Uzumaki Menma
Active member
and I was hoping you guys would check out the first three pages I've written so far. It's called "Dark Stalkers" and it's a pulp fiction type-of-story. So without a further ado...
Marshall Matthews hated people. He hated the company of others. He hated new relationships. He hated the smells and looks that linger on -impressionable impressions- as he calls them . He hated the "benefits": the long talks, the special inside-jokes, the accompanying-to events. He even hated the damn ***.
All of this was known about Marshall. He made it known. So some ******* wouldn't get the wrong idea and try to make small talk with him when he sat at a bar. Or at his desk doing work. Or at the store getting groceries. He liked to think of it as a personal service, free-of-charge. A one-liner that read "**** you." and was permanently stamped on his forehead.
Sometimes people ignored it. The thick veil that protected him from dumbassery would often times be pierced by the weakest of foes. And each time it made him wanna sit back and smoke a cigarette, marveling at the grand universe. A girl would come up and innocently ask something trivial. Or a guy would make some vague remark, expecting conversation to follow.
He usually shut them out. But these were persistent creatures. Many times, it happened like this: "I never once met a man in Louisiana that shopped in the vegan isle!" a woman would remark, approaching from someplace out of his peripheral. This was important to note because had he seen her approaching, he would've ended shit then and there.
"You must be shopping for a wife or something, aren'tcha? Pity me, if I even knew a man that would publicly shop over here, I would be thrilled!" she continued lamely, purse swinging widely as she made jerking movements signifying her sadness over vegan-less friends. He would scoot further down the aisle, rummaging through random food packages, as if he hadn't heard. And he didn't. They would pursue, almost unabated.
"Have you seen the Tofutti? They always seem to be out when I get here." she'd say jollily. Then she'd look at him expectantly. He would look back, lips pressed into a thin line. Their stare off would last less than three seconds, but they always got this look on their face. One of confusion and bewilderment.
Why were they getting the evil eyes? And his eyes were evil: two black holes that bored right through people into their imaginary souls. What wasn't imaginary was the thalamus sending signals to the sensory cortex which then buzzed the hippocampus before finally stopping at the amygdala which processed the raw emotion into something discernable; fear.
She'd falter and make up some excuse before speedily walking to another section and then disappearing all together. He had that effect on people. You could call it his charm. This was an example of an extraordinary case, though. Usually he didn't even look at the person talking to him.
He would employ this strategy as he got out of his car. A police officer was waiting for him and approached briskly with a file in hand. Marshall took it and peered inside before closing it and looking around. There were police everywhere. Some were walking, talking, gawking. Hell, some of them just stood there, looking like idiots. He hadn't missed this part about his job.
"Where is it?" Marshall asked solemnly. The officer who had handed him the file pointed over to a large tree straight down. Upon closer inspection, Marshall made out the heavy body of the man who had called him here. This was affirmed by his name plastered on the back of the FBI jacket he wore. SULLIVAN.
Marshall sucked his teeth and proceeded on, trudging past the forensics unit and other personnel groups. As he got closer, he saw the leg of the victim sticking up from underneath Sullivan. It was pale. Exceedingly so. He tried to duck underneath the yellow tape that encircled the tree but a hand stopped him. A young-looking kid with round glasses barred him from the crime scene.
Marshall sighed exasperatedly and reached in his jacket for his badge only to find it empty. He forgot he gave it up.
"It's alright. He's with me." Sullivan said, looking expectedly at the boy-cop. Marshall glared at him before ducking underneath the tape and walked up to Sullivan. "You came," Sullivan said half surprised. His eyes scanned Marshall's as if expecting to see anything there. Marshall was impressed.
"Checking for signs of instability, Agent Sullivan?" he asked quietly. The bigger man nodded slowly. "What do you see?" Marshall pressed. It's been four years since he had his last psych eval. And the last guy ****ing sucked.
". . . Nothing" Sullivan said after a while. He continued to take in Marshall; his un-kept hair, his five' o clock shadow, his "evil" eyes. Marshall shifted his weight to the other foot. "And how does that make you feel?" Marshall asked sarcastically, cocking his head to the side and widening an eye.
Sullivan didn't laugh. He was a man of no humor like Marshall. "It makes me feel good. We'll need that for this specific case." And then Sullivan moved, clasping his hands together as he continued to study Marshall who saw the body for the first time.
So, what do you guys think?
Crash Course
Marshall Matthews hated people. He hated the company of others. He hated new relationships. He hated the smells and looks that linger on -impressionable impressions- as he calls them . He hated the "benefits": the long talks, the special inside-jokes, the accompanying-to events. He even hated the damn ***.
All of this was known about Marshall. He made it known. So some ******* wouldn't get the wrong idea and try to make small talk with him when he sat at a bar. Or at his desk doing work. Or at the store getting groceries. He liked to think of it as a personal service, free-of-charge. A one-liner that read "**** you." and was permanently stamped on his forehead.
Sometimes people ignored it. The thick veil that protected him from dumbassery would often times be pierced by the weakest of foes. And each time it made him wanna sit back and smoke a cigarette, marveling at the grand universe. A girl would come up and innocently ask something trivial. Or a guy would make some vague remark, expecting conversation to follow.
He usually shut them out. But these were persistent creatures. Many times, it happened like this: "I never once met a man in Louisiana that shopped in the vegan isle!" a woman would remark, approaching from someplace out of his peripheral. This was important to note because had he seen her approaching, he would've ended shit then and there.
"You must be shopping for a wife or something, aren'tcha? Pity me, if I even knew a man that would publicly shop over here, I would be thrilled!" she continued lamely, purse swinging widely as she made jerking movements signifying her sadness over vegan-less friends. He would scoot further down the aisle, rummaging through random food packages, as if he hadn't heard. And he didn't. They would pursue, almost unabated.
"Have you seen the Tofutti? They always seem to be out when I get here." she'd say jollily. Then she'd look at him expectantly. He would look back, lips pressed into a thin line. Their stare off would last less than three seconds, but they always got this look on their face. One of confusion and bewilderment.
Why were they getting the evil eyes? And his eyes were evil: two black holes that bored right through people into their imaginary souls. What wasn't imaginary was the thalamus sending signals to the sensory cortex which then buzzed the hippocampus before finally stopping at the amygdala which processed the raw emotion into something discernable; fear.
She'd falter and make up some excuse before speedily walking to another section and then disappearing all together. He had that effect on people. You could call it his charm. This was an example of an extraordinary case, though. Usually he didn't even look at the person talking to him.
He would employ this strategy as he got out of his car. A police officer was waiting for him and approached briskly with a file in hand. Marshall took it and peered inside before closing it and looking around. There were police everywhere. Some were walking, talking, gawking. Hell, some of them just stood there, looking like idiots. He hadn't missed this part about his job.
"Where is it?" Marshall asked solemnly. The officer who had handed him the file pointed over to a large tree straight down. Upon closer inspection, Marshall made out the heavy body of the man who had called him here. This was affirmed by his name plastered on the back of the FBI jacket he wore. SULLIVAN.
Marshall sucked his teeth and proceeded on, trudging past the forensics unit and other personnel groups. As he got closer, he saw the leg of the victim sticking up from underneath Sullivan. It was pale. Exceedingly so. He tried to duck underneath the yellow tape that encircled the tree but a hand stopped him. A young-looking kid with round glasses barred him from the crime scene.
Marshall sighed exasperatedly and reached in his jacket for his badge only to find it empty. He forgot he gave it up.
"It's alright. He's with me." Sullivan said, looking expectedly at the boy-cop. Marshall glared at him before ducking underneath the tape and walked up to Sullivan. "You came," Sullivan said half surprised. His eyes scanned Marshall's as if expecting to see anything there. Marshall was impressed.
"Checking for signs of instability, Agent Sullivan?" he asked quietly. The bigger man nodded slowly. "What do you see?" Marshall pressed. It's been four years since he had his last psych eval. And the last guy ****ing sucked.
". . . Nothing" Sullivan said after a while. He continued to take in Marshall; his un-kept hair, his five' o clock shadow, his "evil" eyes. Marshall shifted his weight to the other foot. "And how does that make you feel?" Marshall asked sarcastically, cocking his head to the side and widening an eye.
Sullivan didn't laugh. He was a man of no humor like Marshall. "It makes me feel good. We'll need that for this specific case." And then Sullivan moved, clasping his hands together as he continued to study Marshall who saw the body for the first time.
So, what do you guys think?
