Hi, this is technically fanfic, but in my own opinion, I always approach fanfic as If I were righting a book.
Fell free to critique me on any aspect of this extract. One part I coloured in red, since although I wanted to say that, it seems really awkward and clumsy. Also, I'm worried I might be to talkative in my narrative.
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The night was guarding its secrets closely; the sky was thick with black and purple, and an unusual smoke drifted this way and that.
Sweet Tooth grumbled irritably as Needle’s forced her up a particularly steep hill, thin streams of petrol followed behind; like the trails of slugs. Smoke issued out of the radiator, the engine shook and sobbed, threatening to give up at any moment. It wasn’t comfortable for the driver either, since one of the wheels had punctured and made the van increasingly volatile in its movements.
At the top of the hill, the distance smoke and flames pockmarked the sky, no doubt the area was flooded with police, national guard and god knows who else; but Calypso had probably already made good his escape.
Needles gripped tighter on the steering wheel, thoughts of Calypso cooling his boots on some tropical beach somewhere buzzed through his mind; he would be playing it safe.
‘Until next time ladies and gentlemen’. Yes. Until next time, and next time couldn’t come soon enough.
Needles was certain he wouldn’t loose again, he couldn’t! Next time he would win, he would be the best! He’d made a few mistakes this time, a few mistakes to many, but he would learn from those mistakes.
Those mistakes, which stared him right in the face in the form of the dishevelled ghost of Sweet Tooth. But he could rebuild her; make her stronger, faster and better than before.
He’d been so close this time. So goddamn stupid! He couldn’t get the thought out of his head, when the shard of metal had broke through his windscreen; it would’ve cut his head clean off it he weren’t so fast to duck. That funking yellow taxi! That fat revolting pig-of-a-taxi-driver had almost killed him. $hit!
Suddenly the ground beneath Sweet Tooth’s chain-covered wheels grew rough. Her one dimly lit headlamp caught sight of a blackened burnt-out heap, moments before she crashed into it. She then closed her eyes and had a little nap.
Needles was pissed, and rightly so. That shard, in fact more of a spear, had missed his neck, but severed his seatbelt. He flew out the windscreen; which as fate dictated had already been broken, thus saving him from a face full of glass. He missed the wreck and landed lightly, but not painlessly on the soft dirt; his belly absorbed most of the impact.
Groaning feebly, he rolled onto his back and sat up. He wiped his face with his hand, which was probably more closely related to a paw; it was bulky and had fat fingers attached to it.
Standing, he brushed dirt of his bare, hairy chest, wincing when his hand touched one of the fresh grazes on his body. One of the straps of his braces had snapped at some point, and his clown-pants were hanging lower on one side. Needles hissed in frustration, hiked them up to his waist and marched towards the dark silhouette called Sweet Tooth. Once there, he kicked her cheek with his steal-toe-capped boots, which resulted in a loud clank.
“You stupid idiot! Worthless!” he yelled. At the innocent truck, or maybe himself? Who knows what goes on in the mind of psychopath, who’d want to?
Besides certain well paid professionals, probably very few people.
He yanked open the door and clambered across to the drivers seat, the engine miraculously still grumbled along; although, it was much quieter and out-of-sync than before.
“Why won’t you shut up?” His large fingers gripped the key and turned it anti-clockwise. It took him a while to open the glove compartment, mainly due to the poor state his hand was in. He withdrew a bottle of pills, carefully opened them, and deposited 3 into his hand. The pills remained fearful as he gently rubbed the pad of finger along their lengths, then he raised them to his mouth and swallowed. Blood remained on his lips, and also on the pill bottle, which was returned to the glove compartment.
He raised his hand and felt cautiously on top of his head. Immediately his gut tightened. The glove compartment was once again flung open; he reached around and pulled out a torch. He flicked the switch and fumed at the pitiful beam it expelled, but it was better than nothing.
He jumped out and stomped off around the burnt-out car in the direction where he landed. A sick feeling began to rise in his stomach, his grip on the torch was insecure, warm liquid was crawling down his arm and wrapping around his fingers. It felt like he was trying to hold a bunch of slugs.
The touch swapped hands, and Needles wiped his hand on the back of his clown-pants. He panned the torch from side to side, keeping it low to the ground and almost horizontal in order to catch more ground with the light.
Finally he spotted it, and staggered forward, falling to his knees and gripping the clown mask securely in his hands. Carefully he checked it over with the torch; it wasn’t broken, so he put it on quickly.
There was a whisper of a crack, the bulb in the torch gave in, and Needles tossed the useless chunk of metal off into the dark, before returning to his scorched, white ice-cream truck, complete with pink polka dots.
He leaned back against the padded seat, then reached out and fumbled with the key once more. Sweet Tooth coughed and spluttered. Maybe it was a mistake to switch her off. But finally, after a minute of curses and threats to tear her into pieces, she got to her feat and shuddered into life.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Needle’s roared, and reversed his truck onto the road. There was a clunk as something was left behind in the dirt. He leaned forward to see what it was, but could make out nothing since Sweet Tooth’s eyes were closed.
Needles clambered into the back of his truck; the roof-mounted light shed little bits of light, but was more successful in creating bottomless shadows. A large trunk was crammed in amongst countless hydraulic beams and cables. He popped the trunk and reached his bear-like hands inside for a rummage, he retrieved a blue box, which fit just right in his large grip.
He fell back onto the front seats, kicked the driver-side door open, hopped out and trudged to Sweet Tooth’s jaws. Thick chains kept her jaws firmly shut, and he dug a paw in his pocket and retrieved a ring of keys. Selecting a small shiny gold key, although he recognised it by touch alone. He jammed it into the padlock, and pulled at the chains until they slumped onto the poor-quality road.
He opened the bonnet and pulled back as he caught a whiff of strong fumes.
“Poor thing,” he muttered.
He took a deep breath, and was about to dig his hand in when it dawned on him. He smacked a hand against his clown-mask and cursed. Nipping back to the cab, he reached in and extinguished Sweet Tooth’s heart for which he hoped wouldn’t be the last time.
Fell free to critique me on any aspect of this extract. One part I coloured in red, since although I wanted to say that, it seems really awkward and clumsy. Also, I'm worried I might be to talkative in my narrative.
_______________________________________________
The night was guarding its secrets closely; the sky was thick with black and purple, and an unusual smoke drifted this way and that.
Sweet Tooth grumbled irritably as Needle’s forced her up a particularly steep hill, thin streams of petrol followed behind; like the trails of slugs. Smoke issued out of the radiator, the engine shook and sobbed, threatening to give up at any moment. It wasn’t comfortable for the driver either, since one of the wheels had punctured and made the van increasingly volatile in its movements.
At the top of the hill, the distance smoke and flames pockmarked the sky, no doubt the area was flooded with police, national guard and god knows who else; but Calypso had probably already made good his escape.
Needles gripped tighter on the steering wheel, thoughts of Calypso cooling his boots on some tropical beach somewhere buzzed through his mind; he would be playing it safe.
‘Until next time ladies and gentlemen’. Yes. Until next time, and next time couldn’t come soon enough.
Needles was certain he wouldn’t loose again, he couldn’t! Next time he would win, he would be the best! He’d made a few mistakes this time, a few mistakes to many, but he would learn from those mistakes.
Those mistakes, which stared him right in the face in the form of the dishevelled ghost of Sweet Tooth. But he could rebuild her; make her stronger, faster and better than before.
He’d been so close this time. So goddamn stupid! He couldn’t get the thought out of his head, when the shard of metal had broke through his windscreen; it would’ve cut his head clean off it he weren’t so fast to duck. That funking yellow taxi! That fat revolting pig-of-a-taxi-driver had almost killed him. $hit!
Suddenly the ground beneath Sweet Tooth’s chain-covered wheels grew rough. Her one dimly lit headlamp caught sight of a blackened burnt-out heap, moments before she crashed into it. She then closed her eyes and had a little nap.
Needles was pissed, and rightly so. That shard, in fact more of a spear, had missed his neck, but severed his seatbelt. He flew out the windscreen; which as fate dictated had already been broken, thus saving him from a face full of glass. He missed the wreck and landed lightly, but not painlessly on the soft dirt; his belly absorbed most of the impact.
Groaning feebly, he rolled onto his back and sat up. He wiped his face with his hand, which was probably more closely related to a paw; it was bulky and had fat fingers attached to it.
Standing, he brushed dirt of his bare, hairy chest, wincing when his hand touched one of the fresh grazes on his body. One of the straps of his braces had snapped at some point, and his clown-pants were hanging lower on one side. Needles hissed in frustration, hiked them up to his waist and marched towards the dark silhouette called Sweet Tooth. Once there, he kicked her cheek with his steal-toe-capped boots, which resulted in a loud clank.
“You stupid idiot! Worthless!” he yelled. At the innocent truck, or maybe himself? Who knows what goes on in the mind of psychopath, who’d want to?
Besides certain well paid professionals, probably very few people.
He yanked open the door and clambered across to the drivers seat, the engine miraculously still grumbled along; although, it was much quieter and out-of-sync than before.
“Why won’t you shut up?” His large fingers gripped the key and turned it anti-clockwise. It took him a while to open the glove compartment, mainly due to the poor state his hand was in. He withdrew a bottle of pills, carefully opened them, and deposited 3 into his hand. The pills remained fearful as he gently rubbed the pad of finger along their lengths, then he raised them to his mouth and swallowed. Blood remained on his lips, and also on the pill bottle, which was returned to the glove compartment.
He raised his hand and felt cautiously on top of his head. Immediately his gut tightened. The glove compartment was once again flung open; he reached around and pulled out a torch. He flicked the switch and fumed at the pitiful beam it expelled, but it was better than nothing.
He jumped out and stomped off around the burnt-out car in the direction where he landed. A sick feeling began to rise in his stomach, his grip on the torch was insecure, warm liquid was crawling down his arm and wrapping around his fingers. It felt like he was trying to hold a bunch of slugs.
The touch swapped hands, and Needles wiped his hand on the back of his clown-pants. He panned the torch from side to side, keeping it low to the ground and almost horizontal in order to catch more ground with the light.
Finally he spotted it, and staggered forward, falling to his knees and gripping the clown mask securely in his hands. Carefully he checked it over with the torch; it wasn’t broken, so he put it on quickly.
There was a whisper of a crack, the bulb in the torch gave in, and Needles tossed the useless chunk of metal off into the dark, before returning to his scorched, white ice-cream truck, complete with pink polka dots.
He leaned back against the padded seat, then reached out and fumbled with the key once more. Sweet Tooth coughed and spluttered. Maybe it was a mistake to switch her off. But finally, after a minute of curses and threats to tear her into pieces, she got to her feat and shuddered into life.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Needle’s roared, and reversed his truck onto the road. There was a clunk as something was left behind in the dirt. He leaned forward to see what it was, but could make out nothing since Sweet Tooth’s eyes were closed.
Needles clambered into the back of his truck; the roof-mounted light shed little bits of light, but was more successful in creating bottomless shadows. A large trunk was crammed in amongst countless hydraulic beams and cables. He popped the trunk and reached his bear-like hands inside for a rummage, he retrieved a blue box, which fit just right in his large grip.
He fell back onto the front seats, kicked the driver-side door open, hopped out and trudged to Sweet Tooth’s jaws. Thick chains kept her jaws firmly shut, and he dug a paw in his pocket and retrieved a ring of keys. Selecting a small shiny gold key, although he recognised it by touch alone. He jammed it into the padlock, and pulled at the chains until they slumped onto the poor-quality road.
He opened the bonnet and pulled back as he caught a whiff of strong fumes.
“Poor thing,” he muttered.
He took a deep breath, and was about to dig his hand in when it dawned on him. He smacked a hand against his clown-mask and cursed. Nipping back to the cab, he reached in and extinguished Sweet Tooth’s heart for which he hoped wouldn’t be the last time.
