This is the off topic forum, right?
Here is an excerpt. I wrote 33000 words over spring break (only 60 pages) while on a road trip.
The soldier, taken aback, said, “One minute, sir.” He got on his radio and spoke quietly, then gestured to his right.
“You can use this room,” he said. He pulled a key card from his pocket and swiped it through a card reader. The door unlocked, and Stephen opened the door and walked in to the drab room, probably a break room, with a Formica table and some folding chairs in the middle of it. Stephen sat down in the chair and the Ashmans did the same.
“What's wrong?” repeated Luisa.
Stephen paused to maintain his composure.
“Last night, Natalie and my parents went to dinner. I was late to join them when the car they were in blew up. Right in front of me. They're all dead.”
Luisa started sobbing and leaned in to Fred, who put his arm around her. Fred was crying as well.
“It happened quickly.” Fred made a statement, not a question.
For the first time since Natalie and his parents died, Stephen broke into tears. All of the emotions he had been holding in during the course of the day came out at once.
“Who-who did it?” sobbed Luisa.
“The trigger men are dead. I shot them myself. I don't know who ordered them to do it, but you can sure as hell bet that I'm going to find out.”
“You were the target,” said Fred.
“That's the consensus.”
Nobody spoke for a while.
“You two need to keep your heads down. I don't work at the Agency any more. I had a falling out with Director Cunningham. If you guys need anything-”
“Don't worry about us. You lost more than we did,” said Fred.
“I'm going to make some calls. I have some nagging suspicions.”
“Go ahead. We'll stay here until we're ready to leave.”
“Here's my card. You can come by my house tonight if you'd like. Do you have furniture in your house?”
“Yes, we do. Thank you.”
“Give me a call.” Stephen walked out of the room. He spoke to the National Guardsman again.
“Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir?”
“The man and woman in there just found out that their daughter was murdered. Please give them whatever time they need to regain their composure.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard, again taken aback, “but you knew her, didn't you?”
“Who?”
“The girl that died.”
Stephen paused. “She was my girlfriend.” He walked away.
When he returned to his house, he showered and put on loose fitting clothes. He walked to the living room and checked his answering machine - he had eight messages. He hit “play.”
“Hey you. This is your girlfriend. The English one. We're waiting for you at the restaurant! We're going to order! Come on, Stephen. I love you. Bye.”
Stephen played the message twelve times before saving it and moving on to the next one.
“Hey, Stephen! This is Luisa. We'll be arriving at Dulles-” Stephen deleted the message.
Here is an excerpt. I wrote 33000 words over spring break (only 60 pages) while on a road trip.
The soldier, taken aback, said, “One minute, sir.” He got on his radio and spoke quietly, then gestured to his right.
“You can use this room,” he said. He pulled a key card from his pocket and swiped it through a card reader. The door unlocked, and Stephen opened the door and walked in to the drab room, probably a break room, with a Formica table and some folding chairs in the middle of it. Stephen sat down in the chair and the Ashmans did the same.
“What's wrong?” repeated Luisa.
Stephen paused to maintain his composure.
“Last night, Natalie and my parents went to dinner. I was late to join them when the car they were in blew up. Right in front of me. They're all dead.”
Luisa started sobbing and leaned in to Fred, who put his arm around her. Fred was crying as well.
“It happened quickly.” Fred made a statement, not a question.
For the first time since Natalie and his parents died, Stephen broke into tears. All of the emotions he had been holding in during the course of the day came out at once.
“Who-who did it?” sobbed Luisa.
“The trigger men are dead. I shot them myself. I don't know who ordered them to do it, but you can sure as hell bet that I'm going to find out.”
“You were the target,” said Fred.
“That's the consensus.”
Nobody spoke for a while.
“You two need to keep your heads down. I don't work at the Agency any more. I had a falling out with Director Cunningham. If you guys need anything-”
“Don't worry about us. You lost more than we did,” said Fred.
“I'm going to make some calls. I have some nagging suspicions.”
“Go ahead. We'll stay here until we're ready to leave.”
“Here's my card. You can come by my house tonight if you'd like. Do you have furniture in your house?”
“Yes, we do. Thank you.”
“Give me a call.” Stephen walked out of the room. He spoke to the National Guardsman again.
“Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir?”
“The man and woman in there just found out that their daughter was murdered. Please give them whatever time they need to regain their composure.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard, again taken aback, “but you knew her, didn't you?”
“Who?”
“The girl that died.”
Stephen paused. “She was my girlfriend.” He walked away.
When he returned to his house, he showered and put on loose fitting clothes. He walked to the living room and checked his answering machine - he had eight messages. He hit “play.”
“Hey you. This is your girlfriend. The English one. We're waiting for you at the restaurant! We're going to order! Come on, Stephen. I love you. Bye.”
Stephen played the message twelve times before saving it and moving on to the next one.
“Hey, Stephen! This is Luisa. We'll be arriving at Dulles-” Stephen deleted the message.