BellaOnline Forums Career Fiction Writing Fiction Critique Writing Group

I have one to submit but its 2200 words - If I leave anything out you might lose the flavor of the story as it strays from what you suppose it is. Okay or not?

An extra 200 words should be fine. I look forward to reading it.

Question - when I copied the story from microsoft word to the forum page the copyright symbol did not come through correctly.
Tried several times.

Thanks for any advice.

Susan, how did the copyright symbol come through? I don't understand exactly. If you need me to put the copyright symbol at the bottom of your story for you, I don't care a bit to do so. I just need to know your last name. Let me know.

When I copied and pasted the copyright stuff in the forum, it just didn't show up in italics. I had to highlight it and press the italics button above to make it italics. Other than that I didn't have a problem.

I'll just copy it and hope for the best.

Here's my submission and thanks for the extra word count.

Introduction
The bust went bad from the beginning. Teeming rain and steam from various sewer grates obscured the entire teams� view. Mountains of trash and illegally dumped fetid cooking grease made it nearly impossible to hold one�s ground. The odor�well the uniform was burnable � the skin and hair headed for many dates with a lemon or two.

Some smart [censored] with tattoos covering his bald head leaned over the fire escape and barked out �Hey whattaya cops think ya doin down there?� Only in a city such as New York would someone show that much disrespect for the police. Despite the unwelcome announcement the situation was not reversible � the subject of this arrest was far too good at his job � distributing drugs on school grounds and then bolting for parts unknown anytime we even got close � no way were we letting him go underground � again � due to some smart [censored] with a big mouth.

As I think back on this personal day of infamy I now realize that many things led my fellow officers and me to the point of no return. The cabstand, only 30 feet down the alley, was spewing more noise than usual as drenched commuters tried to hail a ride. Over flowing downspouts created a strangely abstract waterfall effect as far too much water violently gushed out of the failing seams of aging gutters and rushed down the rusty pipes that uselessly hugged the corner of every building. The cascading torrent added the most distinct voice to the cacophony all but obliterating the echo of my exaggerated heartbeat as adrenaline pushed blood in and out of clenched capillaries. Last minute orders were missed by many of the team but no one really cared � one of many mistakes. We had all been through this before, more times than we could remember, we knew the drill, and the longer we waited the edgier we got so when the captain signaled �go� we all went; the rest was a blur. Nothing went right.

The forensics� team floodlights illuminated the end result of chaos. My partner clutched his shoulder as the EMT�s attended his gunshot wound. Could have been worse � the vest had just earned its paycheck. Another officer, a loan from an adjoining precinct, was down never to return to duty � a lucky shot to the face. Blood flowed as a separate entity atop the foul smelling grease tracing gruesome outlines around those that were no longer standing � thankfully more bad guys than good but still not a positive result. Knowing that these things happened as a matter of course in police work brought me no comfort.

The scene � a Hitchcock cinematic brainstorm � slowly faded to gray. A whine, barely heard above the din, worked its way out from under rain-soaked trash and tempted me from the events that I should have, but could not, commit to with all of my attention. As unprofessional as I knew it to be I was happy for the distraction � to shut out the mounting pandemonium of the crime scene was all I wanted to do. Finding whatever pathetic creature making that soft but persistently penetrating noise was now my main focus.

Eventually led to a caved in cardboard box labeled �all pork wieners� I carefully peeled back the disintegrating pressed layers to reveal the biggest amber eyes I have ever seen. Emaciated, terrified with long soft ears dangling from a skeleton of matted brown fur the creature was wagging her tail so hard I thought for sure it would fly off.

�A dog�?� Jumping into my arms, propelled by what I will never know, she crawled into my armpit in a feeble attempt to hide from this cold cruel world that left her out with the garbage.

Several days after �the bust from hell� � date unknown

The world of animal medicine is not all wet kisses and soft eyes. It is fraught with misunderstanding, conflict and often times bodily harm as humans literally come up against tooth and nail all in the name of diagnosing, treating and often times protecting those without a voice. When no one wants Fido to roll over anymore and no one cares enough to give Polly a cracker and that starved feline ball of fur, with the slight scent of gasoline, persists in lashing out at her dedicated savior, finding a solution can prove to be as tough a puzzle as Rubik�s cube. Out of sheer necessity all of those involved in such noble and tragic endeavors become great solvers of clueless and silent mysteries. This and more is what I found out as I tried to help my new best friend.

Shelters and Veterinary Hospitals are bombarded with neglected and abused animals every hour of every day. Too few caring souls fight an endless battle against far too many damaged souls with the critters bearing the brunt of man�s worst.

This is their story � both the victims� and the champions of their cause. And this is the story of how one disposable pooch changed the life of a very cynical, young cop, me � Antonia Mcfadden � whose destiny was irreversibly altered that dismal day, in a back alley of the city that never sleeps.

Chapter one

A chiseled profile distinctly Italian. Hazel eyes, deep set under a thoughtful brow, take aim. The starch-stiff white and blue cap of a naval uniform sits slightly askew shading the strikingly brilliant sun. Mat-black pistol held at the end of a taut arm unwaveringly marks its target.

An aged oak, its grand limbs spread wide offers a leafy awning, shading the glaring sun. Glowing slashes of gold and red hide among the browning leaves.

A woman, Rubenesque in bearing, stands confidently against the trunk. A burning cigarette dangles from her lips. Her distinctly Irish profile of round cheeks and emerald eyes framed in loose red curls turns lazily away from the glinting metal.

A thunderous explosion.

A bullet concealed in the shimmering heat races through the leafy shadows and translucent light.

A wet thud�

Gasping I shoot upright from my nest of pillows and quilts. Sweat rolls down the small of my back. I squint toward the dresser. Melting fluorescent green puddles wink back at me as I try to focus on the digital clock through lids that no longer wish to open. Wanting nothing more than a few hours of undisturbed sleep it is not in the cards for me on this and many other nights. But tonight is worse. That disturbing dream, always a portent of things to come, has come to plague me again. Its inception, a true story, but a story none-the-less, of my maternal grandfather�s marksmanship skill and the incredible trust and love of his wife, my grandmother, it has been a significant forecaster of trouble in my life since I was a young teen.

Blinking back toward the digital timekeeper I�m finally able to focus at least one eye on the clock and find that only 40 minutes have crept by since the last unearthly intrusion into this night�s unwanted slumber party. Groaning I grab the framed photo of my maternal grandparents. �I really don�t know how you two survived into old age together but if you don�t let me get some sleep I know I�ll never make it!�

I throw myself back into my chronically messy bed and try to regain some covers from the brown land seal oft mistaken for a nine-year-old Chocolate Labrador Retriever. �Sorry Sweetie but you really must share.�

I lean in for one of her cheek scouring kisses but am instead greeted with a grumbling rolling growl, an eerie vibration I feel rather than hear. I catch my breath in a soft hiccup instantly afraid to give away my location. The rumbling continues. My chest grows tight. I reach out for the security that the seventy pound bed hog offers and am astounded to find that the growling is coming from deep inside her chest.

�Hey! I said you really must share. Need I remind you of that alley from whence you came? I�ll have none of that nonsense thank you very much.� The growling reaches a crescendo and just as I start another scolding she jumps from the bed and attacks the window.

�What the heck is wrong with you?� I stammer jumping up to join her. Trying to rub clear the glass, covered both in and out with layer upon layer of frozen crystalline lace, my fingers creak with complaint. Able to melt only the smallest of portholes through the ice I anxiously squint through the slushy tracings and discover nothing but dark crashing against the stampeding snowflakes.

Softly stroking the alerted dog, drawing on the usual meditative response the feel of her soft coat has on me, I command, �Okay Coffee Girl � let�s go.�

Throwing outerwear over my jammies, actually thermal underwear masquerading as jammies, I grab my flashlight and head outside. Not at all liking what greets us.
�Good lord � quite a snow storm for this time of year. The weather people were right-on with their predictions this time but I guess I just couldn�t wrap my head around three feet of snow this early in October; the trees haven�t even finished shedding their leaves yet. Glad we stocked up.�

Cocking her head back and forth as she enthusiastically listens to, and I believe understands every word, I add, �and yes I remembered your peanut butter biscuits. Heaven knows you�d be impossible to live with if I had forgotten.�

A torrent of wind swirls snow and dead leaves like a tornado around my feet. Gathering the insubstantial layers of clothing closer to my body I add, �Let�s get this over with � I know we won�t find anything but I just have to be sure.�

A quick look-see around the house, barnyard and stable finds nothing out of order � no lurking horses, humans, critters, monsters or ghosts.
�Nothing. Just as we suspected Old Girl. Well whoever or whatever may be after our attention will get it fully whenever they�re ready, no matter how much we wish it different, so we may as well go in and hunker down for the night.�

Settled under the myriad of quilts and comforters the shivers slowly subside. Between bits of sleep, startling wakefulness and snores that could wake the dead I continually curse all that makes my life less than normal.
Tic...tic�tic�quiet settles.
Sleep approaches.
Howling wind.
Swaddled thunder.
Blow of hot breath...
Tock!
The sharp crack of leather.
�a wet thud�!

A pulsing rhythm, barely perceived, takes up residence at the edge of every nerve. My pounding heart?...The unnamable things that go bump in the night?�Or the far too real terror of muffled hoof beats on my stone drive?

A quick glance at the clock reveals that a little more than an hour has passed since my last attempt to confront this particular night�s robber of rest.

�Obviously I�m a bit out of it sweetie. I�m not at all sure what�s real anymore. I could have sworn hours and hours had gone by.�

Drawn back to the window by a strangely magnetic pull I again melt a portal through the frost in which to peer but find nothing but my own reflection. The image, a middle-aged woman with bags under her eyes deep enough to pull a sofa bed out of and graying hair the consistency of steel wool, startles me and finds me hoping beyond hope that the wavy old glass has presented a grotesquely distorted view. For a moment I�m snagged into its evil and lambaste myself for not taking better care of my face. �Lordy Old Girl � I think a spa day is definitely in order.�

A clattering, a snare drum played by a deranged octopus, returns my attention to the window. �What is it you want? Come on and show yourself! I�ve waited long enough tonight.� My voice cracks open the silence. Tremors created by the deafening barrage of my near-manic outburst ricochet off the walls.
�No answer � what a surprise. Well Old Girl � guess what? � time to head outside on this lovely evening once again. [censored] and I just got warm.�

As another wrestling match between thermals, thick terry robe and the loft-laden sleeve of my heaviest winter coat begins I, despite all logic and intellectual reasoning, know I�m being watched. Catching unwanted glimpses of multi-colored iridescence dancing across unblinking eyes huddled fur-balls conspiratorially titter as they watch me struggle with the multitude of layers.
�Show�s over you � you lewd and peeping mice � go away and go to sleep or better yet feel free to clean up the accumulating crumbs around the toaster. Just leave me be � I�m in no mood tonight.�

I waddle downstairs to the doormat, stuff wool-encased feet into cumbersome boots and huff and puff my way through the narrow entryway. Throwing open the door I brace myself with anticipation of being readily blown down only to find myself bouncing off a wall of drifted snow nearly shoulder high. Shoving my substantially insulated bulk into the drift I eventually break free of its icy embrace. Falling through to the other side I find myself facing a world of frozen anger.

Website copyright � 2009 Susan Hopf
All rights reserved

Susan, I haven't read your story yet. I will read it this evening, but I wanted to let you know I figured out how you can do the copyright symbol thing correctly. I really should have thought of this before. What you have up should work, but now you have the option of changing it.

Go back to page 1 and go to the end of my story. Highlight where I did the website copyright, paste it at the end of your story and put your name in instead of mine.

great idea - thanks!

Susan, I found your story enjoyable. Plenty of description and dialogue to create an ongoing movie in my mind. Even though the story intro takes place in an environment that I have never experienced (and one that I don�t want to experience), you described it clearly enough so that I understood what was going on.

The only mistake I found was probably one that you just didn�t notice when you read over it. In paragraph 3 of the intro, you wrote �over flowing downspouts�. Over and flowing should be one word, so it should have been written �overflowing downspouts�.

By the way, I really liked a lot of your descriptions. I think my favorite was �A clattering, a snare drum played by a deranged octopus�.

How close are you to finishing the book? Sounds as though it is going to be a great one.

Look forward to reading more from you.

Thanks Lisa - you are a great editor - wonderful positive attitude and good critical eye - glad to have your eyes on my work. I appreciate you catching the "overflowing" mistake - I am sure there are many more of those errors to come.

The book is rough draft finished. I have the characters fleshed out fairly well, the story is there but a bit weak right now and the whole thing needs a tune-up. This critique group has come just at the right time for me as I have more time for writing in the winter than I do in summer and am hoping it will inspire me to really get at it. The book has been "in the works" for ten years but I am only able to attend to it in bits and pieces - now it is time to put the pieces together.

Vance - would love a male perspective.