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resurrection

a few of you- i won't name names, but you know who you are and i hope you know how much your feedback and interest has meant to me- may remember that i was for several months posting episodes of a story for public (or at least friend) consumption.

that got put on hold indefinitely as i put my energies into a screenplay and then, of course, getting that screenplay ("conversion" if anyone hasn't heard me talk about it enough) filmed this summer.

now that filming has been over and the pieces of the picture have been handed over to experts in post-production, i have the time to be creative again, something i really haven't indulged in for a year. i thought about all the new things i could work on, but, in the end, the unfinished serial called to me.

so i'm redoubling my efforts and throwing myself into the task of getting this completed.

since i'm not publishing it in serial form any more, it isn't a serial. i'm not sure what it is. i just know that it's growing and keeping me busy.

here's a short excerpt of a recently written part (very rough), to let those of you who supported the project know that it lives again and has some kind of future and to give those who don't know me that well a chance to see what something i write reads like. as i said, it's very much a first pass and is presented completely out of context.

thanks for reading...

***

A young man, dressed in a black suit similar to those at the table, bursts into the room from a passage in the back. He is obviously animated and, unlike the others, his suit shows signs of his having recently been in a fight. He speaks almost at the top of his voice, in a language Adela doesn’t understand but guesses to be a form of Chinese. He gesticulates frantically, but as he does, she notices he is distinctly favouring his left arm, that he seems almost unable to lift it. The other men at the table rumble to life. They rise with a thunder clap of guttural noises, and follow him out the same point where he entered.

A few seconds later, Adela hears a thud, a security door, she imagines, being thrown open with considerable force. The owner continues to polish her cutlery, without looking up, observing each piece to see the reflection of the gaudy interior lights on its surface.

“This might be a good time to go,” Lloyd mutters tensely.

“Probably.”

He drops some money on the table and pulls her out of the room. As they disappear into the vestibule, Adela can still see the flicker of forks and knives through the smudged door.

The street is desolate of traffic and people, save for a few unfortunates who are making a bed in the thresholds of shops. A stinking river, most likely effluent from the restaurants and dingy grocery stores up the hill, slithers towards them and beyond, into the sewer. This, thinks Adela, is what people mean when they say ‘the dead of night’.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh fine.”

“I realize you probably want to go home and sleep, but, in the interests of helping, I was thinking it might be an idea to find somewhere else to sit for a while and make notes on everything we talked about. Maybe we’ll start to see some sense in it.

“At the very least, it’ll mean that you’ll be able to refer to it, in case it gets knocked from your memory.”

Adela gives a weary smile. “I don’t sleep, actually. You’re the one who has to get up early in the morning to open the shop, so if you’re up for it, great.”

“Well, one of the perks of being the boss is that you get to make and break the rules. No one cares if I sleep in.”

He starts off, pressing a hand against her elbow, guiding her forward. The streetlights buzz like a swarm of hornets overhead, throwing shadows in every direction. Adela tries to focus on what her companion is saying, but her eyes turn unconsciously towards the starless city sky.

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