No writing prompt this week. This week I'm going with something else I'm working on and I thought I'd give you a taste.
Like a dealer.
First taste is free. You want more, you come ask and maybe we work something out.
What follows fell from my brain to my fingers one night in anticipation of grand designs and delusions of grandeur future success. It is saved on my computer as simply "Prologue". I've quite a few ideas like this one packed away in the cluttered closet of my imagination and I'm nervous anxious to get them on paper and in someone else's hands.
With that in mind, I sincerely hope you enjoy today's Fiction Friday. I give you "Prologue".
***
I'm going to die. I've always wondered if, when a person's time was near, they could somehow sense it. Don't get me wrong, I haven't seen a seven-foot tall man clad in oversized black robes with extraordinarily bony hands clutching a scythe. It isn't as esoteric as all that.
I have that feeling though. Call it a sixth sense. Call it premonition. Call it what you will. Cops call it that hinky feeling. When you walk into a situation and something just feels “off”. I've had that feeling more times than I can remember. It comes when you walk into that domestic call. It comes when you walk up to that car. Cops can smell trouble a mile away. Forewarned is forearmed, they say. At least we have a sense of it before we stumble blindly into it.
This car stop is like that. I can see his jittery eyes in the rearview before I even get off my motor. It took him longer to stop his car than most. Just enough to get my hackles up. Something in my psyche tells me not to stop this car. It's too late, though. My ego and my training over-rule the voice of warning in my head.
I reach across my body with my left hand and grab the right handlebar. I support my weight on my right foot and kick my left over the motorcycle seat and put it down on the ground. My body is angled toward the car I stopped for speeding. I've made this stop thousands of times. I don't even think about the mechanics of it anymore. It's so second nature that it's nearly first.
“Two-Mary One, Eleven Ninety-five,” I relay my traffic stop to my radio dispatcher.
“Two-Mary One, go ahead,” she parrots back.
“Six Lincoln Charles Four Seven Two Eight. I'm at Mine and Teak.” I've lost count of the number of plates I've run and the locations of my traffic stops. I used to wait until dispatch came back to me with the registration info for the car, but when you make hundreds of traffic stops each month, you get impatient. Not to mention, dispatchers get busy. They handle a ton of units at any given time. Hell, sometimes they simply forget.
I still have that hinky feeling as I'm walking up to the driver's side window. I rock the first level of retention on my holster forward. My thumb is on the second level release and I apply just a touch of downward pressure in guarded anticipation of having to draw my gun. That may sound paranoid...and I don't disagree, but I do it subconsciously as the voice in my head grows steadily from a whisper to a scream.
I'm just about to the driver's side window when two things happen.
First, dispatch comes over the air with, “Two-Mary One, copy Ten Thirty-six.” Ten code for confidential information. This code is commonly used when there is either a warrant associated with the car or the car is stolen. As I reach with my left hand to grab my lapel mic to acknowledge dispatch, I stop walking. I'm caught in no-man's land between my bike and the car I've stopped.
Then, the second thing happens. The driver throws his door open and time slows down. The driver, a white kid in his early 20's, puts both feet on the ground outside the car. He's wearing a Golden State Warriors ball cap cocked sideways on his greasy, brown hair. I can see the gold sticker listing the size of his hat still on the bill of the cap. Seems his head is a solid 7 3/8”. His left hand grabs the armrest of the driver's door to help him pull his 200 pound frame out of the driver's seat. He wears no ring on his left hand, but I can see a silver watch. I can see his face. He's got the stubble of a man who wishes he could grow facial hair, but will forever fall short. His mouth is turned sideways into a sneer.
He crouches forward to use his legs to push his body up and out of his car. He begins to turn counter-clockwise toward me. I see his right hand. He's holding a pistol similar to mine. I see the muzzle turn to get its bearing on me as I pull my own pistol.
Shots ring out.
I'm going to die.
***
As always, constructive criticism, unbridled praise, and/or editorial commentary (The Keynyn Premise) are welcome.
Image courtesy of Flickr and SoulRider.222
love it! very well written and how you ended it was great, off the top of my head i can’t really think of anything to criticize on it.
I’m a Premise, now, am I? I like that.
Okay, here’s your editorial comment (or, in this case, pretty much unbridled praise) from the Great White North: That. Was. Awesome.
Because I’m psychologically incapable of not correcting ANYTHING, I will say it’s kind of lame and old-school to use “20’s” instead of “20s” (the modern, streamlined way to do decades, baby). (Though your way is technically not wrong, she grudgingly admits.)
And, other than that, I got nothing. This is PERFECT.
The flow, especially, is fantastic. The use of present tense plus the streamlined writing lands us right in the action with no superfluous crap. I especially love the incredibly compact way we find out who the narrator is. There’s no “So, I’m a police officer; joined the force in ’92; here’s a whole paragraph about my training and my daily routine and my partner and my family just to ease you into shit before I get to today.” Nope, just one mention of cop stuff, and then ‘This stop is like that.’ I’m hooked.
This is me asking for more — can we work something out?
(Tell you what — I’ll edit your novels for grammar, punctuation and style, if you edit mine for accurate portrayal of cops, etc. Deal?
PP)
*Breathes a sigh of relief*
I thought you’d like the Premise. So it shall be.
Oh yes, me likey indeed.
Also, I forgot to mention that your addition of details like the guy’s hat size, which seems irrelevant on the surface but actually shows the absolute life-or-death focus of the narrator’s vision in that critical moment… totally reminded me of the way Stephen King writes. (And I like the guy’s writing so much I have a tattoo from one of his books on my hand, so that’s a big compliment.)
You shut your mouth. King is phenomenal!
Now I gotta know about the tat.
Just emailed you a pic.
It’s the sigul of Arthur of Eld from King’s Dark Tower series (book 7).
It’s also a reminder of my promise to myself to be a writer, and to follow King’s advice on writing (great stuff like “You need to write fast enough to keep up with your original enthusiasm and, at the same time, outrun the self-doubt that’s always waiting to settle in”, and “Talent is a wonderful thing, but it won’t carry a quitter”).
I feel like I was there. When I was a LEO I used to get “those dreams”.. you know.. where you can’t seem to overcome the weight of the trigger pull.. or nothing happens when you do.. And always seem to have had a resounding clarity the next couple of days later on the job as well.
I know its fiction, but I always wondered if there rings true anything to what you outline as the premonition the day you ‘are going to die..
But you know something else… since I left coppin’.. I haven’t had that dream once.
Long time reader, first time poster but that’s besides the fact. I always look forward to your Friday Fictions, keep on doing what you’re doing!
Well… there’s definitely at least one thing the United States and the Great White North have in common… That. Was. Awesome.
I’ll take 30 kilos! Send it directly to my INBOX, or just out there in Gen Pop if you’d like; either way, I need another hit.
So, don’t “bogart” it… puff, puff, give!
D
Good golly Miss Molly that had me sitting on the edge. I knew where the story was leading but the ending still came so sudden. If I had a page to turn I would have as I definitely wanted more while hoping that the premise was wrong. What an ending. Few people could have left it stand like that. Great job MC.
More please. Do you really need family time? Shouldn’t you be typing? Now next Friday seems so far away, thanks for that.
I do believe our subconscious thoughts are directly related to our real life events, therefore I would conclude that whether this is fiction or non-fiction is irrelevant, it is still a thought or an idea that weighs heavily on the minds of most LEO’s. I was on a volunteer fire service 25 years ago and only being in my early 20s, I can’t recall any dreams or nightmares that haunted me. Since a volunteer service wasn’t going to pay any bills I had to choose a profession that could. I happen to choose the electrical field, with in itself has it’s own dangers. I work on voltages that range from 110v to 500,000v. I was told early in my training that I would have dreams of my daily activities and some of them would be downright frightening. In doing linework, we are required to climb poles with climbers strapped to my legs, let me tell you there have been thousands of dreams of seeing myself “cutout” of a pole and plummeting to my most certain death. My instructor told me that none of his dreams ever ended with him hitting the ground, I can honestly say none of mine ended in my fatality as I would always snap awake as soon as my foot came out of the pole. Even with this fictional writing, so many LEO’s can relate to it that the premise of the story seems so lifelike. So much so that it leaves the reader begging for more. Very well written, I too would be asking for more. If you ever attempt to “Clancy” it (completely overdo technical terms, ex: it wasn’t just a pistol, it was a 17 shot 9mm Glock with a 9″ blued steel barrel with 1.8oz of trigger pull that delivers 32 lbs per square inch of kick) I will have to switch to another book.
The very reason I don’t read Clancy. You have nothing to fear with me, Ogre.
You definitely have a true writing talent. Coupled with the way your motorcop mind seems to crank out similar oddities to mine at times most opportune to giving yourself an internal chuckle, I too am hooked to your writing. I have a feeling, though, you are likely using this as a training ground for becoming a best-selling novelist. To echo other comments, I always find myself instantly hooked. Your flow did an amazing job of making it feel like time slowed down to a crawl as you took in every detail down to the stubble on his face. I have had two real world shoot-don’t shoot decisions in my career where less than a pound of trigger pull was left before the firing pin would have dropped. Thank god I have not yet been forced to add that additional trigger pressure. But, the way you laid this out is spot on with how it feels.
Side note from the warrior side of my brain, regarding this particular stop, whether this relayed dream, fantasy, or a real stop, I hope in real life you condition your brain to respond not with “I’m going to die.” Swap it out for something to the tune of “This man is is going to die today” or “God I didn’t want to take a life, but you lead me here so here we go”. Although, changing that would not have done justice to portraying the feeling of dread many of us can and have encountered in deadly force decision making.
Thank you, sir! I can’t give anything away re: your warrior side comment, but rest assured the thought of “I’m going to die” is intrinsic to the rest of the story I have brewing…but perhaps not the way it may be anticipated. Then again, maybe it is.
I’m such a tease.
I read (and write) a lot of fiction but this scared the crap out of me. To a lesser extent, medics have the same instincts. Your description of every little detail and how it tell you something is fascinating. I hope to hell this is really fiction!
You definitely need to write a novel!
Sam
You write well! (Did you actually pay attention in English class?)
I like it. Got my heart pumping, and while I’d love to hear the rest of the story, I also appreciate the opportunity to imagine what it might be.