Fiction Writing

From The Power of Seven, Chapter 8

“World’s fastest hedgehog is a pretty big title,” Arc responded. She flicked a switch on the handle of her weapon and heard the crackling of it charging. “It’s not just about your miles per hour, you gotta be fast at everything!”

Using both hands, she swung her chain loose, a glowing yellow line bursting with energy. It cleaved through any robots it met with a satisfying crack. She turned herself in tune with the gear to maximize her the degree of her arc; Sonic had to jump rope to avoid becoming prickly in another way than his spines.

“For example, you were too slow to beat these robots,” she added as her chain cooled and retracted. As she turned her body to look at the Blue Blur directly, she noticed a robot that she had missed, its glowing gun barrels pointed straight at her. “Oh crap!”

The robot fired before the words finished leaving her lips, but it was toppled a split-second later. Sonic was already there, kicking out the robot’s midsection using his hand as a fulcrum. Turning back towards Arc, he easily outran the bullets and tackled Arc out of their path.

And then, in one fluid motion, he did a handspring to land on his feet, crossed his left leg over his other one as he turned to face her, and started wagging his index finger at her. The dumbfounded look on her face was hilarious. This was the classic Sonic pose, after all. She had been thoroughly and completely owned.

“Now, what were you saying? I couldn’t hear you over the sounds of me saving your butt.”

From The Price (short story)

The casino shone like a beacon in contrast to the green around it. Every outline of the building was lined with lights, as if there were a halo coming from within the building at all times. Spotlights of various colors but always high intensity focused on the entrance and the flashy logo, which was also made of light-up signs. It glowed like it was daytime.

The brightness did obnoxiously good job at selling an image. Where else would one find such endless light but a paradise? It’s a good time, a good decision, it must be! Jim admitted that he had some fun there, but it was social fun. It was sitting around, joking it up with Hank and his buddies that they had met around a game of craps. It wasn’t staring at the slot machines or scratch-tickets waiting for the casino to decide that it wanted to give you some money. $16.8 million in revenue on every $1 million payout was the number he and Hank and cranked out.

“I can’t believe this place… the numbers were right… there! The sevens!” Hank called out, louder than he really ought to be, as they stepped through the exit doors. His dress shirt, no longer tucked in, was slovenly wrinked and had a stain from a martini. “It stopped, and then mysteriously shifted to deny me the triple! You saw it!”