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Monday, 21 June 2010


I just thought of something that might be pretty cool. I could put 'deleted scenes' from my stories on here - from stories that have been or will be published, so they a) make sense and b) are relevant. As with films, most deleted scenes add colour more than anything else, but I think they can still be cool, especially if they involve DEATH.

Yes, DEATH. And to start to ball rolling, here's a section from a forthcoming story, which has two titles because I can't decide which one is better. Well, the second title is better but doesn't quite make sense. That remark itself will make sense if you read the story. It's called 'S' IS FOR 'STYMPHALIAN BIRDS' / THE SIXTH LABOUR OF JOHN HATHAWAY (it's going to be in The Monster Alphabet Book, which explains the first title. More details on this book laterz).


The Toyota's left-side wheels whirred with a desperate whine, spraying mud across the car. Stupid bloody weather, Susan cursed under her breath. The council knew the main road suffered flooding during heavy rain but did they do anything to resolve the issue? No. Too busy spending funds on renewing road markings and installing useless bloody road signs, like the new one she'd passed warning about ducks. Everyone knew there was a lake nearby so obviously there's bound to be ducks crossing the road from time to time.

“Stupid bloody idiots,” she muttered, revving the engine again. It was no use. She'd have to get out and push the car free of the mud. Either that, or call the Hathaways and let them know she couldn't make it, or even worse, would be late.

“Never in a million years!” she declared, unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping from the vehicle. Under the cover of the trees the rain wasn't too bad, but it was evidently still heavy enough to fill the cracks and potholes in the tarmac, forming tiny rivers and lakes. She quickly checked the ground under the side wheels. It was like a bloody marsh. “Incredible...” she shook her head and returned to the driver's side. She kept one hand on the steering wheel whilst leaning against the inside of the open door. Susan Parker was a formidable woman in more ways than one, and she began to grunt with exertion as she put her weight into pushing the car. The Toyota rocked and groaned, the wheels fighting the suction of the mud with loud slurping sounds.

Susan stopped for a moment to wipe rain from her face and listen: a high-pitched keening was coming from behind her. Another car? Her husband? She turned with a hopeful look on her face, expecting to see salvation come driving past but instead witnessed a peculiar black mass streaming through the air at head height. Ducks? Black swans? She realised, too late, that the birds weren't going to change course and she turned, intending to jump back into the car, but the storm of feathers and beaks collided with her, momentarily knocking her off the ground and away from the open driver door. Her screams were drowned out by a harsh whispering shish, shish as a pain like a thousand knives tore at her flesh and bones. Shish, shish! Shish, shish! Shish, shish!


The repetitive shish, shish! bit is cheesy as anything but I like it haha

This got deleted from the story to knock the word count down.

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