Okay, I have nearly finished the Goo stories. I have all the pictures picked out, and the outline of the stories finished. I just have to finish the leg work on them.
I've also finished the beta draft for my urban fantasy set in Tokyo, Japan. If anyone is interested in becoming a beta reader, please comment below or send me an Email at Travis.sullivan at gmail
It is a near-adult novel as it has sexual situations, though no graphic details. If you want a clue as to how it is like, you can read my drinking stories #1 ( A long ride home )
Please enjoy the first scene of the first chapter. (though, there is no real magic until the end of the chapter, and it's only brief.)
Chapter 1 (Too many Long-Islands)
“How did I end up here?” Zack wobbled back and forth. “Pissing on this grave?”
“I do not know,” a male voice said in a slurred Japanese accent. “You tell me, foreigner.”
“Huh?” After lurching forward, only the gravestone kept Zack upright. “What were we talking about?” He glanced about, but there was no one else in sight. Huh? Oh well— His vision fogged, and the thought died.
“How did you come to this particular grave and decide to piss?” The voice sounded angry for some reason.
“Are you a cop?”
“No … .”
“Good … I’d say … one too many Long—” Zack unloaded the last of his food onto the gravestone. “—Islands.” While wiping his mouth, he stumbled backwards.
“What are Long-Islands?”
“You know … .” Trying to clear his eyes, he blinked. “The cheap and awesome drink?”
“Drink? … You mean alcohol?”
“Of course.” Zack checked his cellphone, but it appeared to be dead. “What else would I be talking about?”
Few lights lined the graveyard, but the neon—Love Hotel—signs flashing nearby made up for it. Gravel shifted under Zack’s feet. When the incense mixed with the vile remnants of his night celebrating the end of a shitty relationship, he coughed. The jarring sound echoed through the small, Japanese mausoleums.
The voice groaned. “Perfect … just perfect.”
“Who are you?” Or where are you?
“Who are you?”
“I asked you first.” Zack pinched his arm. It hurt. He was drunk, but not dreaming. Dad always said, ‘If you keep talking to yourself, eventually someone will answer …’ but fuck, really?
“While living, I was known as Shinji … .”
Living? “Shinji it is.”
“Yes … I am a ghost.” While he made booing noises, Shinji’s anger seemed to wane. “Though, having a body again could be useful.”
“Having a body?” After rubbing his temples, Zack stretched his back.
“Your body will be mine!”
Ignoring the obvious threat, Zack took a deep breath and looked into the star-lit sky. I hope I can hold down— He dry heaved.
“Hold what dow—”
Zack once again threw-up onto the gravestone then—with his pinstriped suit jacket—scrubbed the sour tasting liquid from his lips. Several, long moments later, he staggered back onto the pathway. “You can read my thoughts?”
“I am in your head … .” Shinji growled. “So … how did you end up pissing on my grave?”
Well … . Zack stared at the daunting overpass. I hate stairs.
I’m not stalling. Zack took the first step. I broke up with my girlfriend earlier today and went out to drink my sorrows away. …