Pixy VI: Blog

The good. The Anya is getting another update! It's written and bar a few tweaks, has been sent off to be edited. It's another roughly 45K words. So basically the same length as the last chapter. It should be posted to the site in around a week or so (though that timescale depends on the free time TeNderLoin has available to work his magic).

A couple of you seem to like it so far, and a few questions that crop up often in PM's that I have been deliberately not answering, are going to be answered... ;)

The Bad. There is not going to be any more of The Anya for a while (boo, hiss!). I need a break from her and I need to plot plan. I'm not sure what I am going to work on in the meantime (because I don't know myself- though it's most likely going to be Sinathem). I know a few of you are really desirous of a young female apothecary getting some love. Your wishes are noted but I want her next chapter to be just as good, nay, better, so I'm not going to rush her.

Till then, angry girls shall rule...

A few months ago, I had an idle musing. Nothing serious, just a thought that needed put down and explored. Just ten or so pages should have done it. No need for something fancy like an actual posting in the site. A blog post would do.

Except I miscalculated.

The singular idea I had, didn't fit in the space, nor in the subsequent spaces.

Inevitably, if I carried on, it was going to draw the attention of, and possibly the fiery wrath of, our Glorious Overlords

So I stopped posting, but not writing.

I had a natural break of sorts in mind, as I'm not good with long stories and I get a bit bored of them and need to do something else for a while.

The plan was to reach that point and release. Except that I have made a complete arse of the end bit. I think I am so desperate to get it done, that the quality of the end went through the proverbial floor. That coupled with a 'fedupness' of the story is not making the finishing any easier.

So what I am going to do, is post all three parts together. Part one is the existing idle thought. Part two is a slightly shorter un-posted part, and part three is an exceptionally shorter part that could have been stuck on the end of part two, but since I am not happy with it, I'm posting it by itself, so as to make re-posting that part easier. Which is what I am inevitably going to do when I sort it out in my head.

Part three is mostly the direction I want to go, it's just messy and obviously (even to me) hurried. Yes, there is an argument for not posting it all, but if I can get to the natural break, one way or the other...

Almost a year ago, I asked if anyone wanted to die in a brutal car crash. Because, well why not...

Previous winners ended up in 'The Castle'.

This time, you are not going to die (possibly), but there is a strong chance you may be verbally insulted. The rules are as follows: Supply a (reasonably) printable name and for bonus points, a brief description of you/the character.

In your own time, go!*
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* This is not due to my inability to come up with names/characters. Not in the slightest. Not even a little bit...

I'm not exactly known for my speed in writing chapters, and probably, the winners will actually be dead by the time it gets posted, so in the meantime, here's the prologue of a story being written purely for the shits and giggles...

***** (title, it’s a secret and I’m not telling you…)

Prologue

“Give me a toke…” Nineteen year old Bruce Nelson said as he changed from fifth gear to third as he pushed down hard on the brake pedal of the one litre Ford Fiesta ST (or ‘Ford fucking STI’ as his on/off girlfriend called it), the tyres barely keeping their grip on the road surface as the car followed a line through the corner that would have made any professional driver wince. Bruce took a long drag on the spliff and handed it back as he mashed the accelerator. The rev counter went into the red as the modified silencer screamed out into the surrounding valley, startling everything nearby with the ability to hear.

Climbing up and down the gears as though he was rally driver with the championship at state, Bruce threw his car into every corner with abandon. A rise was coming up that he knew would get some air between the road and the tyres, which had, until his smoky doughnuts in the Asda carpark the previous night, held barely enough tread to be legal.

Eighteen year old William Chandler, Cully to his mates, sat in the front passenger seat, lowered his window and tossed out his empty beer bottle and turned to Nic and George in the back. “Pass me another. Have you fucked Louise up the shitter yet Nic?”

Nicolas Scott Adams, who like Cully, was also eighteen years old and who had been nicknamed NASA by the teachers in school because his head was forever in the clouds, hit the top of a bottle with another, removing both caps. He handed one to Cully. “Aye, made her squeal. Took her real deep. Maybe I should have used some lube, but the bitch knows her place and adopted the position when I told her I wanted some of that fat ass.”

Cully knocked his bottle against Nics. “Way to go my man, show the cunts whose boss, I say.”

“Aye. I pulled out at the end and came over her face. Made the cunt lick and suck me clean. Shit and cum and all.”

The other three cheered and shouted out in chorus, “Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen…”

Then they all cheered again as the Fiesta hurtled over the rise and all their stomachs went light and funny like they were on a rollercoaster. There was a bang and scrape as the lowered springs hit their bump stops and the bottoms of the aftermarket body kit and extra wide wheel arches scrapped against the road surface.

“Take ‘em up the shitter, and there’ll be no screaming litter…” George Allen remarked with every bit of knowledgeable sincerity one would expect of an eighteen-in-four-days year old virgin. For which he was.

“Aye, aint that the Gods truth” Nic agreed, conveniently forgetting the actual truth of the matter, which was that he had tried, only for Louise to immediately push him away and declare that if he wanted to stick his cock in there, he would have to take her dildo in his own hole first. And that thing was a fucking damn monster, so he had backed down instantly. She hadn’t stopped there though, and had proceeded to put her cunt out of bounds as punishment for him even trying anal without her consent in the first place. Wouldn’t even suck him off or give him a hand shandy. Sent him home with blue balls. The bitch.

George lit another joint and passed it around, hoping that none of the other boys asked him about his entirely fictional sexual conquests.

Bruce changed through the gears again in an overly dramatic and needlessly violent manner, because he knew that it looked cool. Made him look cool. He was cool personified, all the local girls wanted him to be their significant other.

The revs were in the red again, he could change up a gear, but that would kills some of the growl coming out the back. Bruce flick his gaze to the speedo. One hundred and eight miles an hour on a Scottish highland ‘B’ road, no fucker around for miles. This was the awesome life. There was plenty of straight left, he could get up to one hundred and fifteen easy. The speedo climbed.

A car appeared in the distance from around the corner. Bruce could tell by the shape of the front, that it was a Volvo 850 estate. Only one person in the area drove a car like that and it was the old bint that lived in the castle. Ninety odd fucking years old and drove everywhere at thirty miles an hour and was a god damn menace to everyone who had places to be. It was Thursday evening, so she would be going to the Women’s Rural Club in the village hall where all the old bastards congregated to moan about Bruce and his pals. Since she would otherwise be engaged, no doubt putting another complaint into Police Scotland and making ‘Speed kills’ posters with the rest of the coffin dodgers, they could pay a visit to her castle and do doughnuts in her courtyard leaving rubber tyre marks everywhere.

She was so apoplectic with rage last time Bruce had done so, that he was surprised that she hadn’t died of a heart-attack. Maybe this time after he had burned some rubber… He glanced down. One hundred and twelve. He was going to fly past her so fucking fast that he was going to knock her false teeth out with the rumble from his exhaust. He smiled at the thought as a roe deer jumped out in front.

“FUCK!!!!” Bruce slammed down hard on the brake to absolutely no effect. The bald tyres didn’t even attempt to try and grip the road as the heavily abused and severely worn brakes made no practical difference to the speed of the Fiesta. There was a massive ‘thump’ as the front of the Fiesta collided with the deer, sending the deer spinning up into the air, legs and back broken, the entire front spoiler following the deer’s airborne trajectory.

The back started to fishtail, Bruce tried to hold onto it, but the passenger rear side clipped the verge ripping off the oversized wheel arch surrounding the rear wheel. Bruce had just enough time to draw in a breath before he hit the Volvo head on.

None of the four boys were wearing seatbelts. As the Fiesta’s engine started making its journey through the body shell, Cully was fired through the windscreen, his spine compressing as his head pushed out the windscreen. Both cars had risen up at the rear, wheels leaving the ground such was the impact. Cully was dead by the time he hit the Volvo’s windshield, pushing it in and colliding with the elderly female driver. The impact was so great, that the bolts holding the driver’s seat in the Volvo sheared and the two corpses were hurled into the boot space to smash through the tailgate to land in the road behind.

The air bag in the Fiesta’s steering wheel deployed, but without the added restraint of a seatbelt, Bruce’s face and chest hit the hot inflated bag. Ribs, jaw, cheekbones and nose broke instantly, and as the bag started to deflate, the engine collided with the dash, pushing the steering wheel into Bruce’s chest. Already broken ribs folded under the impact, the broken ends spearing through vital organs.

George was hurled through the small gap between the head rest and the roof, his head colliding with Bruce’s. The force of the impact popping both heads, the pressure wave of the collision forcing eyes from sockets and cerebrospinal fluid to spurt from ears. A final glancing strike with the buckling remains of the Fiesta’s bonnet sent him up in the air, well over the Volvo, to land and tumble down the road. The rough coating of tar embedded stone, which was common on highland roads to help with traction in winter, ripped off large chunks of flesh and clothing alike.

Nic also was shot forward between headrest and car roof like a clown from a circus cannon. He was still alive when he left the Fiesta. He was still alive when he collided and bounced off the Volvo’s crumpling roof. He was still alive as he continued to travel at speed through the air fifteen meters beyond the broken bodies of the old woman and Cully. He was still alive when he was impaled on a fence post, pushed over from the vertical a few months previous by an itchy highland cow. A highland cow that was currently running away from the sound of the impact with the rest of the herd.

The top of the fence post smashed through Nic’s chest, the barbed wire strands ripping through his body. The post snapped in half with the force of the blow, the body continued to slide along the wire, the barbs ripping chunks off till it came to rest against the next post in the fence.

On the road, the deer feebly twitched as blood ran out from its nose and mouth. A few beats of its heart and then it was still and silent. The cows stopped their panicked run and turned to look to see if they were being chased and attacked. The engines of the two cars were silent but for ‘plinking’ as the metal remains of engines and exhausts cooled.

The Fiesta signalled its intention to turn right, as blood slowly dripped from barbed wire.

Part One...

As the title states. I thought that I would indulge in a little ‘audience participation’. As such, the first four people to reply with story acceptable names are going to die.

Horribly.

What more do you wish out of life….