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The Lorax
Alright, I've begun to write a novel, not sure how long it'll be yet, but I want to get some more opinions on if I should continue....I've only got a few chapters done, so it's not a big deal if it bombs....and yes, comments appreciated!

The red and blue police lights reflecting off the wet asphalt and concrete as I walked one foot in the gutter and one on the sidewalk, pushing myself up slowly and then coming down quickly to splash the water that lay in the puddle below me. I tilted my head slightly as I saw a black opening where a door should be, and as I paused I saw a man in a paramedics uniform back out of the house with a gurney in tow.

The form on the medical bed was motionless, eventhough it was strapped down, and a white sheet covered the victim. From where I was I could see dark stains on the sheet-especially as I neared the police tape to get a better look, as had some of the neighbors, who were cozy together in their golashes under their umbrellas.

I glanced at the couple next to me: middle aged, white, they had a sheltered almost snooty look about them. The woman, her hair curled and held in perfection by an absurd amount of hairspray, her diamond earrings, and the Kashmir sweater that I could see under her lengthy wool coat signified their wealth--I lost interest then.

My gloveless fingers had water dripping off the tips as I stood there while they rolled the gurney down the front path, in an almost comically slow way-like someone was pressing slow motion on a VCR.

A gasp next to me made me look over as the woman buried her head in her husband's chest--from there I followed his gaze to the door--and down to the walkway. Two darkened stains only broken up occasionally by the cracks that appeared every few feet, and led straight to the wheels of the gurney that was now being loaded into the ambulance.

By the light coming out of the back of the truck I could see the grim faces of the paramedics-they themselves were splattered with blood, their white latex gloves were crimson from the wrist down.

Inconspicuously I slid my hands into the pockets of my trenchcoat and felt around, and momentarily I felt the cool slick material of my black leather gloves. I hung my head, feigning respect--but in reality I was trying to hide my smile.

The ambulance pulled away and now it was safe to leave now only cops and the detectives were left--and there was no real reason for me to stick around anymore.

The couple from earlier were talking to a cop up ahead...well the man was talking, all the woman could utter, on occasion, was a hysterical wail. Still, when I passed they paused and looked at me.

"Ma'am," the cop said a suspicious tinge to his tone. He tapped me on the shoulder when I just stood there, hands in pockets with my head hung slightly, and then he resorted to excusing himself from the couple for a moment to walk infront of me and stare me down. "Ma'am, could I please ask you some questions?"

I looked up, my earlier smile gone, now realizing I should have left earlier, I just realized that I was getting what I deserved. My face now looked that of a solemn bystander that had just witnessed the gruesome tragedy of a life being taken...without milking it for all it was worth.

"Yes Officer," I questioned quietly meeting his gaze with my light blue eyes, my mom had once told me that my eyes were enough to melt any man...she said they sparkled whenever I was in a good mood, and that when I was angry-they tinged a darker color.

True enough to what she said, the young cop faltered, by what it seemed he was fresh out of the academy, and hadn't developed all the skills he needed for the streets masking what he's really feeling. Not only did it seem that he was fresh meat, but as I observed from the hand that held his pen, there was no wedding ring.

The flustered man cleared his throat and then glances back up at me, trying to regain control of himself before conducting a 'professional' investigation. Rain was sheeting off his jacket-and ruining what he already had down, so technically, no matter what I said he could never prove it.

"What--what brings you by here tonight?" The rookie did his best to make a mark on his soaked notepad but only succeeded in ripping through most of it. He blushed a bit and looked at me as I calmly stood there keeping my gaze at his face-only glancing at the notebook once.

A soft grin began spread to my face as he nervously looked me in the eye--my full lips separating slightly to reveal my straight white teeth, giving him a tiny flirtatious smile, just to see him squirm uncomfortably. "I'm on my way home from work."

He was a logical awnser--and there was no reason to suspect me for anything, so he just nodded and walked back over to the wailing woman and her exhausted husband.

My smile faded as I tilted my head back down, making a curtain of blonde hair on either side of my head block my view of the house and the other side of the street as I continued on toward my home.

Letting me go would be his first mistake, I thought as the right corner of my mouth slid up into a smirk, but he'd never know...

As I stepped infront of the door to my apartment I rummaged around in my pockets for my key. I ran my fingers against the jagged edge of the teeth and pulled it out of my pocket and brought it up to my face. It had some dark brown stains on it, lazily I rubbed my thumb over them and they came off.

I stuck the key in the lock and turned it-I heard the click and realized I was home free. My face lit up and I walked into my living room with a beaming smile. I kicked off my boots on the tile by the door and opened up the coat closet and stuck my trench inside. Underneath, my waitressing uniform was soaked, but I didn't care--I was just happy to have gotten away with it.

Walking by the TV, I turned it on, and pumped the volume up so I could hear it from my room--and I turned it to the news.

"--Police say that the victim, eighteen year old Lisa Auster was shot at point blank range with a semi automatic revolver. So far, there are no leads in this case, and no evidence has been found as of yet, but as Officer Peter Cooney says, they're remaining optimistic--"

I snorted, of course they had to remain 'optimistic', they couldn't shut a case down right after it opened, it would only show in cold hard evidence that the justice system didn't work.

I unbuttoned the front of my uniform and slid my cold arms out of the sleeves, and let the whole front fall down about my waist, along with the pleated skirt we had to wear. I reached my arms behind by back and unhooked my bra and then pulled the straps off my shoulders.

I slipped my skirt and my panties off and stood completely naked infront of my floor length mirror and smirked--no one would ever expect....

After I got out of the shower slid on a nightgown, a light translucent blue silk one-along with a pair of panties and walked out into the living room to turn off the TV. The story was long since over by then and hearing about bombings in Iraq didn't really interest me.

I dropped onto the couch and closed my eyes, loving the cool silk against my body. I felt so clean--well cleaner compared to earlier...I remembered the cop, the gurney...and the girl.

Once more I smiled--it looked sick upon my pale face, especially after seeing something as terrible as that....

But then did cause it, the little voice in the back of my head drawled. You killed that girl and then walked out into the rain like you did it every day.

"So what if I killed her?" I said aloud, pausing right after because I just realized I was talking myself. I began to laugh; I was beginning to sound crazy...

But I don't tell you this. I sit and stare blankly at you, my secret smile held fast on my face. You're looking straight back at me, and though you hide it well, I know you're scared of me.

You know all the things I've done.

I make a sudden movement and lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, I hear the creak of my hard wooden chair...and so do you. You jump slightly and let out a sigh of relief, realizing that I'm not going to attack you or anything. That's what you and the guards are worried about...but I haven't done anything to hurt you or the other screw ups in this place.

"Manda," you say in that decisively emotionless tone that you're told to use with me...because you weren't the first to come in here and try to break down my 'psychological barriers' that I’m using to 'protect' myself. My last doctor was open.... And she paid the price for it.... I used the facts she gave me when she was trying to make me trust her and told her the gods honest truth. She never came back.

And that's when you came. You and your squeaky clean appearance. You dress more like a lawyer than the crackpot you went through over six years of college for.

This is when I realize you've been talking the past five minutes. I blink and tilt my head, not necessarily understanding what you've said.

"Why did you kill Lisa?"

Six years went through all that and you believe a five-word question will get me to spill my heart to you?

I lean back and look out the barred window to the right of me, and lightly rub my wrists against the handcuffs that they keep on me whenever I’m not in my room.... And I shut you out.

I don't know how long it's been, but I feel the guard, Bill, grab my upper arm and haul me up. I glance over to see you stand at the door--another guard notices you and pushes a button. A horn blares and the door opens. You walk out and I realize that the session is over. I don't have to see you for another two days.
There are some pretty significant flaws, but you have my attention.

First and foremost: fix your first sentence, as it is, in fact, not a sentence.

Second: Watch out for your run on sentences.

Third: Set the scenes better.

Fourth: Don't be so blatant. Your reader is not a moron, don't treat him/her as one. Let them draw conclusions; every thought does not need to be stated right out.

Fifth: make a difference between your character/narrator's thoughts and the actual narration.

Sixth: Cut down on the damn elipsi (...) The use of them at all makes it feel like an amateur work, but their presence in each and every sentence doesn't build the slow, cold, and thoughtful language you're trying for. That's what word choice is for.

So there you have it - my six issues with the beginning. Don't stop writing; on the contrary, practice more, but work harder on making yourself more mature.
Oh yeah, and for the theory of writing a novel: don't go in thinking about how long or short it will be - it's over when it's over.
The Lorax
Thanks, Mike! happy.gif I'll work on that.
I'm thinking about a novel too. The idea I'm leaning towards is "Sniper kills president in future, is not discovered. Hides in a cement room with nothing but a TV with cable. Every time he falls asleep, he wakes up and there is food and water, but he was sure he sealed the only exit. Man fights himself over his sanity."
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