CoasterProse competition
Here's the latest installment of our Coaster Prose story, courtesy of reader Gabriel A. Miller
How it works:
Read the story so far.
Write 100 words to continue the story.
Email them to books@timeoutsydney.com.au
The best entry of the week will appear on this page.
Come back next week to see the winning entry and continue the story from there
The Story so far
Winner of Part 1: Ian McNeilly
denied me the pleasure and pain I was now experiencing. If ever a guy was a waste of space, and a large space at that, it was Clarence W. Seagreen. Looking at him now, I was wondering what the 'W' in his name stood for. The usual came to mind..... Wanker, Weasel and Worm, no use asking him though, he was ignoring me. I was giving Clarence far too much attention, this was a job like most others, I gave no thought for why he had to be killed, my job was the how and when. Now to dispose of the late but never great Clarence W., I began to roll him in the carpet....
Winner of Part 2: Melissa Ganley
and I did what any unsuspecting teenage delinquent would if starring down at the limp body
of their fat, ex-girlfriend’s father. I turned on the radio, everything sounds better to music,
and got the matches out of my old diesel jeans. Yeah, I felt bad about it. Not then and there.
But, I felt bad knowing I would feel bad afterwards. I had to remind myself
that just in case this was an over reaction, alcohol cures and forgives all.
I’m sure that’s why Jesus turned water into wine. Good man that Jesus..
He was fat anyway.
Winner of Part 3: Darren Saffin...
I took a joint out of my other pocket and lit up. Always helps me think and I needed some thinking time right now with this 120kg problem. Burn the place down? Couldn’t be sure it would burn down. Chop him into small bits and put him in the freezer? Haven’t got that much time.
Wrap him and call a courier and have him delivered to my ex-girlfriend? I like that,
would love to see her face when she unwrapped him. I took another drag and
helped myself to some of his cognac. Good shit. Clarence W
obviously had goodtaste in alcohol, although not in décor. Right then the doorbell rang…
Winner of Part 4: James Carden...
I froze. Fine cognac curdled in my empty stomach. I spat in my palm and killed the joint. Whoever it was thumping out there, they'd have to wait. I finished rolling Clarence up like a massive spliff in a Persian patterned Tally Ho. "I've already smoked him," I thought. More knocking. I grunted as I dragged on him. It's not easy to manoeuvre obese dead men, particularly one leaving a red snail-trail as we slalomed through the house. I just had to get past the frosted-glass front door and into the garage. Two blue figures floated in the glass like ghosts. "Mr Seagrass?
Winner of Part 5: Ben Delucas...
Police? Through a slit in the curtains I could see two thick-necked goons. Hired muscle. And their baseball bats suggested this wasn't no social call. But I wasn't leaving without that briefcase. I dropped the body unceremoniously and made for the study, almost slipping on Clarence's claret. "Don't make us kick this door in Clarence," one of the thugs yelled. "You play nice now." The briefcase was behind the cabinet just like she'd said. Ignoring the sound of breaking glass, I flicked the combination and opened the case. That was when things got weird...
Winner of Part 6: Vince McClusky...
But I didn't have time to worry about the contents of the briefcase. The boys in blue were barrelling down the corridor and about to discover one mighty fat corpse. I dived out the window, scraping my bastard shin on the sill, and sprinted down the street into the Cross. The Friday night freakshow was in full swing - staggering drunks, hard-faced hookers and underage ravers. Human camouflage. I rolled with the crowd, then ducked down an alleyway to double-check the case. Where was the money? And who were those naked photos of? Then someone tapped me on the shoulder...
Winner of Part 7: Gabriel A. Miller...
"No, I don't want no goddamn Youth Day pamphlet! I did admire the young girl though -
props for infiltrating Sydney's centre of sin. She bit her lip and pulled out a cigarette.
I turned back to fatty’s suitcase and winced at the photos. I wished I hadn't
suddenly recognised the subject. My ex sure had a nasty grandma.
As I tilted my head to vomit, church-lady suddenly snatched for the suitcase!
My grip tightened instinctively and I whirled around, throwing her roughly
against the alley wall and spraying her with chunks.
She calmly puffed smoke into my eyes and whispered..."
Write the next 100 words and send it to books@timeoutsydney.com.au to be in with a chance of winning $1000-worth of books.