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I have been working on an idea this week. A new idea, yet an old one at heart.

My brother once told me about an idea, one that I thought was ripping. He said it would make a great movie, and he is right. But it would also make a kick ass comic mini, which I only just realised. So that’s what I’m going to try to do.

This idea, which I do not want to reveal just yet, would be a 3-4 issue mini. It would also have to be as Grindhouse as fuck. I want grand ideas executed like Rodriguez blowing ups heads and having one legged/one gunned strippers riding explosions. I want balls to the wall action, and demons and fiddles and plenty of melted puppies! There have to be bullets full of drugs, vampires being eaten by cannibals and skydiving galactic battles. But at it’s heart, like any good flick, I want some sweet moments. Nothing better than people covered in zombie gore then getting their mack on, gore be damned!
*some of these things will actually appear in the mini, some are just problematic scenes in my head from a childhood of Hammer Horrors and Crypt Keeper hostings over Cropsy murders.

This could be like writing a comic about Citizen Kane’s childhood after he left his family, but his new parents were Satan worshipping galactic soldiers; or a comic about Rod Serling’s days as a paratrooper/soldier, throughout every war ever fought because he is an immortal warrior. Damn, those are good ideas too, I patent them right here and now in the legal court of the wwInterweb!

This story idea has the potential to be something really new and amazing, though not quite as amazing as those two off the cuff ideas are seeming to be, ha.

I have planned the first two and a half issues, and hope to take the full series notes to my brother this weekend.

Don’t worry, I’m not gonna screw him, that’s not how we roll in Australia, no way no how! I really want his input, this guy has seen that many horror movies that he’s sure to blow my paltry ideas out of the water.

Viva la comics!

Here’s a two minute piece, kinda creepy, I swear, I’m not this creepy in person…at least while I’m sober…

Almost

The man sits down in the seat. The tear from a knife in the leather behind him slightly digs into his back, he does not move. The windows are filthy, like looking through used grease paper. His reflection comes back, but smudged, warped, dirty. It is appropriate.

The train starts up as the woman sits in her seat. She is down the aisle two rows and facing the man. As the train jerks into its acceleration the woman swings around and smacks into her seat. She knows the motion of the train like a lover would.

Bradley smiles at her. A casual smile that anyone could or would give on a train. There is nothing to it, or there shouldn’t be. Bradley looks back at his other self in the window. The other one who looks more like he really is.

She shifts in her seat, she is pulling something out of her back pocket. He knows it is a hipflask, but he doesn’t see it; she never lets anyone see it. It’s easy to keep it concealed. She tips the mouth of it up against her finger, a knowing kiss between confederates. A small amount of white powder is left on her fingertip. She lifts her hand casually and looks into the window. She always sits where the reflection is smooth and clear, staring into the hidden lake minutes before dawn.

No one ever notices a lady looking at herself in public, it’s pretty much expected to happen. A girl can openly rearrange or reapply her face in public and not a word is said, or thought. This is how Kirsty likes to do it. Staying home and sniffing it up wouldn’t be a challenge; anyone can do that. Getting a gum full on a train is more exciting.

There are all sorts of different drugs to take in public. Pills can be dropped, lines rubbed, snuffed and snorted, vials drunk and one time she even used a needle, but followed it with a jelly bean and wrote in a journal, with no one doubting she was just a diabetic.

It is a sport now. She was the master of it, but she is looking for new challenges.

So is he.

Bradley gets up from his seat. He is looking at the train map on the wall but only seeing her. Her hair is so neat, he imagines her straightening it every morning on her way to the station. She is a goddess in his eyes.

That is why this hurts so much. But he has to do it.

The train lurches slightly on the bend in the track. He places his hand on her shoulder, as if it just falls there. As if it is an occurrence that is simple fortune. As if there could ever be any accidents in his life.

He looks down at her, he has never been this close in front of her before. At times he has crept up behind her, but never so close to her face.

Her eyes are greener than he could imagine, they could be cut out and turned into jewels, perhaps they once were. He could imagine a civilisation worshipping at the alter for her. To her.

He continues to walk to the end of the carriage and nothing has been done. He walks down the stairs and gets off the train. His existence is a never ending parade of almosts.

Perhaps another time. There will be another time for worship.

She goes home, dropping her hipflask in a dumpster along the way. She never touches another drug again. Somehow she knows that she has a new life to live.

She has another…

Posted on May 6th, 2008 by ryan
Filed under: Writing, comics