a day has to come where you pull your head out of your fucking ass, take a deep breath and realize that Claire will never come back to you."
In a flash of whirlwind Shane turned to her and slapped her hard across the face, knocking her to the floor. He pounced ontop of her, holding her hands down as he slapped her again. She broke a wrist free and landed her fist into his teeth, cutting his lip open onto her shirt. The two wrestled on the white carpet, exchanging smacks and wrapping their bodies around each other like tangled tree branches blwoing during a storm. Shane had her pinned. Holding one of her arms back, he opened the button on his fly and unzipped his pants. With her free hand she did likewise. Shane slipped her skirt off and shoved his finger into those baby blue panties. She pulled them off, grabbed his cock and forced it into her. The two lay on the carpet, beaten, sweaty, a bloody mess and fucking underneath Bananas For Toby.

Shane stood on his balcony in the nude, smoking a cigarette and bleeding onto the sidewalk. Margaret joined him fully dressed, fixing her hair and hiding her blemishes with make-up.
"Is this cut covered up?"
She closed her pocket mirror and placed it back into her Robert Goldman purse. She handed Shane a tissue to wipe the blood from his mouth.
"Two weeks is the longest I can wait. Please have the book ready by then."
"I'll try."
"Do you have a title?"
Shane opened the sliding glass door, and Margaret stepped back inside.
"Where Did Josiah Go?"
Margaret smiled and then showed herself out. Shane sat back at his work station nude, positioning himself so he wouldn't sit on his penis. He loaded a blank sheet of paper into his typewriter and began -
"For Mother, Claire and Margaret - Because every girl is the end of the world for me."
Poor advice.
Last edited by stellar_legs at Dec 22, 2008,
loved the connection to the other one about claire.

umm only thing i can think to point out is that i thought calves should be thighs here

Her skirt rode up her calves and Shane averted his eyes from her cornflour baby blue panties.

cause riding up the calves sounds like a skirt too long to expose any underwear unless she was pulling it up.

otherwise it was another great read. To be honest though, it was a little slow. Not that the pace wasn't warranted, it just wasn't something I was drawn into keeping with as much as your other stuff. There wasn't much to hook me into the slow pace in the beginning.

pleasure to read as usual. Ending was awesome.
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me
Thank you.

I've been softening a bit as far as writing stories, I believe. I've written about pedophiles, jerking off in Hobby Lobby bathrooms, suicide pacts, etc. I'm trying to step back and write characters, rather than a shocking scene of events that play out. This and my last story were intentionally very slow building.

There's a still a lot I have to learn as a writer, as with everyone.
Poor advice.
I understand. I think you're doing a great job at it. But I think you know what I mean.
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me