Another Excerpt

Another excerpt from my novel. It’s a flashback sequence.     


She had been in the corner of the busy office, engrossed in filing paperwork. She heard the quiet thumping of desk against wall in the room next door. Had this been a few months ago, the 16-year- old would have been interested, perhaps even pressing her ear against the frosted window. But not anymore. She grew weary seeing and hearing the many women that had flocked through the building. These were the whores of the city, many working out from the infamous Pleasure District.

Jadyn barely noticed the loud, quick rapping at the front door. After three knocks, a pause, and another series of knocks, the door opened, nearly slamming the golden knob against the beige wall.

The man couldn’t have been any older than in his mid-twenties. His polished look had obviously been from his wealthy upbringing. He was tall, with fair skin, and had cold, pale eyes the color of washed-out amber.

He looked at her for a few seconds; the uncertainty in his look made her very uncomfortable. As he approached, he nervously wrung his black hat in his slender hands. He stopped inches in front of her desk.

“Excuse me, miss. Where is…?” Before he finished, he turned his head towards the door. She noticed his long locks of dark blond hair, like ropes, tied behind him. She had never seen hair like this before, and was quite fascinated.

They both heard the sound of a hand slapping against flesh, as well as a lady’s whimper from behind a closed door.

He looked at her again, this time rolling his eyes and pointing towards tghe noise’s direction. “Oh…he’s…?”

Jadyn nodded hurriedly. “Yes…all the time.”

They both smiled at each other. Jadyn had been waiting for the young man to introduce himself when the sounds stopped. There was a rustling of clothing being hastily put on. The short silence between them proved uncomfortable.

Jadyn was a little more than disappointed that he had not said anything farther.

The door opened.

“My nephew…” the older man said longingly. The bashful woman wore a naughty, deep scarlet dress that stopped just above her knees.

The younger man just gave a tight-lipped smile.

 “Rhiyah, one of these days, we need to get you some cunt.” He said as he held the tart tighter. Jadyn noticed a red mark near her shoulder blade, the size of a thumb, slashed across her neck. “You’re much too young to be going without.”

And then Zephyr pointed towards Jadyn and walked towards the corner.

Take her. She’s pretty fresh…” He reached down and grabbed her wrist, forcing the frightened girl to stand, and pushed her towards Rhiyah.

Jadyn, this is my nephew, Rhiyah. Doesn’t he look nice?” She said nothing, but stayed still.

Rhiyah looked at Jadyn with an expression she couldn’t quite read, the same as before. Had it been coldness? Aloofness? Curiosity? Either way, it didn’t look like he had been willing to take up his uncle’s crude offer.

Eh…” he had said, nudging Rhiyah on his side. “ She’s a very quiet, very shy girl. But you know what they say about the quiet ones!” Zephyr had laughed drunkenly. The woman had giggled.




One of my friends posted in article he had written on Facebook that really got me thinking. It was about the Syrian situation and what may happen and what one could do if certain situations were to come into play.

So I’m looking through the various things one could do, and I realized how woefully unprepared that I would be in these situations.  Forget an impending WW III, even just basic things.  Black outs,  snow storms, floods, hurricanes. What would I do if it were to happen right now?

I feel like the ease and convenience of city living (especially in New York City) is also a major draw back with the major events mentioned previously. When Irene was scheduled to hit a few years ago,  one of my friends asked why would you prepare BEFOREHAND? I honestly thought he couldn’t have said or asked anything dumber than that (alas, he has been able to top it over and over again). Doesn’t it make sense to prepare maybe even months beforehand?

It’s interesting how the media poked fun at “preppers,” yet when Sandy happened,  these “preppers” were more than prepared.  Maybe it’s not realistic to have six months’ worth of supplies stashed on hand, but having something is better than nothing. People in a city live in a bubble,  and I’d rather not be that one person who goes to the store in the wake of yet another hurricane and nothing’s left.

Jack’s November?

*it’s yet another excerpt!  But it’s from a novella that I’ve been toying with for nearly 2 1/2 years.  I have a love/hate, I-don’t-really-wanna-write-ya-but-it’s-like-therapy relationship to it, so I want it to be great. Why can’t I just be great? !*

She woke up in the morning with a throbbing  headache. She didn’t know where she was, but this was certainly not her dorm room! She panicked.  
She swung her feet over to the right side of the bed and stumbled towards the toilet. It was only a few feet away, but  it felt like much much farther. She pulled down her pants and pissed. 
She forgot to flush.
She yelled out in surprise when she saw him, sitting on the window sill, smiling.
“Oh, I’m here,” she said.
“Indeed,” he replied, and took a long inhale of his Marlboros. She panicked again. Who had taken off her shirt? Her wifebeater was tangled with her bra. She spotted her shirt by the floor, and ran to grab it.  
“Don’t worry; I didn’t do anything to ya.”
“How do I know?” She dropped the shirt back on the floor. Had he read her thoughts?
“Does your pussy feel sore?” He looked at her, half concerned, half  apathetic. 
She looked down. Her pants had been on when she had woken up.

“Well, there ya go.” He turned to look back outside and smoke his cigarette again.
“Wait…what happened last night?” Maybe he hadn’t tried to have sex with her, but maybe he tried to do other things.
He looked at her again, irritated. 
“Nothing much. You drank a lot of my wine. You babbled a lot. You took  your shirt off because you said you were hot. And then you fell asleep.”
“I…I did?” She walked to the other side of the bed, where he was. He said nothing, but continued puffing away at his cigarette.
She sat down next to him, rested her head on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much,” she said. “I’m only eighteen.”
“Just drink water and you’ll be ok.”
Another puff of the cigarette.