The following is a short skit written for a project on HitRECord. Check it out to find more of my work and other great artists working for the first social media production company.
Everything would be alright when they got home. John gripped the steering wheel for another corner on the rural lane, repeating the thought in his head. It had been a tough weekend, harder than any of them had anticipated, but it was under control, all over. They just had to get home and they could relax. He looked at the dashboard clock. They had plenty of time. Dusk was settling in, but they were almost home and there hadn’t been any noise from back there since they had left the camp site. The last hurdle was a toll gate on the edge of town.
The following is a sketch script I wrote for a challenge on HitRECord.org. Please check out my account there and support me. With enough attention and likes my work might be featured in short films and other final, already-funded productions.
As you know, or should know, my debut novel goes live on Wattpad this weekend. I hope you’ll all have a look at the finished product and see if you like it. I’ll also be opening a Patreon page to raise money for a deluxe paperback version filled with illustrations, character concepts and more, so I’d doubly appreciate you contributing or sharing that. Through the course of editing the novel, even the final sweeps, I found sections that I hated to cut out but decided the story was ultimately better without, whether for pacing, focus or character development. I still love those bits and so one way to get them to my audience is to post them here.
Together they spent some time selecting and tracking suitable characters for Ramses to turn. He drove the pickup slowly down the street, looking for individuals he judged worthy. This consisted of those who looked like they had no one to miss them in the mortal world and who could hold their own when the supernatural shit hit the metaphorical fan.
She turned to see a man dressed in a similar set of overalls to her acquired set. He stood a few inches taller than her, which made him over 6-foot. Most of his face was hidden under a peaked cap.
With a gulp of milk, he wondered if news presenters ever wore trousers. Then an item on the news broadcast actually caught his attention.
MR. and MRS. SITH, who both wear DARTH VADER style masks and dark robes, are sat at the kitchen table in their ordinary suburban home.
Mr. SITH finishes one last bite of his meal and then pushes his plate away with force powers.
Jacob Kelly didn’t particularly like it when the car fell on him. Strictly speaking, nor did he hate it as he didn’t have the mental capacity to form opinions at the time.
The instant an advert for cat food appeared, Ramses vaulted the sofa and kicked the TV to the floor. He stamped on it, glass and metal shattering like ice, until the face of the cute kitten was obliterated by his boot and the meowing was drowned out by the hiss of sparks. He lowered his foot. Somehow that crunch wasn’t as satisfying as the real thing.
The man was blind drunk, riding a roughly tethered cart of open crates filled with razor blades, knives, nails and wood axes very fast towards the cliff edge and he looked particularly happy about it.
The only girl who dared to sit on the front row had her pastel-pale face slumped into her folded arms; a doll with her strings cut. “Good morning class!” Kenempti thought she should at least try to be enthusiastic. Someone had to be.