Are these star-crossed lovers organ thieves or grinders. Robbers of banks or people. Escaping some destiny laid before one of them who only finds shelter from his or her fate in the arms of the other. A road trip, an odyssey of Ulyssiad proportions. Lost in a forest, in a cabin, near a lake, on a mountain or burial mound as it may happen to be. A cave, an abyss or maybe just a cat, a date, a follower of sorts through rain-slicked nightscapes, down alleys and sewers alike to escape the unknown who may or may not be herding them to some destination of malcontent on the edge of a pier with no escape other than the cold dark sea. More to the one for the other to understand; the decision of course is which would be which and why. Scars in one cerebral in the other. Scars to the cerebral as the cerebral tends to madness and scars, generally anyway, seek quietude. A quest of sorts or not, perhaps some meandering, but that probably won’t be the case as some fantastic has already been introduced. So fantastic quest into a perilous nightscape with one to the other, eventually better, or not, maybe dead, eventually, but with illumination.
Category Archives: noir
For the next 5 days my first book “Crossing” will be available for free on Kindle. It’s a short noirish fever dream filled with love, death, and violations of reality taking place in Baltimore, MD.
Any reviews or feedback would be awesome. I hope you enjoy!
Baltimore Maryland’s hospitality industry generates over 5 billion dollars in annual revenue; about the same as the city’s drug trade. Aggressive gentrification has transformed the landscape into an ever changing kaleidoscope of narcotics and death that outsources those valuable commodities throughout the eastern seaboard, but that’s not what this story is about. This story is about a girl named Jane and a girl named Kelly and how I successfully failed to murder either of them; it also happens to take place in Baltimore.
This is my new book! It available for free on Kndle for the next five days at: http://www.amazon.com/Crossing-ebook/dp/B00D3M6DBM/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1370003284&sr=1-1&keywords=crossing+christopher+wilt
Paperback versions for 3.99 at https://www.createspace.com/4196348
I would describe this as surreal noir. It is mechanical in nature and operates like a paradoxical clock, but it’s also entertaining and I hope at least occasionally amusing
It wasn’t until much later that he realized where he was going. The building in front of him might as well be completely featureless for its lack of personality. A moderately well dressed man sat on the planter near the entrance and surveyed him suspiciously as he approached. No words needed exchanging, just the mutual nods generally resulting from extended eye contact. She was small and wore pastels to cheer herself up, but was somewhat bashful by nature so doubly aware of the attention her clothes drew. He sat in the waiting room and attempted to relax so that she might relax, because increased tension in these situations can compromise outcomes. Once he entered the inner office the receptionist’s nervousness seemed more warranted than he had given her credit. Following the not altogether difficult procedure he left the building the way he came, passing the moderately dressed man, who upon being passed, turned and re-entered the building.
He saw a bar across the street, and lacking many more appointments for the week, walked over and ordered a drink. The bartender regarded him warmly and made conversation about the weather and unremarkable current events. After a few drinks, the bartender put a pack of matches beside the drink and gestured to the back of the room. He picked up the matches, read the instructions on the cover and then walked to the bathroom in the corner. It took a few more minutes than he had anticipated, but he eventually returned to his stool and struck up a conversation with the receptionist from across the street. She had apparently only been in the city for a month and didn’t really know anyone, but for some reason had no problem explaining in detail all the events in her life that had led up to this point.
Two fire trucks sit in the yard. The front of the house is collapsing due to the still-burning car at the front door. Flames and smoke pour from the backyard as firemen rush to retrieve the living and dead. Several survivors have already been taken to the hospital, but a few girls remain either waiting for an ambulance or being questioned by police. Kelly moves nearer to the house as Jane and Rob bicker back at the car. She approaches one of the detectives on the scene and tells him that she recognizes the burning car as belonging to a friend of hers. The roof has just collapsed causing EMTs to direct their focus on the house. She stands in front of the very distracted detective and continues on about the text messages, pictures and so on. He asks her if she was in this house tonight, or knows the owner. Kelly says, “No” and watches the cop wander away to help several others in breaking up Rob and Jane’s screaming match.
Kelly eventually admits to herself that this trip was all rather pointless. All she really confirmed tonight was that Rob and Jane may really hate each other and that most or all of her friends have been drowned or burned alive. Her options limited, Kelly calls her very tan friend Ian and asks him if he’d like to see her later. It’s at this point that she starts to ask herself why she’s here right now and begins envisioning a nice suburban life with Ian; he, having a well-paying 9 to 5 and she, a successful trainer for a major sports team. To be in the company of people of questionable reputations such as Jane and Sarah has caused Kelly to feel lowered in some way. She reasons that this could be because they aren’t terribly attractive and have no discernible future that she can imagine, but this is only conjecture.
The police are asking Rob questions about any disgruntled employees he may have; his reply is simply, “all of them”. Jane sits on the bumper of an ambulance with her legs crossed, her hands folded neatly on her knee and smiles at Kelly in a way that makes her feel violated. More police cars arrive as body bags pile up in the yard and multiple detectives interview everyone they can find. Ian tells Kelly he’ll call her tomorrow morning, that everything will be alright and that she’s beautiful. She moves closer to her car and is eventually pulled aside for more questions. Any concerns for the people at this house have faded to apathy as Kelly thinks about tomorrow. She needs sleep immediately if she’s going to look presentable. Embers from the fire blow through the air and ignite some of the nearby shrubs which reminds Kelly of Christmas for some reason.
Photo credit to http://dead-channel.tumblr.com/
The lights from the car shown on a tan overcoat lying on the path. There was a silhouette behind the lights; motionless except for the steam rising from its mouth. I reached in my pocket and came to the unpleasant realization that in the struggle I had lost my gun, but they don’t know that, at least not yet. There is a girl screaming in the distance, but the ravine walls make it impossible to tell from which direction. The sentinel behind the car remains motionless; a threat of violence and the unknown.
I pull myself up and stagger drunkenly forward, eventually steadying myself on the hood of the car. Cold steel immediately surrounds my wrist followed by the sound of metal on metal and chain. The silhouette is gone and the car is now moving. A tug on my wrist can only mean I’ve been attached to the bumper. The engine revs and as I look at the ridge above the ravine I see a pale girl struggling against someone or something. She seems to float as she falls. If I could lunge forward I might break her fall, but now the car is backing up.
My feet keep up with the motion for a moment and then I hear the engine and feel my feet leave the ground and in that instant I am no longer attached to the car, but floating towards her. Our eyes meet as I sail to the rock wall and at that moment I reach out for her and know that I cannot because my arm is still attached to the bumper of the car, not to me. The rock is cold against my face, cold gives way to sting and then to pain and now I am falling. Dust is still rising when I open my eyes. She lay not more than four feet away. There is weight on the hand I still have and then three hot sharp impacts into my arm.
The lights are gone. I turn on my back and feel tired. The last thing I remember is the moon and the sound of water.
A large man sits with his elbows on the bar and looks in the mirror that stands behind a row of bottles. He wears a brown coat and has been watching the couple one seat down from him since they came in. The woman hung her purse on the hook below the bar and while he does not look at it, he imagines it as a weight pulling down the bar where it hangs. The woman sits nearest to him and is relatively attractive aside from all the makeup and perfume. She gets up and goes to the restroom and the sag in the bar remains. Her man’s eyes have become fixed on the baseball game in her absence, which is when the man moves and relieves the bar of its burden. As he turns to leave he feels a hand clap on his shoulder followed by a stern voice issuing a warning. He breaks the wrist connecting the hand to its arm and looks in the mirror to see himself still holding the woman’s disfigured limb. Her man stares at the television and she doesn’t move or make a sound. And then nothing does.