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Saturday, July 23, 2011

Sample Sunday July 24

This week an actual excerpt from the first story in the book, The Hate.  I plan on having a new Flash Fiction Story on Friday.  



Right now there is a massive manhunt for me. There’s almost no chance I will be found, but just in case, I need to set the record straight. I know you think you know what happened. I mean, it has been all over the news for days. The country in mourning, shocking act of violence, and on and on. But you only know what they told you. But once I tell you everything, tell you the truth, you’ll be thanking me. I’ll be a goddamn hero. Not that anyone will admit it. Doesn’t matter though. I’ll be long gone.
So like any good story, I have to start at the beginning. I know you’d prefer me to just cut to the chase. But there are some things you need to know first.
Bear with me, you’ll be glad you did.


First, you should know some things about me.
I hate people. I hate small talk. Trying to find something to talk about with a bunch of strangers I’ll never see again. No thanks.
I like being alone. I’m happy alone. I don’t want to be married and pop out a couple of whiny, germ filled kids. I don’t want anyone around telling me what to do or making me feel bad about what I am doing; i.e. a husband or boyfriend.
If I want to stay up till three in the morning eating double stuff Oreos while watching St. Elmo’s Fire then that’s what I goddamn well am going to do. If I want to lay in bed till noon or not shower for a couple of days, well, you get the idea.
If I feel the need for some companionship i.e. sex, I go pick up a guy at a bar. It’s pretty easy because, in all modesty, I’m hot. Not just attractive. An actual stone cold fox, at least to enough of the population to matter. I can say that because I had nothing to do with it. All genetics. All big blue eyes, full lips, blond, tall, and lean. So sex, no problem. And since I don’t really like people or small talk, I pretty much scope out the bar for an attractive unattached guy and ask if he wants to go to my place. I’ve never been turned down.
No one spends the night. Last thing I need in the morning is some smelly guy with bad breath bothering me for something I had plenty of the night before.
Also, I’m filthy rich. I hadn’t planned on ever working for a living, but who knew I’d find something I enjoy so much. What do I do? I kill people. For money. I know what you’re thinking, but who gives a shit. Not me, that’s for sure. If it makes you feel any better I don’t kill kids, no spouses just because a divorce will cost too much (selfish bastards), but other people.
It’s not hard, partly because of because of my looks. I can get into a lot of places with no questions asked. And partly because I’m ahead of the curve on intelligence. Not a genius, but pretty damn smart.
Maybe it goes without saying that I don’t have any friends, but I’ll say it anyway. I don’t have any friends. And I don’t mean I don’t have any close friends. I don’t have any. I think it’s because I’m rich and beautiful and that intimidates people.
Or, it’s because I’m a bitch. I don’t care about people’s petty problems, I don’t take shit from anyone, and I don’t tell people what they want to hear.
So, why am I telling you all of this and why do you care? Because, I just killed the President of the United States.


I wasn’t born an unfeeling bitch. I was made into one. I was a caboose baby. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it means my parents were done having kids but too lazy or dumb to do anything permanent. So sixteen years after their first and only child, I was born.
I don’t know why they had me. It wasn’t as if abortion was illegal. It was 1984 for Christ’s sake. My parents weren’t overly affectionate with my older sister, but to me they were downright cold. I didn’t understand why until recently. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Who knows how I would have turned out if I had been loved. Nature vs. nurture, right? Who can say? Anyway, my parents were killed in a car accident when I was ten. My life hardly changed.
Remember when I said I was filthy rich? Well, it’s from family money. Where did it come from? Doesn’t matter. My parents were rich and their parents were rich. Rich marrying the rich and getting richer. So when my parents died, I stayed in the same house with the same servants taking care of me, only now my older sister was in charge of me. At the ripe old age of twenty six. She moved back into my parents’ home, but basically left me alone. Where did we live? Irrelevant to the story. But if you really need a location, just imagine some sprawling estate up north.
Did I mention my sister works in politics? She has a political science degree. She started volunteering in college for whatever Republican was running. Oh yeah, my whole family is Republican. Big surprise, right? Rich and white. I’m the odd man odd. Another big surprise. I actually don’t give a shit who’s president. They could tax me at eighty percent and I’d still have more money than I could ever spend. They could take away gun rights and I could still obtain any weapon I needed. They’re all a bunch of lying crooks anyway.
But, I digress.
So my only order from my sister was to not embarrass the family. My sister had big plans for her future and wasn’t about to let a pre-teen stop her. So I had almost complete freedom, as long as I did well in school and didn’t draw any unwanted attention to the family. The doing well in school was no problem. As I said, I’m not a genius, but definitely above the curve when it comes to brains. My sister also controlled my trust until I was twenty one, so I behaved. It wasn’t that hard. You’re thinking I was some wild child? How else could I grow up to be a stone cold killer? You’re completely wrong. Killing people takes incredible control. Correction, killing people and not getting caught, that takes incredible control and planning and patience. You can’t do anything spur of the moment. You have to be able to walk away if something changes.
So how did I become a killer? I’ll get to that. It’s not really the point of this story, but I think you need to know about me to understand what I did.

This is an excerpt from the first story, Manhunt, in the book, The Hate, available for 99 cents at the following retailers:


  1. I love your first person narrative in your book

  2. Well done 1st person - your story also matches this voice. Thanks for the sample.

  3. Thanks M.E. - for reading and for the great comment.