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Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The Musical

by Frank

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a piece of a longer writing project. You can view the entire project here: The Musical

The following is a piece of writing submitted by Frank on March 31, 2010
"This book is going to be like something from Thomas Harris, though nothing of the same merrit."

Chapter one Part Seven

It was a long time ago, he should have forgotten by now, but that helpless face and those big bright eyes... they would never leave him.
He never even remembered his dreams, and maybe this was a good thing, for, being in the line of work he was this could pose a problem mentally. There was a time long ago when he used to see a psycologist about these things, these flashbacks, but then they stopped and he went back to normal again. But before then he used to stay up all night thrashing and sining dead songs to himself, crying and wailing before he was sedated. Now all this had been nulled.
He was sane again.
Eddie Jefferson awoke and sat up in bed. There was silence around his room and as always noise from down in the kitchen. He closed his eyes for one more minute, then upon sudden impulse he leapt out of bed and onto the cold floor.

"How did you sleep?" Katy asked and shoved a plate of pancakes his way. He grunted his thanks and was silent. Soon his kids would be up and all hell mine as well be raised.
Mine as well, being the case, with anything for his kids.
"I didn't dream, so I suppose thats a good thing."
"Of course its a good thing, as much good as that shrink was doing you, we had to fast some important things, we're not that rich."
"I'm crazed, that doesn't help the matter."
She touched his hand and fluttered her eye lids, "You never were crazy, you were once a freaking psycho, but now your my husband again."
He loved her, but he never really liked her.
It was then that his breakfast was ruined. Stairs creaked and two of the loudest voices were heard runnning down the stairs, how did he like the pancakes, his head seemed to split with each step they took.
She smiled and winked at him.

It was a half an hour later. He was washing the dishes and wishing there was a cold beer handy when.
And as fate would have, little in this world is accomplished without fate, the phone rang.
Katy stopped kneeling on the floor with her kids and picked it up.
"Hello?... Hey Manson... He's right here..." she swiviled on her feet and looked him in the eye.
"Its for you."
Murder is easy, said Agatha Christie once.

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