Daily writing prompts from June 9th, 2008 to December 31st, 2022
Sunday July 28th, 2019
The exercise: Write about: the new guy in town. The Town's new CAO's first day on the job is tomorrow. Our retiring CAO will be around for a bit to help with the transition, but I'm looking forward to seeing how the new guy does things.
What is a CAO? Chief Accounting Office perhaps, or Canada's Assassin Overseer... ah, I think we have it. You have a new boss who will be sending you on your covert missions from now on, hence your interest in how he will do his job. I hope they don't cut your travel budget :)
The new guy in town In my line of work there's always a period when things are most dangerous; when there's the biggest chance of being discovered as having changed identities. It's worst when you're starting out and the only identity you have to fall back on is your own, but it can be bad as well when you're changing identities because the old one's been scrutinized a little too hard by someone a little too nosy, or when I've had to do something that can't just be buried out back in the woods where the kids don't play and the bears find it easier to hunt deer than to dig up shallow graves. That time is when you're the new guy in town and in small towns, like these, once you're not the new guy you can fit in easily enough but until then you're number-one-suspect. And not being the new guy means waiting twenty years or until a new new-guy turns up. I don't much like waiting.
Phillip Bontemps drove out of Prosperity in his fancy little Ford Kia late one evening to go and see his girlfriend who lived a town over in Dismal and had the misfortune to get a flat tyre on the quiet, unlit road on the way back. He got out of his car to change the change the tyre, jacked it up, switched the tyres over and was about to jack it back down again when someone coughed apologetically nearby. He looked up just in time to see the masonry hammer he kept in the trunk along with his other stone-working tools coming in towards his face, and there was a crunching sound as bone collapsed under impact and his face caved in. I shouted a bit, stamped my feet as though running, and then dragged him off the side of the road to the grave I'd spent four hours digging earlier -- live bodies are a bit easier to manhandle than dead ones, especially if you mutter soft words about how they're safe now while you're dragging them. He didn't keep much in his pockets: some change, a paper tissue, a half-gone packet of chewing gum so I dumped him quickly in the grave and started shovelling the earth back over him. I stopped a minute later when he started moving his hands and trying to climb out. Normally I remember to hit them again before dropping them in, but this time it had slipped my mind. I'd done a good job on the grave though and didn't fancy trying to climb back out myself, so I shovelled faster. The weight of the earth would keep him down.
His wallet was in the car; the keys were in the ignition, his driving licence and -- bingo! -- passport were in the glove compartment. I packed the jack back up and then an inner voice prodded me to check the boot properly. I've no idea why, maybe something caught my eye as being out of place? A little shifting of masonry tools around and I found the body of his girlfriend, a pink scarf tied tightly round her neck, underneath what looked like the floor of the trunk. Amateurs.
I hauled her body to the driver's seat and turned the car to block the road. If I was going to be the new guy in town, I didn't need the police already looking for me to ask questions about a crime I committed in a previous life. A car pile-up, burned bodies, a minor tragedy -- that should be enough to let Phillip Bontemps get on with his new life elsewhere.
Prompt: the new guy in town The man standing before me in the forest was like something I’d never seen before in my life. He was taller than most of the men from the town. While he stood quite a few paces away from me, I knew that if we were shoulder to shoulder, my shoulder would in fact measure closer to the middle of his torso than near his head. His legs looked to me to be twice the length of the most eligible bachelor searching for his future bride. But tall though he may have been, he appeared the very opposite of frail. No, I could see muscle expanding beneath the fabric of his shirt and vest, his pant legs struggling to hold the seams across his upper leg. He stood perfectly still while he observed me watching him, yet each breath of his spoke of power. Then there was the obvious wealth I could see just in the fabric of his clothes and the gold sparking around his neck, adorning his fingers. The sparse sun beams streaming through the deep green leaves around us gleamed against his golden chain and bejeweled rings. Most men in town were lucky if they had a family ring to show off or a golden chain adorned with the house crest, a coming of age gift perhaps. Only the judge and his cabinet were ever seen walking around in silk breeches with a velvet vest, even then only during a lavish dinner or gathering held in candlelight. The man before me boasted such attire in the afternoon sun. These clothes I was seeing were somehow his everyday wear. Though tall, strong, and wealthy, the man standing before me at the edge of the ruins was even more spectacular in his coloration. His hair, the palest straw, glowing both in the sun and against his alabaster skin. His eyes, while at a distance, were also a pale green, brightening against the deep emerald leaves. I had finally found someone who looked like me.
3 comments:
What is a CAO? Chief Accounting Office perhaps, or Canada's Assassin Overseer... ah, I think we have it. You have a new boss who will be sending you on your covert missions from now on, hence your interest in how he will do his job. I hope they don't cut your travel budget :)
The new guy in town
In my line of work there's always a period when things are most dangerous; when there's the biggest chance of being discovered as having changed identities. It's worst when you're starting out and the only identity you have to fall back on is your own, but it can be bad as well when you're changing identities because the old one's been scrutinized a little too hard by someone a little too nosy, or when I've had to do something that can't just be buried out back in the woods where the kids don't play and the bears find it easier to hunt deer than to dig up shallow graves. That time is when you're the new guy in town and in small towns, like these, once you're not the new guy you can fit in easily enough but until then you're number-one-suspect. And not being the new guy means waiting twenty years or until a new new-guy turns up.
I don't much like waiting.
Phillip Bontemps drove out of Prosperity in his fancy little Ford Kia late one evening to go and see his girlfriend who lived a town over in Dismal and had the misfortune to get a flat tyre on the quiet, unlit road on the way back. He got out of his car to change the change the tyre, jacked it up, switched the tyres over and was about to jack it back down again when someone coughed apologetically nearby. He looked up just in time to see the masonry hammer he kept in the trunk along with his other stone-working tools coming in towards his face, and there was a crunching sound as bone collapsed under impact and his face caved in. I shouted a bit, stamped my feet as though running, and then dragged him off the side of the road to the grave I'd spent four hours digging earlier -- live bodies are a bit easier to manhandle than dead ones, especially if you mutter soft words about how they're safe now while you're dragging them. He didn't keep much in his pockets: some change, a paper tissue, a half-gone packet of chewing gum so I dumped him quickly in the grave and started shovelling the earth back over him. I stopped a minute later when he started moving his hands and trying to climb out. Normally I remember to hit them again before dropping them in, but this time it had slipped my mind. I'd done a good job on the grave though and didn't fancy trying to climb back out myself, so I shovelled faster. The weight of the earth would keep him down.
His wallet was in the car; the keys were in the ignition, his driving licence and -- bingo! -- passport were in the glove compartment. I packed the jack back up and then an inner voice prodded me to check the boot properly. I've no idea why, maybe something caught my eye as being out of place? A little shifting of masonry tools around and I found the body of his girlfriend, a pink scarf tied tightly round her neck, underneath what looked like the floor of the trunk.
Amateurs.
I hauled her body to the driver's seat and turned the car to block the road. If I was going to be the new guy in town, I didn't need the police already looking for me to ask questions about a crime I committed in a previous life. A car pile-up, burned bodies, a minor tragedy -- that should be enough to let Phillip Bontemps get on with his new life elsewhere.
Prompt: the new guy in town
The man standing before me in the forest was like something I’d never seen before in my life.
He was taller than most of the men from the town. While he stood quite a few paces away from me, I knew that if we were shoulder to shoulder, my shoulder would in fact measure closer to the middle of his torso than near his head. His legs looked to me to be twice the length of the most eligible bachelor searching for his future bride.
But tall though he may have been, he appeared the very opposite of frail. No, I could see muscle expanding beneath the fabric of his shirt and vest, his pant legs struggling to hold the seams across his upper leg. He stood perfectly still while he observed me watching him, yet each breath of his spoke of power.
Then there was the obvious wealth I could see just in the fabric of his clothes and the gold sparking around his neck, adorning his fingers. The sparse sun beams streaming through the deep green leaves around us gleamed against his golden chain and bejeweled rings. Most men in town were lucky if they had a family ring to show off or a golden chain adorned with the house crest, a coming of age gift perhaps. Only the judge and his cabinet were ever seen walking around in silk breeches with a velvet vest, even then only during a lavish dinner or gathering held in candlelight. The man before me boasted such attire in the afternoon sun. These clothes I was seeing were somehow his everyday wear.
Though tall, strong, and wealthy, the man standing before me at the edge of the ruins was even more spectacular in his coloration.
His hair, the palest straw, glowing both in the sun and against his alabaster skin. His eyes, while at a distance, were also a pale green, brightening against the deep emerald leaves.
I had finally found someone who looked like me.
Greg - Chief Administrative Officer. Sorry, I was making assumptions.
Ah, your delightfully creepy mystery man returns. In fine form, I must say.
Ivy - !
Good to see you again :)
Ooh, great build to your final line. Which delivers perfectly. Good to have your writing back here with us!
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