B O N D P H O N E.
Words and pictures by Chris Lamb.

Mom died on her knees.

Hands over heart as if holding it from breaking while the red spread around her fingers. Looking up at the John, ignoring the gun, looking past the shaking hands and dead grin to stare him in the eyes. Taking care not to look at me for fear he'd notice. I stayed in the closet like I was told. She stared him down; fell over, coughed and died, still staring.

---
Kaeo stayed blank the longest, probably because I sortakinda doubt my ability to write women. She became Thai when Max suggested putting the unstoppable Noodle Jump into the story, and everything else fell into place. Or it didn't, and I'm just using "fell into place" to sum up a lot of boring grasping at straws.

Anyway.

I'm scared to death of falling into some helpless screamer cliche with her; the woman in trouble for the sake of giving the hero something to do schtick that reeks of two-dimensional. The last few days were spent taking stabs at finding her voice and using it to detail the experiences that shaped her. It's slow going, and there's nothing really substantial to show for it yet, but still. It's time that needs to be spent. Because on the other side of the spectrum is the just-as-bad tough girl cliche, and I rather not have people picturing Tia Carrere in leather playing her in the movie adaption. Oh yes, the delusions of grandeur set in months ago.

It's writing as surgery, as sabotage. Worry less about the the shape of the statue and more about making each hairline fracture exact and invisible until the whole thing falls apart. For best results, damage with care.

posted by chris  # 11:46 PM