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Last Christmas or the one before, I was writing a story for the annual Reacher holiday story fest and never finished it. It was a real time 2nd person (rather than 1st or 3rd) narrative that didn't seem to be working. I recently resurrected it (still unfinished and made it a real time 1st person story. Here's a brief excerpt:
“You don’t want a place where there might be a lot of witnesses, but you need a place where you can get a cell phone signal. Too far out in the boonies won’t cut it, so...here we are. My guess is you’ve only been here thirty minutes or so. An hour tops. Still, the two guys hiding behind the gas station must be pretty damn cold by now.”
The guy actually smiles and calls out in Chinese. After a moment I hear the scuffle of feet behind me. More than two pairs of feet. More than two guys.
“Not bad, old man, except there were four guys behind the station.”
A glance behind me confirms his statement.
I allow myself a deep sigh. Here we go. Again.
One man.
How many times over the years? Is there some kind of sign on my back that reads, “Gang up on me”? Why does it always seem to come down to this? And I wonder: Does asking myself these questions mean the lifestyle is getting old? Is it time to hang it up, settle down? Are you indeed an “old man”, Reacher?
I roll my head on my neck, causing a couple of pops. Flex my shoulders.
Let’s find out.
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Maybe I'll finish this in time for Christmas this year.
“You don’t want a place where there might be a lot of witnesses, but you need a place where you can get a cell phone signal. Too far out in the boonies won’t cut it, so...here we are. My guess is you’ve only been here thirty minutes or so. An hour tops. Still, the two guys hiding behind the gas station must be pretty damn cold by now.”
The guy actually smiles and calls out in Chinese. After a moment I hear the scuffle of feet behind me. More than two pairs of feet. More than two guys.
“Not bad, old man, except there were four guys behind the station.”
A glance behind me confirms his statement.
I allow myself a deep sigh. Here we go. Again.
One man.
How many times over the years? Is there some kind of sign on my back that reads, “Gang up on me”? Why does it always seem to come down to this? And I wonder: Does asking myself these questions mean the lifestyle is getting old? Is it time to hang it up, settle down? Are you indeed an “old man”, Reacher?
I roll my head on my neck, causing a couple of pops. Flex my shoulders.
Let’s find out.
=====
Maybe I'll finish this in time for Christmas this year.
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