Naomi Kramer's Blog - Posts Tagged "dead"
(technically) DEAD - Excerpt
The number of books in my to-write pile keeps increasing. I know some writers do this weird one-book-at-a-time thing, but it turns out that when it comes to writing, I'm almost incapable of serial monogamy. I'm a cheerful polygamist instead. Oh well, such is life, right? So, I was walking into work this morning, and this dead dude started talking to me. Lo and behold, we have the start of a sequel to DEAD(ish).
Warning: This is adult stuff. Not adult as in erotica, just not suitable for kids.
(Cooper)
I'm dead.
This is kinda pissing me off.
I don't know what happened, though. One moment I was on my way to visit my girlfriend with a big bunch of flowers, and the next I saw a big bright light and a cloud and a crowd of dudes in dresses carrying harps. Holy crap, I thought, I'm dead! Then I thought - there's no way I'm getting stuck in a low-tech shiny place like that with acoustic music everywhere. That's a freaky version of hell. Shit no. So I ran, or flew or something the hell away, and now I'm back home and I'm still dead. It sucks.
I'm a ghost, that much I've worked out. I'm see-through, I can't eat, I can't drink. My body's nowhere to be seen, thank God or Ceiling Cat or whatever, because I think I'd puke. Or throw ectoplasm everywhere, or whatever the hell dead dudes do. I never had a strong stomach for that sort of thing.
So I float aimlessly around the apartment, looking for something to do. I sit in front of my computer and I'd cry my eyes out if I had eyes and tear ducts and stuff. $5000 worth of beautiful high-end gaming hardware, and I can't even touch it. I'm afraid to go too near it in case I short something out. I must be an electrical field or a magnetic field or some shit, right? I'd never forgive myself if I killed Betsy.
Computer's out. TV? It's off, but the remote's gotta be easier to manipulate than a keyboard. And I know ghosts can manipulate stuff. I concentrate really hard, think really solid thoughts, and poke my finger at the remote. It goes straight through. Damn. But I've got nothing else to do, right, so I keep trying till I get the sucker pressed and the TV's on. Holy frackin' hallelujah. It's 2am now and an old crappy movie's on, but there's no way I'm gonna give myself a hernia trying to change the channel too. I settle down in my beanbag in front of the TV and try to imagine I'm eating caramel popcorn.
I wake up I don't know how many hours later and it's pitch black and there's no air and I'm panicking like nothing else. A little voice in the back of my head is telling me I'm dead and I'm not going to suffocate, but I'm too busy panicking to pay the bastard any attention. I thrash around, screaming, and suddenly the light comes back and there's air and space around me. I lie on the floor panting. Was that hell or something? That sucked worse than the shiny acoustic place. I look around, and the beanbag's lying next to me, all crumpled like someone's picked it up and shaken it then stomped on it. Just wait a bloody moment – was I stuck in a bloody beanbag? How embarrassing. I'm just getting to the 'thank God there was no one around to see that' relief stage when I hear a quiet snigger. It quickly turns into a high-pitched cackle of glee.
“Damn, boy, you looked like the beanbag was in labour.”
I get myself upright in double-quick time. A blonde see-through chick is standing in my lounge room laughing at me. She's not half-bad looking, actually – short skirt covering a nice arse, nice tits in a low-cut top. But I prefer women who laugh at my jokes, not my humiliations.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand.
“I'm Linda. I'll be your guide to the afterlife, or some shit. And can we hurry up about it? They yanked me out of a hot tub full of hot angel boys and a bottomless bottle of Baileys for this.”
“Geez, you could just frack off right now if you'd like.”
“Nothing I'd like better, kiddo – but I've got a duty. OK? Now, first – put some clothes on. Please?”
I look down, and yup, I'm naked as the day I was born. Crap. I do my damnedest to imagine clothes, but all I manage is a pair of undies. Linda sniggers at me, sits down on the lounge, and tells me to try harder. Slowly I get a tshirt and a pair of boardies clothing me, but every time I look at Linda I remember being butt-naked in front of her and it all disappears again. Shit shit shit! So I stop looking at her, and I manage to keep myself clothed. Well yay me, I learnt to keep my clothes on with a hot woman in the room. Seems like death's not gonna be that much different from life.
Warning: This is adult stuff. Not adult as in erotica, just not suitable for kids.
(Cooper)
I'm dead.
This is kinda pissing me off.
I don't know what happened, though. One moment I was on my way to visit my girlfriend with a big bunch of flowers, and the next I saw a big bright light and a cloud and a crowd of dudes in dresses carrying harps. Holy crap, I thought, I'm dead! Then I thought - there's no way I'm getting stuck in a low-tech shiny place like that with acoustic music everywhere. That's a freaky version of hell. Shit no. So I ran, or flew or something the hell away, and now I'm back home and I'm still dead. It sucks.
I'm a ghost, that much I've worked out. I'm see-through, I can't eat, I can't drink. My body's nowhere to be seen, thank God or Ceiling Cat or whatever, because I think I'd puke. Or throw ectoplasm everywhere, or whatever the hell dead dudes do. I never had a strong stomach for that sort of thing.
So I float aimlessly around the apartment, looking for something to do. I sit in front of my computer and I'd cry my eyes out if I had eyes and tear ducts and stuff. $5000 worth of beautiful high-end gaming hardware, and I can't even touch it. I'm afraid to go too near it in case I short something out. I must be an electrical field or a magnetic field or some shit, right? I'd never forgive myself if I killed Betsy.
Computer's out. TV? It's off, but the remote's gotta be easier to manipulate than a keyboard. And I know ghosts can manipulate stuff. I concentrate really hard, think really solid thoughts, and poke my finger at the remote. It goes straight through. Damn. But I've got nothing else to do, right, so I keep trying till I get the sucker pressed and the TV's on. Holy frackin' hallelujah. It's 2am now and an old crappy movie's on, but there's no way I'm gonna give myself a hernia trying to change the channel too. I settle down in my beanbag in front of the TV and try to imagine I'm eating caramel popcorn.
I wake up I don't know how many hours later and it's pitch black and there's no air and I'm panicking like nothing else. A little voice in the back of my head is telling me I'm dead and I'm not going to suffocate, but I'm too busy panicking to pay the bastard any attention. I thrash around, screaming, and suddenly the light comes back and there's air and space around me. I lie on the floor panting. Was that hell or something? That sucked worse than the shiny acoustic place. I look around, and the beanbag's lying next to me, all crumpled like someone's picked it up and shaken it then stomped on it. Just wait a bloody moment – was I stuck in a bloody beanbag? How embarrassing. I'm just getting to the 'thank God there was no one around to see that' relief stage when I hear a quiet snigger. It quickly turns into a high-pitched cackle of glee.
“Damn, boy, you looked like the beanbag was in labour.”
I get myself upright in double-quick time. A blonde see-through chick is standing in my lounge room laughing at me. She's not half-bad looking, actually – short skirt covering a nice arse, nice tits in a low-cut top. But I prefer women who laugh at my jokes, not my humiliations.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand.
“I'm Linda. I'll be your guide to the afterlife, or some shit. And can we hurry up about it? They yanked me out of a hot tub full of hot angel boys and a bottomless bottle of Baileys for this.”
“Geez, you could just frack off right now if you'd like.”
“Nothing I'd like better, kiddo – but I've got a duty. OK? Now, first – put some clothes on. Please?”
I look down, and yup, I'm naked as the day I was born. Crap. I do my damnedest to imagine clothes, but all I manage is a pair of undies. Linda sniggers at me, sits down on the lounge, and tells me to try harder. Slowly I get a tshirt and a pair of boardies clothing me, but every time I look at Linda I remember being butt-naked in front of her and it all disappears again. Shit shit shit! So I stop looking at her, and I manage to keep myself clothed. Well yay me, I learnt to keep my clothes on with a hot woman in the room. Seems like death's not gonna be that much different from life.
