A little scene I've been toying around with in my head
So I've been writing again lately, piecing scenes together under a general theme I started back in my first semester at Tulane, with the opening chapter of a sci-fi/adventure novel(la) for my creative writing survey course. This little scene was one I've been writing and re-writing in my little black notebook I carry around at school.
As Lucas stepped into the bar, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The bar was deserted but for two patrons; par for the course at seven in the morning on a Tuesday. Lucas sat down at the, two stools over from a customer slumped over the marble counter.
The bartender looked up from her morning paper. "What can I get you?"
"Coffee, two sugars please," he replied.
"Want any Irish in that?"
"Too early. Don't want to be like this guy," Lucas replied, nodding toward the satisfied customer to his right.
The bartender shrugged as she lumped grounds into a filter for brewing.
"Hey... I know you," came an unsteady voice from across the barroom. What appeared to be a drunk deep in his cups slowly unfolded itself into an altogether more menacing shape. "You're the guy who had me committed. Said the voices weren't real." He flexed his unnaturally large arms, chuckling softly. "It's funny. If they aren't real, how could they teach me how to do this?"
Lucas turned to face the character just in time to get knocked sideways by an unseen force that knocked him over the bar-top. The bartender threw herself beneath the bar as another blow struck the back-bar, shattering bottles and the mirror behind the shelves. Crouching beneath the bar, Lucas pulled out the handgun he kept in his waistband since his unsettling encounter with Rebbecca three days earlier.
A third blow rocked the bar, cracking the marble above Lucas's head. He popped up from behind the bar, quickly aiming and firing two shots into his assailant. Laughter was the only response he received.
"A gun? I thought you were a doctor!" The drunk's voice seemed odd to Lucas, as though it had a much deeper echo behind it. The unnatural attacker swung his huge arms at Lucas once more, this time narrowly missing; the blow instead shredded a cooler filled with imported beer, scattering bottles beneath Lucas.
"Shit. Gun's useless, and that voice can't be a good sign. He must really be possessed," he muttered to himself. He scanned the bottles scattered beneath the bar. "There must be something here. Everclear, 151, something flammable... wait." Another blow rent the bar asunder, leaving a giant gash from floor to marble top. Lucas grabbed a large bottle from the destroyed beer cooler and wrestled the cork out with his teeth before taking a long pull from it.
"Oh, now you're drinking," the bartender muttered from her hiding place a few feet away.
His attacker's feet were now visible through the gash in the bar. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" he chanted in his stereophonic voice.
Lucas sprang up, nearly face to face with his possessed assailant before spraying the contents of his mouth on him.
"What is this, beer? You think BEER is going to stop me?" the man asked, just as his face began to open up in terrible burns. He shrieked as his face melted down onto his shirt; the remainder of his body quickly followed suit, ending up in a flesh-colored puddle at the foot of the ruined bar.
"What the fuck did you do to him?" the bartender yelped as she saw the mass on the floor.
He raised the blue-labeled bottle up for her to see. "Chimay Grande Reserve. Made by monks in an abbey for the last five-hundred years. Doesn't get much holier than that, even if you try. So, about that coffee?"
As Lucas stepped into the bar, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The bar was deserted but for two patrons; par for the course at seven in the morning on a Tuesday. Lucas sat down at the, two stools over from a customer slumped over the marble counter.
The bartender looked up from her morning paper. "What can I get you?"
"Coffee, two sugars please," he replied.
"Want any Irish in that?"
"Too early. Don't want to be like this guy," Lucas replied, nodding toward the satisfied customer to his right.
The bartender shrugged as she lumped grounds into a filter for brewing.
"Hey... I know you," came an unsteady voice from across the barroom. What appeared to be a drunk deep in his cups slowly unfolded itself into an altogether more menacing shape. "You're the guy who had me committed. Said the voices weren't real." He flexed his unnaturally large arms, chuckling softly. "It's funny. If they aren't real, how could they teach me how to do this?"
Lucas turned to face the character just in time to get knocked sideways by an unseen force that knocked him over the bar-top. The bartender threw herself beneath the bar as another blow struck the back-bar, shattering bottles and the mirror behind the shelves. Crouching beneath the bar, Lucas pulled out the handgun he kept in his waistband since his unsettling encounter with Rebbecca three days earlier.
A third blow rocked the bar, cracking the marble above Lucas's head. He popped up from behind the bar, quickly aiming and firing two shots into his assailant. Laughter was the only response he received.
"A gun? I thought you were a doctor!" The drunk's voice seemed odd to Lucas, as though it had a much deeper echo behind it. The unnatural attacker swung his huge arms at Lucas once more, this time narrowly missing; the blow instead shredded a cooler filled with imported beer, scattering bottles beneath Lucas.
"Shit. Gun's useless, and that voice can't be a good sign. He must really be possessed," he muttered to himself. He scanned the bottles scattered beneath the bar. "There must be something here. Everclear, 151, something flammable... wait." Another blow rent the bar asunder, leaving a giant gash from floor to marble top. Lucas grabbed a large bottle from the destroyed beer cooler and wrestled the cork out with his teeth before taking a long pull from it.
"Oh, now you're drinking," the bartender muttered from her hiding place a few feet away.
His attacker's feet were now visible through the gash in the bar. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" he chanted in his stereophonic voice.
Lucas sprang up, nearly face to face with his possessed assailant before spraying the contents of his mouth on him.
"What is this, beer? You think BEER is going to stop me?" the man asked, just as his face began to open up in terrible burns. He shrieked as his face melted down onto his shirt; the remainder of his body quickly followed suit, ending up in a flesh-colored puddle at the foot of the ruined bar.
"What the fuck did you do to him?" the bartender yelped as she saw the mass on the floor.
He raised the blue-labeled bottle up for her to see. "Chimay Grande Reserve. Made by monks in an abbey for the last five-hundred years. Doesn't get much holier than that, even if you try. So, about that coffee?"