So...I'm wanting to be a writer, and I've currently working on a book idea. The basic premise is that various people around the globe start becoming a new generation of gods. First they manifest superhero levels of power, but eventually they become virtually omnipotent in their purview. Here's my first chapter which focuses on my Death god character
Gods and Men
By Dr. James Semaj
Chapter One
The sun was bright in the sky; it's glorious beams playing across the cars metallic sheen like laughing children. A sea breeze blew its way through the streets, lessening the oppressive heat to an enjoyable level. The smog that oftentimes pervaded rush hour in Los Angeles was also notably absent, even though it was as busy as ever. The day was California at it's most glorious.
Or at least so it seemed to Gabriel. He lowered the windows down so that he could experience the beautiful weather. It was always beautiful in the morning, even more so because of his company. His daughter, Eliza, was sitting in the passenger seat, firmly buckled in and smiling. His job often meant that Eliza's baby-sitter saw more of her than he did, something that drove Gabriel crazy but that couldn't be helped. The quality time he hankered for was restricted to the mornings, when he drove Eliza to school on the way to the hospital. It was the best part of his day, his time to be with his child, to see what she was doing and what she was interested in. He had never opted not to take her, nor had he ever been late to get her to school. He took pride in that.
Eliza looked like a younger, feminine version of her father. She had the same handsome face, the high cheekbones and the large expressive eyes. They both had black hair, but Eliza's was the raven color of youth while years of hard work and harder worry had changed Gabriel's hair to the color of ash. They both had a glow of health in their complexion, something that always made the both of them look fit, no matter what their health actually was.. Eliza was twelve to her father's forty-eight, evident in the contrast between her smooth face and the worry lines that marked her father. Both of them were tall and solid in build, but their demeanor changed the effect. Gabriel's dour and thoughtful expressions made him intimidating; a terror to boyfriend's to come, while Eliza's intelligent and cheerful nature would spell love struck doom to many an adolescent boy.
The only thing about her appearance that suggested her mother was her eye color. They both shared the exact same hazel hue. It always made Gabriel think of Mary when he looked in Eliza's eyes. She had died in childbirth, leaving Gabriel to raise Eliza alone. He didn't talk about her much, so Eliza had turned to other relatives for information. It was a happy family regardless, he thought.
Eliza had inherited most of her appearance from her father, but Mary came through in her personality. She had the same fiery personality; she was quick to argue but just as quick to apologize. Mary had been
"Are you picking me up from school today, Daddy?" Eliza said, more curious that concerned. Gabriel winced anyway, and looked at her in the rear-view mirror.
"Sorry Lizzie, Uncle Nick will pick you up. I'm going to be working late tonight." He had to work late more than he liked, but his patients required a lot of attention. Mr. Conrad in particular worried him. None of the antibiotics seemed to be helping.
"Okay." Eliza said, her tone containing all the enthusiasm of a vegan at a steakhouse. Gabriel smiled despite himself; he didn't like that she was growing independent of him so soon, but it also made him proud as hell. A year ago, she would have been horrified at the thought of him not being there to take her home, now she couldn't care less who drove, as long as she got there eventually.
"So, are you looking forward to school today?" He knew it was an idiot-dad question, but he still liked to ask it anyway. Eliza looked at him sarcastically, somehow managing to imply an eye-roll without actually doing so.
"Not really." It was the answer she gave every day. The girl detested school, despite all that she learned. Even when she would proudly spout out some newly acquired knowledge, she would still refuse to acknowledge any positive side to the seven-hour imprisonment.
"Understood. Did you learn anything interesting yesterday?" This was also part of his daily inquisition, one that met with a touch more enthusiasm.
"Ya! We started reading the Phantom Tollbooth in English. Tock is awesome!" Her eyes light up and Gabriel gets a warm feeling in his stomach. He could remember when Eliza had been a little girl, pleading for him to teach her to read. She was desperate to read, her curiosity drove her insane. She wasn't in school yet though, and he was afraid that if she knew how to read then she'd be bored stiff her first year of school. Saying no had been horrible, but now he was glad he had. Her never-ending enthusiasm about reading was a wonderful thing.
"I remember when I read that. It was a good book. What part are you on?"
"Tock and Milo have just escaped from the Doldrums."
"You're at the very beginning, it'll just get better as you go." Gabriel flashed a grin and looked out the rear view mirror. Traffic was beginning to fill the roads, and soon it would be rush hour. If Eliza was going to get to school on time he would have to hurry up. He put a bit of pressure on the gas pedal and watched as the scenery went by faster.
"So, Eliza what else did you learn yesterday?" He sort of hoped that she didn't learn anything new in math. She was in such a good mood, he would hate for it to be ruined by the mention of mathematics, her most hated subject. Personally, Gabriel couldn't blame her. Math was the most mind-numbing thing he'd ever done in school, and the only thing he'd ever had trouble with. It irked him that his daughter had inherited his problem with numbers. Mary had been great with numbers.
Every time they learned something new, she had trouble with it, which upset her like nothing else. His daddy-reflexes would want to kick in and make the math go away, but he knew that that would be an exercise in futility. Math was something that you had to be dealt with, like taxes and M&M conferences.
"In science we're learning about invertebrates, and in social studies we're learning about the Civil War." She pointedly did not tell him about math, which meant that it was his job to broach the subject.
"And what about in math?" She sighed and frowned.
"Math's retarded."
"Watch your language."
"Well it is! All those stupid numbers and symbols that don't mean anything..." The rest dissolved into undecipherable mumbling. Gabriel groaned inwardly. He turned towards his daughter, and put on a serious face.
"Are you having trouble again, Lizzie?" She looked up at him with second-hand resentment. She wasn't angry at him specifically, but he was forcing her to face her frustration, something she really did not want to do. Gabriel knew that pushing her was useless so he waited for her to speak. After a couple minutes of awkward silence, she reluctantly spoke up.
"We're doing fractions. I can't do the multiplication, doesn't make any sense." Ah, that made sense. Fractions. Gabriel had hated them especially when he was in school.
"Do you want me to get you a tutor?" She didn't say anything. He could feel the beginnings of a fight. Eliza had refused to get a tutor to help her with math, even saying the word made her ornery. And it had started out as such a fine day...
"Look Lizzie, I know you don't want a tutor, but it would make things so much easier for you. Sometimes you need to know when to ask for help. No one can do everything by themselves."
"Daddy, look out!" There was a screeching noise, and Gabriel turned just in time to see a dark gray truck hurtling at them. Gabriel hit the brakes instinctively, and the truck plowed into their van. Eliza screamed, and Gabriel tumbled forward, realizing too late that he had forgotten to put his seatbelt on. It was a fatal mistake in retrospect. He hit the windshield face first, and it shattered, filling his vision with red.
He felt weightless for a split second and then he slammed into something hard and metallic. He bounced off and hit the pavement hard, his head striking hard against the ground. He stayed there, his limbs refusing to work. He couldn't see, everything hurt, and he was having a hard time staying awake. He was laying in something wet, and there was a coppery taste in his mouth. Blood. He tried to recall something from medical school that might help, but nothing could get through the fog of his thoughts. Images appeared in his frame of view, a man with a dog's head holding a human heart, a man with eyes like hot coals and hair like smoke cradling a pomegranate. Both visions disappeared, only to be replacing by stranger ones. A woman whose face was evenly divided between eye watering putrescence and breath taking beauty smiled coldly down at him, her contrasting eyes glittering with malicious humor. Gabriel's will was weakening, and finally he couldn't stay conscious any longer. He passed out. The two-faced woman laughed.
Amid the darkness, Gabriel could see some of the figures had returned. The man with the pomegranate stared bleakly at him, his ashen robes trailing smoke. He was joined by a bloody skeleton wearing a headdress of feathers and a necklace of eyeballs. The skeleton leered at him from a pair of teary eyes stuck in the fleshless skull, his arm perched across the shoulders of another skeleton, a woman in a wedding gown. The figures watched him for several seconds, speaking among themselves in languages he couldn't understand, before disappearing into a cloud of dust.
Gabriel hurt. He couldn't a specific point of origin. The pain was everywhere but especially in his limbs and in his face. The agony made him want to cry out, to scream, but when he tried nothing came out. He wished he could see; find out where Eliza was. His fear that she was injured hurt worse than his own wounds.
"God damn it! Help me get his clothes off these scissors are useless. This guy's a mess, a poster child for seat belts. God, I hate car accidents." Gabriel couldn't see whoever was speaking, and he was having a hard time understanding what they were talking about. Something about scissors? Another voice came, this one deeper, craggier.
"I've checked out the other two. The little girl's fine, just scared and a little bruised. The guy in the truck is okay too, falling down drunk, but okay." The craggy voice sounded furious at this.
"Figures. Drunk driver comes out perfectly fine, while the Dad is the one whose face gets carved off. Figures. Get me a gurney. This guy needs to get to a hospital fast."
Gabriel felt himself being lifted and laid down on something. A gurney he assumed. A couple seconds later, he found himself being bounced around, and he could hear street sounds. I'm on an ambulance, he thought, but he couldn't remember exactly what an ambulance was.
Gabriel tried to move, to do something, but he was held tight by something. The voices were talking again, and eventually when his attempts to free himself failed, he started listening to what was being said.
"So what all's wrong with this guy?"
"Look at him!" He's got lacerations all over his body, especially on his face and arms. He's got pieces of glass imbedded in his face, and I'm pretty sure he's bleeding internally. There are definitely a couple fractured ribs, and his left leg is broken in at least two places. If we save him, he's going to need a lot of reconstructive surgery, poor guy."
"Mother of god. What happened?"
"Car accident. Drunk driver hit him and his daughter."
"How's the girl?"
"Fine. Just terrified and she'll probably have some bruising from her seat belt."
"What about the drunk who hit them."
"Bastard came out without even a scratch."
"Wonderful."
Gabriel blacked out again. By the time he came to, the voices had stopped talking. He was still in agony, but comforted by the fact that Eliza was okay.
He was hallucinating again, the dog-headed man had returned. He was eating the human heart now, and he winked at Gabriel before vanishing. There was an odd wrenching feeling in Gabriel's chest, and a whining noise filled the ambulance.
"Oh god, we're losing him! Get me the defibs." There was a pause, and then: "Okay...clear." Something painful wracked his chest, but it was lost among the other aches and pains. The whining continued.
"Again!" There was another pause. "Clear!" The pain hit again, and now Gabriel could see two new figures. One was a tall black man in a suit and top hat. His face was painted like a skull, and he had a cigar clenched between his teeth. He was twirling a cane with a silver skull shaped head. The other was an old man in chain mail armor. He was massive, with a strong but infinitely wise face. One of his eyes was missing and covered with an eye-patch. He looked sadly at Gabriel and turned to leave. He stopped and looked back at Skull-Face, saying something. Gabriel couldn't hear it, nor could he hear anything else now. He felt cold. Everything was going dark, and even the little blasts of pain in his chest were fading away. Right before his vision failed him and everything went black, he saw the skull-faced man beckon to him, a bottle of rum in his hands.
Eliza...
So, tell me what you think. Sorry if it's long.
BY the way, how do you indent on this thing?
Shit. Put this in the wrong part of the site, didn't I?
Either here or Bring & Brag would be fine, I think. I think everybody is just waiting for someone else to read it and say "wow read this, it's awesome" :-)
QuoteThe basic premise is that various people around the globe start becoming a new generation of gods. First they manifest superhero levels of power, but eventually they become virtually omnipotent in their purview.
You should check out Roger Zelazny's
Lord of Light.
Editor's notes:
Quotein the sky; it's glorious beams
Possessive form of it: "its."
Quoteacross the cars metallic sheen
"cars' metallic sheens" (plural), or "car's metallic sheen" (singular)
QuoteCalifornia at it's most glorious
"its"
QuoteHe lowered the windows down so that
Unnecessary "down," distracting. (He lowered the windows... up?)
QuoteIt was always beautiful in the morning, even more so because of his company
Shifted universality. "It was always beautiful in the morning, and even more so today because of his company."
Quotehim intimidating; a terror to boyfriend's to come
"boyfriends"
Quotewould spell love struck doom
"love-struck"
Quoteshe was quick to argue but just as quick to apologize. Mary had been
Fragment, also unterminated. Suggestion: "she was just as quick to argue and just as quick to apologize as Mary had been."
QuoteHer eyes light up and Gabriel gets a warm feeling in his stomach.
Tense mismatch (sentence in present, surrounding text in past). "Her eyes lit up and Gabriel got a warm feeling in his stomach."
QuoteSo, Eliza what else did you learn yesterday?
"So, Eliza, what else did..."
QuoteHe couldn't a specific point of origin.
Missing word. Suggestion: "He couldn't name a specific point of origin."
QuoteHelp me get his clothes off these scissors are useless.
"Help me get off his clothes, these scissors are useless."
OR
"Help me get off his clothes! These scissors are useless!"
Other notes:
I'd be happier if you showed more of the Ghede Loa. They're kind of a package thing. Also, if you're intending to show off Samedi (the most commonly referred-to one), you're missing some of his accoutrements.
Your characterization of Odin is a bit modernized. Not necessarily a problem, just sayin'.
Good start.
Ah. Okay. Fair enough.
QuoteI'd be happier if you showed more of the Ghede Loa. They're kind of a package thing. Also, if you're intending to show off Samedi (the most commonly referred-to one), you're missing some of his accoutrements.
The idea was to try and get the idea across without being to blatant. I could have gone in depth with all the nasal voice and the glasses missing one lens and all of that, but I though it would have messed with the flow of the story.
Thanks for the critique. I'm going to check the spelling stuff on the word document.
Quote from: Dr. James Semaj on June 20, 2009, 01:12:37 AM
Ah. Okay. Fair enough.
Clarification: I enjoy the characterization, and I'm a sucker for obscure mythological references, but there's not enough here for me to judge this as a story given that I know it's a set up. Don't be disenheartened by the relative length of the editorial notes -- that's a matter of formatting, not a matter of relative attention paid to the story.
Quote from: Arafelis on June 20, 2009, 01:09:56 AM
You should check out Roger Zelazny's Lord of Light.
Perhaps the only down to earth simply intelligent thing you've said since you got here.
Quote from: Kai on June 20, 2009, 02:53:51 PM
Quote from: Arafelis on June 20, 2009, 01:09:56 AM
You should check out Roger Zelazny's Lord of Light.
Perhaps the only down to earth simply intelligent thing you've said since you got here.
That's not intelligence, Kai, that's
taste. And your massive projection issues and inability to follow simple conversation aside, it's nice to see your taste doesn't totally suck as well. :lulz:
he put you in your place kai :lulz: how dare you not no the difference between taste and intelligence
Not meaning to be rude, but if you're going to bash this Arefelis, please do it on another thread. I'm looking for criticism, and he's the first person to actually help in that regard.
since you asked nicely :D a certain amount of commenting on the comments of others is going to happen... (especially condescending ones by noobs aimed at well liked regulars)
i liked your story, the only thing i saw that pulled me out of it was the dialogue in the ambulance, EMT have a recognizable way of talking about patients and accidents and i had to re read that part to figure who the dialogue belonged to and where it was taking place. it might help to redo it in EMT speak (typical EMT language)
Hmm. Okay. Look into that.
Quotei liked your story, the only thing i saw that pulled me out of it was the dialogue in the ambulance, EMT have a recognizable way of talking about patients and accidents and i had to re read that part to figure who the dialogue belonged to and where it was taking place. it might help to redo it in EMT speak (typical EMT language)
My Dad was an EMT, so I might be able to get some lingo tips from him. Good suggestion. The assistance in most appreciated.
This is the second chapter of my book. This is telling of the power manifestation of my Solar/Justice deity, Nick Calvino. So, tell me what you think.
Chapter Two
Nick Calvino waited. The trial was taking forever, a bad sign if he ever saw one. The jury had been out for five hours, and Nick had thought it was a cut and dry case. Guilty, not guilty, the suspense was almost painful. Nick hated it. He just wanted the courthouse doors to open and to hear the words "guilty" on everyone's' lips. Until then he sat in his half dead, gray sedan, sipping coffee and reading the Fellowship of the Ring. It was his favorite book, and it helped to get his mind of the damn trial. It was like this every time he got emotionally invested in a case. He would spend weeks poring over evidence and reviewing witnesses until he caught a suspect. Then, when the court day came and his perp was going to be judged, he could never stand to watch.
New York City, the Big Apple, was his home, and his kingdom. He'd been born there twenty-nine years ago, and had never been more than thirty miles outside of the city limits. Nick loved NYC, which combined with his love fantasy and its larger than life heroes drove him to the police force. He wanted to protect his city from the bad guys. When he had first decided to become a cop he had thought it would be like living in a Dashiel Hammet story. When he finally did get his badge, he had discovered that police work involved little heroics. Mostly, it was walking and talking, with the occasional bit of bureaucratic nonsense.
Nick was Italian by descent and it showed in his looks. He had the kind of face usually seen in statues sculpted by Michaelangelo, with the perfectly formed mouth and the strong chin. He had pale blue eyes, which twinkled when he laughed, and golden blonde hair, which was just long enough to get him labeled as either gay or a hippie. His hair lent him a leonine aspect, which was evident in his every movement. He moved stealthily and subtlety, which manifested in an off-putting tendency to appear and disappear when you weren't looking. He was muscular, but his muscle definition meant that even if he didn't exercise he would still have a six-pack. His wardrobe was eclectic, shifting back and forth between three piece suits and Hawaiian shirts and denim shorts. In short, he was an Adonis, and had been nicknamed Golden Boy his first day on the force, later being dubbed Pretty Boy when he became a detective.
Despite his looks, Nick had never really been much of a ladies man. He had had one or two girlfriends in high school, and a couple woman cops he had drinks with after work, but aside from that he lived the bachelor life. The problem was his work, which he was thoroughly addicted to. He worked lots of overtime, went over case files during breakfast and dinner, and listened to recordings of interrogations when he couldn't sleep, which was often. He was an extreme workaholic, which partly explained why he had earned his detective's shield so quickly. Nick was aware of his over zealous nature, but considered it a strength rather than a problem. Unfortunately, his focus on his work kept leading him into situations like this.
This case in particular had driven him to new heights of obsession. It was his first serial case, a rapist murderer who had been stalking Coney Island. Dubbed the Demon of Coney Island, the case had awakened Nick's desire to be a hero and fight the villains. He'd gotten the case, as he had responded to the first murder. He had been driving around Coney, having been ordered by the Captain to "get the hell out of the station and leave the case files alone". A call had come in; two beach goers had discovered a woman's body half buried in the beach.
The girl had been identified as a Ms. Kathleen Parker. She had been strangled, and the killer had buried her in the sand like kids always do. He'd probably even done it during the day, with everyone around. Autopsy reports had said that she had had sex shortly before death. Evidently the killer had known the victims. That had been the first victim, but there were several who came after. All of them were attractive women between the years of twenty and thirty; all blondes, and all of them had had sex, probably with their killer, shortly before being killed. Finally, they had all been dressed either for a night on the town or a trip to the beach, and all of them had been killed on Coney Island.
From the evidence we had figured out how the killer got to his victims. He probably only knew them as acquaintances, but he would ask them out on a date to Coney, and they said yes. So, the killer and his victim would go to Coney and have a great time, and then our killer would suggest an out-of-the-way place to have sex, someplace where he wouldn't be disturbed. After they finish, the victim is relaxed and doesn't expect her date to suddenly put his hands on her throat and squeeze. She tries to fight, but our killer is in good shape and he keeps her pinned down. Minutes go by, and finally the poor girl has had the last of her life forced out of her.
Now came the tricky part for the killer. He had to dispose of the body and make sure he can't be tied to it. So, the killer takes off all of his victim's cloths, and stashes them somewhere. He would then put the girl somewhere she wouldn't be found. After his first kill he changed his strategy. Instead of hiding the corpse in plain sight like with Kathleen, he would put her in a black garbage bag and dump her in a random alleyway.
Nick had fixated on the case. He went whole days without sleep, poring over every detail until finally passing out on his desk. Finally, he had found a link between the victims, whose numbers had risen to six. All of them frequently went to Broadway shows. He got the ticket sales and seats for the shows the victims went to a narrowed it down to the five or so men who had been to all of the shows the girl had been to.
It was quickly obvious who the killer was as soon as he was brought in for questioning. He was tall, blond haired, handsome, and he radiated a kind of hypnotic charm. His charm made it easy to ignore his eyes. They were green, and expressive. He seemed to be the least likely of the suspects when the brought him in. But then he saw a woman. Before then he had been cordial, polite, and his body language cheerfully proclaimed him to be a man's man. But when he saw Officer McCaffrey, a classic red haired Irish beauty, he suddenly turned into a predator. His eyes had caught hers with a terrifying intensity, and suddenly his friendly "good guy" demeanor had been replaced by a smoldering aura of masculine sexuality. Every guy in the vicinity suddenly got red-faced and uncomfortable looking, while the women, especially McCaffrey, became quite attentive.
"Hello ma'am." He said, somehow managing to imply a whole hell of lot with two words. McCaffrey was having a hard time focusing.
At this point Nick had grabbed the killer, Ethan Majors by name, by the collar and dragged him into the interrogation room. He felt triumphant. Nick had caught his man. Now it was only the matter of a DNA test to match Majors' genes to the sperm found in the victims and he would go to prison for life. Simple.
But, when they'd taken the sick bastard to court, his lawyer had gotten the results for the DNA test thrown out. Someone had screwed up; make a procedural mistake. The principal piece of evidence had been deemed inadmissible. The DNA had even matched. What would have been an easy case suddenly became a circus.
Nick had sat through the whole thing. He'd seen the endless parade of witnesses, experts, all of the bullcrap that got thrown into any court case. He'd been called to the stand and asked the standard questions; what brought him to the suspect, was the suspect cooperative with the investigation, etcetera.
By the time he had left the stand, Nick was confident in a conviction. Even without the DNA match, there was enough evidence to get Majors. They had witnesses who saw the victims with a man matching Majors description, ticket stubs from various rides at Coney, all kinds of little things that point to him as the killer. But then of course, Majors came to the stand. There was no predator, no psychopath this time. Even with a woman prosecutor, he was a charming, friendly, and cooperative. He was brilliant, answering every question succinctly and accurately, with the wording and tone turning every query to his favor. He had the jury wrapped around his little finger by the time he left the stand.
It infuriated Nick how susceptible the jury was to charm. Even the judge liked him. As Majors answered question after question, Nick saw juror after juror make a judgment call. He could see each of them concluding that Majors was a nice guy who couldn't have committed the rape and murder of six women. The Prosecution wasn't blind to it either, and had tried to goad him into making a mistake, to reveal what he really was. Majors kept it cool the entire time. They even had McCaffrey testify to his behavior, but that didn't face Majors or sway the jury's opinions.
Now, he was sitting in his car, waiting for the disgusting incident to be over. Nick tried to focus on Fellowship, but he kept thinking of the way Majors acted at the station and the way he acted in court. It wasn't justice that was driving this case; it was a silver tongue and gullible minds. They couldn't afford to let Majors go. As soon as he slipped the charges, he would make a run for it, and they'd never catch him.
Nick grabbed his coffee and took a long drink from it. Another hours passed him by, filed with bitterness and anger. Then, there was a commotion from inside the courthouse, the muffled roar of many feet on marble floors, and voices off of marble walls. The courthouse door opened and a mass of people poured out. There was the shouting of many people, some elated, others angry. Intermixed with this were the yapping voices of reporters talking into their microphones. Nick rolled down his window slowly, half afraid of hearing the results of the trial. The first words he heard stole his breath and knocked the ground out from underneath him. Not Guilty.
"...Act of Justice..."
"...Police Witch hunt..."
"...Lack of evidence..."
"...Harassment..."
"...Innocent..."
"...Demon..."
"...Not Guilty..."
Nick couldn't see straight. He couldn't remember being as angry as he was now. His hands were shaking, and all of instincts as a cop and as a human being were screaming for blood. Justice had failed. The system had let another monster slip through it's fingers and go back to filling the streets with blood. Women's blood. Nick hadn't realized how much this case had gotten to him. Maybe it was because the crimes had offended his sense of decency, or because the perpetrator looked so much like him. The reason didn't matter; this travesty couldn't be allowed to stand. Nick yanked his gun from his holster and flicked the safety off. A little voice in his head, one he didn't recognize, whispered encouragements to him.
Go on. Kill him. You know you want to, and more than that you know it's right. It's real justice. Not this mess of courts and appeals that lets killers go free every day. Real justice is done at sword point, watching the light drain from a criminals eyes as you make the world a little cleaner. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, as it should be. So do it. Now. Don't hesitate! You have the power; use it!
In his rear view mirror Nick could see a golden man staring at him. He had a bow and arrow on his lap and he was looking expectantly at Nick. Nick turned around, but no one was sitting in the back seat. Nick shrugged it off. Must have been seeing things, he reasoned. Turning back to the gun, Nick checked the clip to make sure it was full. He was filled with a certainty of purpose that both elated and terrified him.
Nick shoved the gun into his coat pocket, and got out of the car. He looked into the crowd, looking for his man. Amidst a yammering horde of rabid journalists stood Majors, his mouth stretched into a triumphantly happy rictus. Standing behind him were three winged women with burning hair and lashes gripped loosely in contrastingly delicate hands. They screamed out encouragements with voices like broken glass. Nick stopped and stared at them, his confidence scattered to the winds. The things howled their frustration and faded into the shadows. Nick pulled out the gun and stared at it.
"What was I about to do?" He said to himself. A mix of shame and terror flooded him. He sat down on the hood of his car and hastily toggled the safety back on the gun. His hands were still shaking, but now it was from what he had been prepared to do.
"That's not justice. That's not policing, okay maybe Gestapo policing, but not real police work." He whispered to himself. "Never, ever, do that again. God, you need a vacation if you're getting that close to the edge. And what were those things? I might need a psychiatrist to0. Christ..." He pulled out a packet of gum and unwrapped a piece. Popping it into his mouth, he looked back at Majors. The monster was still talking to the reporters, probably bad mouthing the force in some way. He sighed and put the packet back into his coat pocket, with his gun.
He turned to go back into the car, coming face to face with an Asian woman of indescribable beauty. She wore a kimono of red and white, and like the golden man, she had a bow and quiver in her hands. She stared him in the eyes, disapproval etched into every angelic feature. Nick stared at her open mouthed for a second, taking a moment to fight down his libido before talking.
"Okay, who are you people?" He asked, fixing his eyes onto hers just as steadfastly as she to his. The women didn't say a word, just continued to look at him.
"What do you want with me?" He demanded, beginning to get angry despite himself. The women continued to ignore him.
"For god's sake, what do you want?" He yelled, finally goading the woman to reply. She didn't say anything, just gestured to her left. Nick looked to where she gestured and saw the golden man standing with the women things a couple yards away. The monsters were howling with disturbing glee, striking each other with their lashes, leaving ugly welts on their naked flesh. The golden man ignored them and pulled out his bow. He took one of the arrows out of the quiver on his back and inserted it into the bow. He turned, aimed, and pulled back the bow. Nick looked at where the bow was pointed and saw Majors.
Justice.
Nick ran at Majors. The golden man was too far away, so Nick had to try and get Majors out of the way. He had to protect and serve, even if it was protecting a murdering psycho. Majors turned and saw Nick, his eyes were suddenly filled with fear. Nick screamed for him to get down, but the autumn wind drowned out his voice, rendering it impossible to understand. The crowd around Majors stared at Nick as he charged toward them, their expressions confused.
"Don't you see the guy with the bow, you idiots? Get down!" Nick yelled, but once again the howling wind turned his words into gibberish. It didn't matter; he was only a couple of feet from Majors, who was rooted to the spot, staring fearfully at Nick. Suddenly, Nick heard the twang of the bowstring being released, and there was a bright light, blinding Nick. He stopped and covered his eyes, which were burning from the light's intensity.
A moment stretched into forever, and finally the light faded, except for a bright glow the source of which Nick couldn't identify. He was too busy staring at Majors.
The killer had a hole in his chest, six inches in diameter. It went through his entire body, so that one could look through his chest cavity and see the courthouse behind him, a marble section of which was melting sluggishly. Majors stared down at the wound, all the color gone from his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out but a death rattle. Ethan Majors crumpled, his dead body striking the concrete with a loud thump. No one moved; everything was silent.
Slowly, everyone looked at Nick with a mixture of awe and mortal terror. Nick wanted to say something, to tell them it wasn't him, but when he turned to point at the golden man and his accomplices they were nowhere in sight.
There was still the odd glow that seemed to be coming from somewhere near him. Nick turned around to try and locate the source but there was nothing around him that was emanating the golden light. A scary thought suddenly occurred to Nick, and he looked down at himself. His flesh was now golden, and bright light flowed from out of his skin.
"What's happened to me?" He stared at his gold hands, and tried to think of something to do. The only thing that occurred to him was to get away from here.
"I want to be home." He said without realizing, and there was another flash of blinding light. It faded, and Nick was now standing in his kitchen. He didn't bother to question what happened and stumbled into his living room and sat down on his couch heavily. He put his face in his hands, and tried not to think about what had happened. He struggled to not think of Majors, or how he was killed. But despite all of his efforts, one word echoed through his thoughts until sleep finally took him.
Justice.