My first blog will be a simple, fun, flash fic that has had one round of editing done to it after the rough draft was finished. But hell, it’s flash. It’s not a crazy hard process. Anyway, here is a little sample of how I tend to write stuff out:
“No shit, there I was,” he said again, “surrounded by ten of the meanest werewolves you’d ever hate to see, and me with only nine shots in my pistol. I tell ya, I almost lost my cool, but..”
“But since this story’s just bullshit, you managed to live to inflict your stories on us yet again.”
Old Jake looked over at the young man who had interrupted him and growled under his breath. This confrontation had been building all night and Jake was actually looking forward to killing the little punk.
“Well, old man,” the youngster named Petyr, said, “am I right? Did you kill all the big bad werewolves?”
“Don’t tell me that werewolves can’t travel in packs Petyr.”
“Oh I suppose they might, but I’ve never seen more than one at a time.” He turned to the other hunters sitting around the fireplace, “Have any of you ever seen a Werewolf Pack?”
Surprisingly to both Petyr and Jake, one arm went up. There was no hand attached. Immediately, everybody knew that something unusual was happening. Johann Koenig–the amputee–never said anything unless it was important. He was recognized as the best hunter ever; at least before he had lost his hand. The crowd hushed and waited for him to speak.
“Many years ago”, he began, “I was hunting one of the Longcoats up in the Urals-your country, Petyr- and I saw many tracks converge in the forest. I thought it was just a pack of regular wolves, and planned to move on, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a human footprint. Not a boot print mind you, but a naked footprint. No sooner had this happened, than I met Him. He walked out naked and shivering, but he had a smile on his face that let me know who was in charge. I dared not lift my gun.”
Johann looked around as he stood and thoughtfully rubbed the stump of his left arm on the barrel of his shotgun. He broke open the breach and checked the twelve-gauge cartridge holding a silver slug as if assuring himself that it was there.
Walking to the two arguing hunters, he continued. “We wound up talking for a long time, that werewolf and I. He knew that I could kill him where he stood, and I knew that if I did, his pack would tear me apart. It took a long time until we …understoodeach other…well enough to slowly go our seperateways. He didn’t exactly tell me his life story, but I learned much.”
He stood inches away from Petyr’s face and said, “I found out many things about werewolves, such as they don’t think much about us hunters. Their attitudes are a lot like yours, Petyr. Brash and arrogant. I also found out -assuming he didn’t lie to me- that the wolf is their real form, and that they can appear as any human they wish.”
His eyes never leaving Petyr’s, he leveled his shotgun at Jake as he said, “But do you know what I remember best about that talk?”
Petyr shook his head mutely.
“He started his story with ‘No shit, there I was’.”
And everybody looked over at Old Jake.
