Every Wednesday from now until the end of the world, or the blog, I’m going to post a random bit of writing: a rhyme, something from an old folder or a work in progress, or if all else fails whatever random thing I scribbled down during the free-write warm up of my Tuesday Night Writers Club.
Today’s old scrap of nonsense is the opening to a (probably) supernatural crime story, as with previous Wednesdays a product of the free-write warm-up at the Madrid Writers Club.
This one hails back to mid-September, 2012 – that’s about nine months after I decided to go it full-time as a writer. It’s probably a miracle I’m still at it…
First glance said it had been lying there for months. In a walk-in freezer no less, working too for all that time if the utilities bill was accurate. Nevertheless, what had been a walking, talking human being not half a week earlier was now a quarter-inch pool of liquefied by-product with a clutter of bare, stained bones rising from it in the middle of the room, like an especially graphic tar-pits display.
Floss rapped his knuckles on the beef flank hanging from a ceiling hook. Frozen solid. Then he rooted in his trouser pocket and came out with a penny, tossed it off his thumbnail with a melodic ting. It plopped into the mess on the floor and disappeared with a small splash.
The ripples didn’t spread far.
I looked through the mist of our breath, and the warm air clouding in from the kitchen behind us to where the skull stared hollowly back at us. The ribs were an empty cage. If it wasn’t for the remains of the outfit, disintegrating more slowly in the gloop, there’d be no way to identify their former owner without actually getting our shoes dirty.
“You think that’s him?”
I looked at Floss, feeling just a little bit tired. “Who else?” A black-and-gold sequinned disco shirt with purple flares tends to stand out, even against a background of blood crimson and bile green. The platforms were missing, but otherwise…