Monday September 3rd, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the shot.

Sorry for being so slow in responding to your comments lately, it's been hard to find time just to do the blog with all these house guests around. I will get to them eventually though, promise.

Between Kat having to get her RH factor pregnancy shot done in Penticton this afternoon, and us attending prenatal classes (also in Penticton) the next two Monday evenings, we've decided to shift our local and box program orders to Tuesdays for the next three weeks.

So, basically, I'm going to have no idea what day it is for the rest of the month.


Everything goes black after the fifth shot.

Before it I remember faces, sounds, colors. A crowded dance floor, eye-catching necklines, music that vibrated ribs and altered heartbeats. Money changing hands - mostly mine being taken by bartenders, but sometimes bills landing in my upturned palm.

Not sure what that was about, exactly. Won bets, I guess.

But that shot shut the door on any further memories of last night. The rest is a mystery that will require assistance if I have any hope of solving it. Alone, too many questions would remain unanswered.

And judging by the amount of blood on my clothing this morning, they are questions that I must confront sooner than later.


Greg said...

Heh, knowing what day of the week it is is overrated anyway. And it's not like your boss will be phoning you up demanding to know why you're not in the office... just Kat looking disappointed with you and choosing to say nothing about it :-P
Are prenatal classes the ones where you practise breathing and ducking objects that your stressed wife is throwing?
Your narrator sounds like a fun guy to party with, if not one to be around the morning after. I like the description of the place before the fifth shot, and the hints of bleakness after are rather nice too. I'm not sure about the word "Alone" in the penultimate paragraph though, I can't quite figure out what it's referring to. Good little story though!

The shot
It was kind of oozy and bubbly and didn't have anything you could describe as a head. Its body, and it seemed to be all body, was corrugated and a dark green, a bit like army fatigues. There were brown stripes, dark orange patches, and the occasional splash of lighter green – camouflage colours if you were paying enough attention. There were no legs, it just oozed along, or up, or over, or across.
And mouths about the size of a child's hand could open anywhere on the surface of the body, showing sharp, triangular teeth like a shark's lining a dark, gurgling maw.
"It's a shot," said Professor Angstrom refusing to go near it. "The offspring of shoggoth."
"How big do shoggoths grow?" 3-star General Gordonbrink was not doing a good job of hiding his fear of the thing, for all it was only as long as his forearm.
"The last one we killed was the size of a city block," said Professor Angstrom.
"Ah," said the General. "This cage probably won't do for much longer then?"

Cathryn Leigh said...

The Shot

I went to Paruguay when I was 16. Do do that I had to get a Hep B shot... or was it Hep C... All I know id that just htinking of the damn shot makes my upper arm ache like it was yesterday. And it was a seris of three... three shots to the upper arm, in the span of six weeks.

But I got to go to Paruguay and see the Iguazu Falls and taste sugar cane straight from the field, and experience a quiceria (sweet 15 party). Missed the wedding though as I got Montazuma's revenge.

Then I got to go to Columbia, and the shots still counted. Got to See Bolivia's Estate and his monument. It was as awe inspiring as visiting Washington's monument in DC. I coudl feel it even if I had no clue at the time just how important Bolivia was to South America. And there were balck beaches, and white ones, and fish served whole (but cooked). And the Manzana soda that tasted like a gree jolly rancher.

And I've never had to get the shot again, despite working in the Bio-Tech industry where you can get it for free. It apparently lasts forever.

I'm glad for that.

writebite said...

@ marc, you have a crime thriller in you busting to getvout.
@ greg, always the funny punch line, and never predictable, thank you for this morning's entertainment!
@ CL, very realistic, i felt like i was there


The Shot

’Bang!’ the shot reverberated in her ears.
Amidst a flurry of legs and arms chugging up-down, up-down, Cathy’s own running style became fused with a Matrix-like feeling, merging with Vangelis’ famous Chariots of Fire theme, as her swift adrenaline-fueled surge shot her into an endorphin high that almost slo-moed her towards the finish line.
To win here, in her home country, in front of her home crowd, after all those years of training...the honour...she barely had time to think; just had to concentrate, focus not even on style anymore but on the one goal she saw looming in the distance - mere seconds away - the finish line!
She rounded the last bend, legs pumping, heart thumping like a stallion ready to leap a fence, that line would be hers, now, for no one was in front.
One more step and - ! - Gold!
It was hers. Her dream had come true, not a dream made of wishful thinking, no, a dream made of hard effort, pain and discipline. Her dream became a reality.
What a different shot had started this race...
...Better than the sort of shots that usually rang out at home...

Cathryn Leigh said...

@WB thank you. I liked yours as well nice rise to the gold from the slums tale, unbeknownst until the very end. :} As for mine - it is true. *grins*

Aholiab said...

The Shot

How much would you pay for that special photograph, the one that captured a moment that only you remembered? How much would a government pay, if they could have the proof identifying who was behind certain specific events?

When the US announced the commercialization of the new technology, along with photographic documentation of Lincoln’s assassination, Hitler’s suicide, Franklin’s kite, and hundreds of other historic events, the public clamored for access. Billions had been spent developing the hardware, but now the only cost was the energy necessary to jump a sensor to the precise time and location of the perfect shot.

The birthday party photo that was forgotten yesterday could be taken today for $1,000. A year later the same picture could still be taken, but would cost 365 times as much. Ten years or one hundred years later the cost just progressed linearly.

Each shot was a single image and the government had the wherewithal to experiment. It could absorb the cost of accidental images of someone’s back blocking the view of Jimmy Hoffa’s murder. Investigators could relocate the sensors, change the timing by a few seconds, and try again until finally the proof was obtained.

I didn’t need multiple shots. A clock in the background of conventional photos showed the precise time; the building hadn’t changed in the intervening years, so the location was exact. I had sold my house, my car, my stamp collection. Now I had the memory, the image, the shot - our first kiss as husband and wife.

Marc said...

Greg - oh no, she'd definitely say something about it :P

I think 'alone' wasn't the best choice. Probably should have went with 'on my own'.

Great description of the nasty little creature - which won't be little for long, from the sounds of it!

Cathryn - though the shots sound unpleasant, it seems like the travels they allowed made them worth it :D

Writebite - I have too many ideas in my head :P

Great descriptions in your opening paragraph, and I liked the way you tied things neatly together at the end there.

Aholiab - now there's a bit of sci-fi technology that could have some fascinating uses. Now you've got my head all aflutter with ideas..