My more ambitious projects have been the few times I tried to write a novel. I've engaged in the NaNoWriMo challenges nearly every year for the last five years and though I never reach 50,000 words in a month, I have improved year over year. Unfortunately, like many before me, time becomes monopolized by other priorities. That does not mean, however, that I have given up — sometimes I just need a break. Here are a selection of chapters from recent drafts of novels and novellas that I have dabbled in.
It was grey and windy at the beach that day. As the end of fall neared, the cold New England weather often took hold like a muggers grasp around an innocents’ throat. It was November, and the Connecticut sun was furiously beating at the overcast sky. But the light could barely get a ray in edgewise on account of the unfavorably cold weather. Indeed if it were much colder, one would expect it to begin to snow. But no snow would come for several weeks this far down the hill; not that there were many hills to speak of in these parts. At this elevation, one might be able to make out the coast and see all that nature had to provide. And nature always provides. From Greenwich Cove, to Smith, to McKinney Wildlife Preserve, this part of I-95 was full of some of the best views offshore. This was, however, as close to the shore as one usually chooses to get. Even a quiet stop such as tiny Byram Beach was no delight in this cold, sluggish weather.
It was a Sunday.
Just after dawn, the Connecticut Turnpike was already bustling with life. The early morning rush was unusually high for a Sunday, especially in November. Most Connecticuters would rather be at home on a cold morning like this. But there were others, many from other states, who seemed instead to enjoy the autumn brown. Some even going so far as to step out of their heated cars and endure the blistering cold to take in the foliage as it shifted from green, to gold, to brown. Of course no one would be so daft as to step out on the highway, so the quiet surface streets and avenues of these communities were bombarded by late arrivals to the fall excursion.
Though some were in town on their leafy pilgrimage, even so late in the year, others were on the way out, or through, or whatever which way suited them. One car in particular, a red SUV, was blowing down the Connecticut Turnpike like it had somewhere to be yesterday. This, in spite of the unusual traffic, had taken the occupants from as far north as Peabody, Massachusetts to Greenwich in just under three hours. The car, and it occupants, had been all over the New England coast in the last few days. Having started in New Hampshire, the car had made its way down the coast in a more-or-less unguided fashion. The five fresh-faced bodies inside the car would exit now and then as each individual came across a new sight to behold and capture in their high-tech smartphones. Four men and a woman of varying ethnic backgrounds, but all roughly the same age – give or take, would come to a stop in order to crowd around a self-appointed tourist sight and take a picture together. Most stops were decided arbitrarily, with one needing only to cry “stop” to compel the driver to pull off the road. There were three drivers in all: Lucas – who owned the car, his friend Virgil and their friend Adam. The other two occupants who could not be troubled to drive were Michael and his life-long friend, Tomoko. Neither one knew how to drive, only how to stop and take pictures.
As the trip had worn on, it had become the case that they were stopping quite a bit. Tomoko especially had asked for dozens of stops to see cliffs and beaches and sample the local cuisine. As a West Coast girl, she had never been given the opportunity to see New England before now. After being invited on this “boys only” trip by her friend Michael, she could not help herself but try and soak it all in at once. She even wanted to stop and see an old house overlooking the edge[CMS1] of a rock face just a couple of days earlier in Massachusetts. The rickety old thing on the outskirts of Glouchester was a foreboding mess that looked as though it had not seen love, or paint, for some time. A morose old home, it had been unlived in for some years, the neighbors told them. Just up the road from an old manufactory, the unseemly sight left chills in the boys’ spines, but for Tomoko, it was more of a tingle. Tomoko had gone to university for Architecture and loved old homes. It was a surprise that they did not stop at every house they came across. But it was here, at this home, that Tomoko took a most serious interest. There was something spooky about it; all abandoned and festering. She seemed to feel a connection to it somehow.
The boys, on the other hand, were far less impressed with the sights, and smells, the coast had to offer. Adam and Virgil were both from New England and had seen it all before. There was a great deal of grey, cold, uneasiness that came with the coast. It was as if it would drag you down to the bottom of the sea if you got too close. There was maybe two weeks in the middle of August where it was tolerable. Maybe. Other than that, the old houses, the food stops, the pictures, it was all pretty mundane. Even Michael, a west coast kid, was feeling like everything they stopped at was all becoming the same. The Trip was starting to feel like a slow drag across state lines. But Tomoko was enjoying herself too much to notice and she went on trying to make all the connections she could.
As for Lucas, there was a different connection in his mind; a highway connection, from Peabody to New York City. Which was why at four in the morning, they all woke up, checked out of their hotel rooms, and got on the road. Lucas was determined to get into the city before noon. He wanted to mingle with the crowds at lunch time and take in the atmosphere. It had been his first priority when planning this trip for the four of them. Now, with five in tow, Lucas could not wait to see the city. He had a kind of allusion of a city rich in culture and identity. The kind where one could just melt into it and mix with the other people; as if in a great boiling pot. He hoped someday to stir up that pot as a forensic chemist. He wanted to get into a government field and was ambitious about applying for a Homeland Security post in the Big Apple. It was that kind of ambition that had put him deep into his studies in the chemistry lab at the university; often for days at a time.
As he drove throughout the early morning, he passed by the landscape so fast one might hardly know they were in Connecticut. He had been driving with a heavy foot of iron and after a short night, the sun was just coming up over the coastline. As the sun belched its faint light over the morning clouds, his eyes were beginning to drag him down. Like in the university lab before, his ambition had once again cost him sleep. But there was no reasoning with him, so he drove on, and continued to make good time; while the others slept unawares. Lucas had been planning this leg of the trip for a long time now and he only had five days to take in the sights before moving on to the next destination. Besides, the reservations were for noon and if they were not there on time, they would have to make other accommodations. That meant a day lost just looking for a hotel to stay in; one day less to mingle.
As they rounded the curve in the road that shot around the Belle Haven peninsula, Lucas relaxed his foot on the gas and began to drift slightly to left of the lane. For one brief second, his ambitions were like a dream, and his mind took him places he had only dreamed about for these last few months. Indeed, over the years, he had had plenty of opportunities to visit the city that never sleeps while at the University; he just never could seem to make the trip. There was always some excuse for him not to go. But now, here he was, in New York. With all the sights he could hope to see and all the sounds as of yet unheard of by his virgin ears. Only one sound began to quickly overtake the others. It was a bellowing sound, loud and bold; like a raging elephant on the attack. Or perhaps something nearly like it. And it seemed to be getting closer.
It was right on top of him.
As his eyes glanced to his left, his picturesque cityscape was replaced by his car’s driver’s side mirror. And in it, hurdling towards him at high speed was an eighteen-wheeler tractor truck. He panicked, and woke to find himself instinctively jerking the steering wheel to the right and back into his lane. The sudden jolt of motion and the loud blowing horn of the tractor-trailer woke the car to a raucous flurry of questions.
“It’s O.K!” Lucas said, trying not to sound alarmed. “Everything’s O.K. It’s just a truck, having some fun with us. Alright?”
He was not convincing to the others.
“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” asked Adam.
“Nooo.” Lucas said, stretching his vowel as he tried to blink himself awake. “It was just some guy who thinks the road is his. It’s nothing to worry about.” He said in a reassuring tone.
“Nope. I don’t believe you.” Adam said without hesitation. “Pull over. I’m driving.”
“Can we at least wait till we cross the New York border?” asked Lucas. “It’s just over the next bridge.”
As the two began to haggle for time at the wheel, Tomoko spotted a sign leading to an off ramp. Her eyes instantly widen and the excitement escaped from her mouth as soon as she began to speak.
“Look!” she said. “Byram park and beach!”
“No!” exclaimed Lucas. “No more sightseeing. We need to get to New York before we miss our check in window.”
“And we will,” said Adam. “But only after I take over driving.”
“Fine,” Lucas said, resigning himself. “We can stop in one mile; after the state line bridge.”
As they passed the exit to the park, Tomoko gave a huff and sat back into her seat. It was still going to be at least an hour till they were officially in the city. Traffic permitting, they could make a brief stop to stretch and still get into town with time to spare. But just as they passed the exit, traffic came to a sudden and screeching halt. An accident just ahead had stopped everything and cars were unceremoniously divided into lanes of haves and have-nots. The haves were the ones in the prime position to escape around the accident, via the number three lane on the outside. As for the have-nots, everyone else had to wait their turn to get around. The path to freedom was further hampered by the arrival of paramedics and police. Lucas, like many on the road at that moment, was not amused. His car was stuck in the furthest most lane; the so called fast lane. The irony quickly wore thin. When he realized he was trapped in the state’s largest free parking spot, he forced down the e-brake, unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car.
As he rounded the rear of the vehicle, he pulled on the rear passenger door handle to let Adam out. Instead, Lucas found himself locked out of his car. The window rolled down part way to reveal Adam’s trolling face, and he asked of Lucas,
“Yeeesss?”
“You said you wanted to drive, come on.”
“Oh? But I thought we agreed after we crossed the bridge?”
“There’s no point. We’re gonna’ be stuck here for at least ten minutes.”
“Yes. But, I’d hate to deprive my friend of his triumphant entrance into the state he so covets.”
Lucas looked on at Adam with bemusement. He was too tired to realize that Adam was messing with him; and really too tired to care. So he wandered back around and reentered the driver side of the car. Without saying a word, he put his head down on the steering wheel and closed his eyes. A moment of silence broke out in the car as everyone else stared at the display of utter resignation.
Tomoko was first to break the tension, “Is he going to drive, or…”
“Yes!” Lucas grunted as he raised his head.
With a flick of his index finger, the right turn signal came to life and the battle to escape began. Forty-five minutes later, they reached their mile mark as they crossed the bridge. On the other end, a colorful welcome awaited them in the form of a billboard commemorating the states’ landmarks. Below this greeting, a placard bore the moniker “Gov. Thomas E. Dewey Throughway”. At last, they were there for sure. Lucas sought escape, wherever he could and pulled off the first exit he could find. He quickly located a gas station and they stopped in to unload their bladders and refuel the car. Coffee was the fuel of choice for Adam. He was next to drive. For everyone else, energy drinks were in demand. Even Lucas had to get one. He had come too far to sleep through the last few miles.
While Lucas and the others bought their fill of drinks and snacks, Adam sat in the car and studied the route they were to take. He had pulled out his phone to decipher a better path into the city, while slowly sipping away at his cut rate convenience coffee. Adam was a more experienced driver and knew more of the side roads than anybody in the car. He wished he had asked Lucas in advance if he needed a navigator, otherwise they might have made it into the city by this time; or at least be close. At this point, however, they were too close to bother turning around or taking an alternate route. Adam would just have to cut around the traffic as best he could until they got to the Bronx. Once there, he would have a new problem; parking.
Tomoko was first to walk out of the store, hands full of chips and Monster Energy drinks; the only brand she recognized in the refrigerator. She slowly stepped up to the car and took in the scenery. There was a notable look of disappointment in her expression. Michael followed her out soon after. The two had been nearly inseparable for the whole trip. Neither one had seen the other at all in years, except through video-chat or Instagram uploads.
He had known her long enough to notice immediately when something was bothering her.
“Why the long face?” he asked. “You’ve been smiling nearly every moment until now. Even at that haunted house you couldn’t help but smile.”
“It’s nothing,” Tomoko tried to dismiss her trepidation. “It’s just that… I thought there was going to be snow in New England. You know?” She raised her arm, monster in hand, and gently waved it side-to-side at the sky. “I’ve never seen snow.”
“I’ve had my fill in Boston.” Michael said.
“Lucky,” Tomoko sighed.
“You say that now,” Michael began to boast. “But you have never smelled the ice when it mixes with the salt and molasses. It’s not a flavor you soon get out of your brain.”
From the car, Adam could hear the two giggle lively in the distance at some unknown joke. He barely lifted his head to take notice of what they were getting on about. Nor did he seem to notice when Virgil and Lucas joined him in the car.
“What’s that all about?” Virgil asked Adam.
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Adam swiftly said. “Man! You took us way outa’ the way by taking the toll roads.” he said turning his attention towards Lucas.
“How was I supposed to know there was going to be an accident?” Lucas said. His attitude turned defensive. “Besides, Google said this was the fastest route.”
“Yeah, well Google doesn’t know the road like I do,” Adam said.
More giggling could be heard in the distance. Tomoko and Michael were playfully jabbing at each other with their elbows and pointing out at some distant something that only they could see from the rock they were perched on. The whole display captivated Lucas for a moment. Though he had only just met her, he had quickly grown fond of her. In spite of his apprehension to having her added on at the last minute, he thought she was fascinating. She was a smart, creative, adventurous young woman; a product of seven generations of American born Japanese craftsmen. She was the first in her family to get a bachelor’s degree. She was also a pest, what with her constant need to stop and see the sights. But still, he liked her; more than he cared to admit. Now, seeing the two of them together only reminded him that there was no chance with her. There was already someone else for her. Lucas wanted to stop thinking about it. After all, she was just another chick. But it bothered him to the point that he hoped someone would say or do something to redirect his attention.
“So, are they gonna’ bang, or what?” Virgil said with veiled interest.
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Adam said as he scrolled through his phone’s map.
These were not the distractions that Lucas was hoping for. Lucas sank back in his seat and covered his eyes with his palms. He rubbed them gently as he tried to force himself to refocus his attention elsewhere, but his mind had nowhere else to be.
“You okay back there?” Virgil asked. Concerned for his friend’s ego, he tried to sound positive. “I know it’s hard, with the girl and all.”
“Yeah,” he sighed with defeat. “I just can’t catch a break.”
“Come on man, you know that’s his girl,” Virgil said, trying to let him down easy. “Even if he doesn’t know it.”
“I don’t see how he can’t,” Adam said. “She’s practically throwing herself at him.”
“I don’know man, he’s your friend,” Virgil chuckled. “You two are the ones who do everything together.”
“We didn’t do everything together,” Adam insisted. “And by the way, ‘don’know’ ain’t a word.”
“Neither is ‘ain’t’.”
“Yes it is. It’s just lowbrow. Weren’t you an English major?”
“Minor, thank you. My major was computer science. With a focus on AI in cloud technology.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re trying to put everyone in the matrix so skynet can take over the world with his army of Jedi.”
“That’s like…three franchises you just butchered.”
“He says it like that because he knows it bother you.” Lucas interjected.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Virgil insisted.
“Yeah, but those two bother me,” Adam said as he began to honk the car horn. ”Hey, you two!” he shouted out the passenger side window. “Let’s go! The city’s waiting!”
Michael sprang up and picked his bag up off the cold, damp ground. Everything around them was slightly damp from the night before, and it looked as if it might rain before the day was through. Tomoko stood up slowly as she tried to keep all her goodies packed under her jacket. Then, with Michel in tow, they slowly walked back to the car. Every ten feet of so, a chocolate bar would fall out from under her coat and Michael would turn around to fetch it. Tomoko insisted that the bars be deposited in the slightly open neckline of her partially zipped jacket, and Michael would gingerly drop them in. To the others in the car, this display might have been cute if it were not so painfully obvious what was really going on. But after a moment of this display, everyone was neatly tucked inside the car; candy bars and all. A moment later, with a turn of Adam’s wrist, the car roared to life and began to rumble in place. Adam depressed the gas pedal and flooded the engine with fuel, creating a surge of power in the car that momentarily brightened the internal lights and displays. After a second tap on the gas, Adam shifted the car into third gear and raced off back to the highway.
Lucas might have otherwise been troubled at this abuse of his vehicle (it was a four cylinder after all) were it not for the excitement at the prospect of finally getting to see the city of his dreams. He thought it would be the most thrilling moment of his life. The city was legend to him and now he was going to take part in that legend. Just to see the city as they entered would be a dream come true. He started imagining what the city would be like. All the sights and sounds began to fill his head again. He was mesmerized by the fantasy of New York. It overwhelmed him.
After a moment, he fell asleep.
Miguel was roused slowly by the chatter of people and animals on the street. The sounds of the city were an unyielding mass of voices, pierced only by the screaming of one little girl whose anguish was contagious. As he tried to stand up, he felt light and his head felt numb and throbbing. He probed his head and concluding there was no blood, he sighed heavily; his concerns reduced. There was still much to question though. In the chaos of narrowly being hit by the truck, he wasn’t exactly sure how he ended up on the curb, or why no one came to check up on him. Miguel knew that in any accident like this the truck driver was a top priority for everyone, but the lack of concern for Miguel made him feel abandoned. It was a feeling that he was not accustomed to. Everyone in his neighborhood looked out for one another.
After taking a few deep breaths, he attempted to properly upright himself. His head not fully cooperative, Miguel’s gaze remained below level; staring only a few meters ahead of him. But even then something felt out of place; a missing element; a lack of connection. His surroundings felt bare, his eyes were unfocused. He thought maybe he had a concussion; his hands again probing his bony skull; tenderness pervaded. His hands were not informative enough to aid him.
He called out the wake word to his implant, “Xòchitl,” he paused to take a deep breath, “How is my health?” But the only sound that greeted him was silence.
Where once there was the soothing voice of a goddess, now there was only a slight ringing in his ears. He called out again, and again met only silence. Though his head was still throbbing, he felt the instinct to tap the side of his head where the sub-dermal implant had been surgically placed when he was a small child. The impact of his left palm caused him great pain and he winced immediately after laying his hand on his head. In the past when a piece of technology stopped behaving, Miguel found that giving it a good whacking was enough to motivate it to start working again. Now, he wondered if he had been causing great pain to his electronics for all these years. The thought, ridiculous as it was, was fleeting and Miguel worked his brain to better understand what was happening to him.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Miguel spotted something strange. On the wall near him, there was a large crack that had appeared. He focused his eyes and moved himself closer to the old stucco surface. To Miguel the crack looked old, like it had been there for some time. He had walked down this street many times before; frequented this shop a few times; the manager was kind of a jerk; but never had he seen this crack before. At more than half his height – he was just about average for a Brazilian – it was a stunning display. Smashed into the middle of the wall, Miguel could see through the widest point, straight into the shop; from a hole the width of his two thumbs. Cool air forced its way out through the hole, creating mini tornadoes of conflict with the humid coastal air. He reached out his hand to touch it and felt the roughness of its cavernous depths against his fingertips. It was astonishing that it was there and that it looked like it had never been repaired. The wall itself was brown and drab, like it had not been painted in years; or ever.
His eyes wandered a bit and he noticed further down the wall was another oddity. Painted on the wall at about center was a familiar shape. It was a QR code. He had never noticed it before. In fact, as he began to recall, the walls were of a very different color just a few minutes prior. When first he entered the market space, he was inundated with the usual splashes of color; so often was the case that he never really thought about it. Where once the wall shone with a vibrant sky blue, it had now been replaced by a stagnant brown. Concerned that something was amiss, he began to take accounting of his surroundings. Everywhere Miguel looked, he saw only drab colors and blank canvases. There were no colorful walls filled with advertisements for groceries or goods; no billboards selling services like lawyers or escorts; and no one’s username popped up over their heads. Instead, the walls were unpainted and dark, their only ornamentation a lone QR code for every ten or fifteen meters or so. The people too were dark and walked around nameless; a husk with very few discernable features. Much of what they wore was very plain and very unlike the styles he was used to seeing on his fellow Brazilians. And as Miguel focused his gaze, he saw the same sort of QR codes on the people’s clothes as well. Everyone around him was branded.
Miguel couldn’t understand it. He had lived in Sao Paulo his whole life and never noticed any of the things he was seeing now. His virgin eyes had stepped into a world not full of color and life, but one of filth and deceit. It made his heart race. Had he stepped into some alternate dimension he wondered, like in some science fiction movie he had once seen? His confusion turned to minor panic. He needed answers. He needed to know if he was still alive.
“Xòchitl!” he called out again. “Where am I?”
Again, no sound greeted him. He raised his palm to strike the side of his head again, but then thought better of it. No need to make the pain worse. Miguel looked around and saw that the crowd had gathered where the truck that nearly hit him a moment earlier had come to its’ end; embedded in a wall of the liquor store on the opposite corner. He thought maybe the people there could get him some help.
After a moment of careful study of the path before him, he was certain he was ready enough to make the perilous journey down the block to the crash site. He stumbled at first, but quickly made progress toward the crash site. His hands trembled with each step and his eyes fell in and out of focus. Soon his movement was a stride and he walked in a wobbly, but mostly deliberate path. The smells around him were a wash of produce, bleach, animal excrement, and diesel. They were the same smells he had inhaled during his many trips to the market before, but now they seemed more intense; a predominant musk of pungent flavors both sterile and unclean burning the ends of each of his nose hairs as he stepped closer to his goal.
Miguel stopped at the foot of the crash site. There were several men clamoring over the truck, trying to pull the unconscious driver out. Several more women and children stood a ways back, watching impatiently as the men worked. Their emotions were a mix of anguish and eagerness; their lives momentarily filled with greedy excitement outside of their normal routine. Before, there had been only chores and shopping in the market place; activity heightened only by the digital reality that bombarded their brains with colorful advertisements. Now the streets ran with violence and danger. It was a moment for heroics and selfish pride.
Miguel approached a short round woman wrapped in red and blue layers near the edge of the excitement. He spoke, but the words disappeared into the chaos. There were people shouting all around him. The voices struggled and squirmed to fill any voids the air left for them. It was no wonder she couldn’t hear. Miguel reached out his hand and tugged on the woman’s shawl. Her shoulder twitched and she craned her neck to see what agitated her. What she saw sent chills down her spine and her expression betrayed her fears to Miguel’s pleading eyes.
“O! Fantasma!” she screamed and pushed Miguel back.
Still unbalanced by his injury, Miguel worked himself to stay upright, but ultimately he and the ground were destined to meet once more. Having fallen supine, he hit his head again and felt new waves of stinging pain ripple through his skull. He winced at the pain, but forced his eyes open to see why the woman had pushed him. Surely, it must have been a mistake he reasoned. His eyes, however, slowly opened to a different reality; not one of kindness and compassion, but one of antipathy and vitriol.
“Fantasma! Be gone!” the plump old woman screamed. “Get your maldito hand off my purse you dirty thief!”
Her screams caught the attention of two young men who turned to see the woman screaming at a mass on the ground. They moved in to help. Miguel, seeing the two young men dressed in work clothes, reached out his hands and pleaded for assistance. The men marched up to Miguel’s feet; scowls slicing across their faces; hot breath escaping through their noses. They reached out their arms and grabbed at Miguel’s forearms, lifting him effortlessly. At first grateful, Miguel struggled to stand, but found the hurried pace of the two men difficult to manage. He looked up at their faces and saw only contempt. His mood soured and he began to worry. Then he began to struggle free. The two young men carried on. They marched Miguel across the street and up to the opening to an alley way behind the market. There, they deposited Miguel, back first, onto the asphalt. Miguel hit his head once more and screamed out in pain. One of the young men, tall and bearded, closed his eyes and sucked in air as Miguel writhed and howled. The other, less concerned for Miguel’s well-being, spat at the ground between his teenage feet. The man then turned and walked back to the accident, tapping his friend’s shoulder as he spun; a signal that they should be heading back to help the others.
Miguel slowly sat up. The pain had subsided more rapidly by this time. Perhaps he was becoming numb to the pain. His adrenal glands were running on overdrive. His head was a flurry of thoughts. He was trying to make sense of what had just happened. All he had done was ask for help, and now he was being cast out like a trash bag. What had he done to offend the old woman? He looked on with great concern.
“You must have really pissed them off for them to throw you like that,” a young woman’s voice said from the alley way.
Miguel looked over his shoulder to see a teenage girl about his age leaning against the wall at the entrance. She was dressed in an olive colored heavy canvas coat; a white knit scarf wrapped twice around her neck; ripped faded blue jeans and old tennis shoes. Her hair was dark and wrapped in a long pony tail that somehow looked aggressive as much as it looked practical. Miguel looked her up and down, his eyes working hard to focus and the young woman could tell that Miguel saw her well.
“You can see me, can’t you?” She queried. She scoffed and shook her head before continuing, “Not so fuzzy now, am I?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Miguel replied.
Miguel’s head began to pound again and he cradled his skull with his hand. The young woman looked on at this for a moment before waving her hand toward the alley.
“Come on,” she called out. “Follow me.”
“No,” Miguel protested, “I need to get to a doctor.”
“I know,” she said trying to sound comforting. “That’s where we’re going.” She walked over to Miguel and reached out her hand. She grunted as she pulled him up before continuing, “I know a doctor who will help anyone.” She turned and began to walk down the alley. “Even ‘Ghosts’.”
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