Some Garbage
OK. So this is my new blog where I'll be posting whimsical fancies and reposting some older posts I originally put on Wordpress.
For my first post I decided to post a small section of the book I'm currently working on – since it's not likely to be finished anytime soon! I chose the below because it doesn't reveal too much about the novel, and it kinda asks more questions than it answers and I like that.
We're only talking first draft here, so you might think it's garbage ... and you could be right.
I feel like I should also give a content warning because the piece below does contain some minor violence. I have no idea what level of age restriction one should put onto a bunch of words, but just be warned all the same.
Enjoy!
Kār looks out at the ships sailing silently across the void, as they come in to dock, smoothly, steadily, and as they set off, gliding back out to space. The vast sheet of glass before xher presents an overwhelming view: an intense infinity of blackness, speckled with piercing dots of white. The hum of an air filtration unit permeates the scene, perpetual, relentless, a distinct lousy drone of humanness souring the vista. The grey metal table xhe sits at, which runs along the entire glass wall, is soiled with spillages and crumbs, begging to be cleaned. Xhe lifts her plastic cup of tautoi coffee and consumes some of it, pretending to drink it by administering the liquid into a storage cavity in xher body. Xhe is wearing a short, black, bobbed wig and a grey suit with trousers. Xhe looks positively ordinary: some office type on a business trip, with an androgynous look to allow xher to subtly change gender according to need.
As xher eyes watch the ships, xher mind runs through the biometrics files given to xher by Cornthistle. Several of the Polemi officers are close enough in appearance for Kār to mimic convincingly; but one in particular, a Lieutenant-Commander Graza, is a very close match. Not only that, but his rank on the Gata-Star satellite defence network is perfect for access to that system. The spy information from Ataraxia says Graza should soon be docking at this station, returning from his routine trip from Soké. Kār’s eyes widen as xhe sees a Polemi ship sail into view.
This must be him.
A Polemi officer, seated across the room, stands and leaves his table, walking with privilege and arrogance, passing way too close to the tables of other diners – a deliberate gesture since the place is virtually empty. His boots clump against the hard floor, breaking the quiet, chiming with the drone of the sir filtration. Kār has been keeping xher eye on him for some time, and xhe stands to follow him out, delaying a second or two to make xher stalking less obvious. Xhe broadens xher jaw a little to make xherself look more masculine; and while xhe pretends to stretch and take deep breaths, xhe broadens xher shoulders. Anyone looking isn’t likely to notice the subtle changes. Xhe ties xher hair back, straightens xher suit, and walks out with a new masculine gait, to follow the officer.
A video arcade is just outside the restaurant door. Holographic characters of every kind fight or leap or perform sexually arousing movements to entice gamers to part with their cash. The Polemi officer marches past the arcade, an almost determination in his refusal to look at the games on offer. As anticipated, he enters the toilets, and Kār hurries to catch him up, slipping through the door just behind him.
He only just has time to reach the urinal before Kār stuns him by sending a shock into the back of his head from the palm of xher hand. He drops like a rock. Xhe catches him and drags him into an empty toilet cubicle. Thankfully, the toilets are empty. His shoes come off first, his socks too, placed safely on top of the toilet tank. Xhe pulls off his jacket and hangs it over the wall of the stall, then removes his shirt and trousers and hangs them up out the way too. Before xhe puts his clothes on, xhe pushes his head face down into the toilet bowl, pressing it down firmly with xher high-heel boot. There’s a slight crack as his skull partially caves in from the force. Xhe flushes the chain. With his head blocking the flow, the bowl fills up, and xhe holds his head under long enough for him to quietly drown. There is no struggle. Xhe pulls out xher dripping wet foot and removes xher clothes.
Xher discarded clothes are laid over the corpse of the officer. Xher jacket comes first, then xhe pulls off xher boots and socks, and xher wet trousers. Xher wet foot xhe dries on xher discarded shirt. Opening the storage cavity in xher chest, xhe takes out a shorter wig, stuffing the black bob inside and closing it. Xhe throws on the uniform and wig, adjusts her foot size to match the officer’s and puts on his socks and shoes. Exiting the stall, xhe closes the door behind xher. Xhe didn’t sense anyone enter; the place is still quiet. Placing the palm of xher hand on the door, xhe feels for the lock mechanism, and makes it to lock from the outside.
Over to the mirrors xhe straightens xher appearance, maintaining xher mannish build and fleshing out a little for a better fit. Xhe buttons the shirt and jacket and flattens folds in the fabric with xher hands. Xhe looks like a Polemi and the sight of xherself this way fills her with an intense self-loathing.
But what must be done must be done. Xhe leaves the toilets.
Over and out for now, guys!
xxx
