Work in Progress: The Steppencow

I’ve been doing Spring cleaning in my place and that means I often find something interesting.  In this case, I found a stash of computer print outs of drafts of stories I lost in the Russian Virus Attack and Hard Drive Wipe of 2006.  I just had to share the outline of one of them today.  I’m in one of those moods.  😉

The Steppencow

Barry Ballovitch through of himself as the Steppencow, was a yak of the steppes.  This was a secret he kept to himself.

He had set aside his personal desires to find a good, solid job.  He worked as a clerk in the Department, for the Company.

Once he had settled into his job to support his family he felt content.  Two decades passed.  After such a long period of service, he began to feel the desire to break free from the constraints of his comfortable life.

Barry took his life savings, bought a Sil limousine and toured the Country.  He stayed out late, danced and drank in clubs.

In the middle of the eastern country, among the waves of grass, Barry left his luxury car and bought a horse and carriage.  He rode it into the sky, into the setting sun.

It’s Hesse with a dash of Kafka and Thorne Smith.  😉


Katanas and Trenchcoats Fan Fiction

The Black Cat of Lowell

A short, overweight man in a battered black trenchcoat slipped through the doorway of Bubble’s Diner.  He cast about a furtive look and stood for a moment, letting the rain drip from his coat.

He worked his way through the crowd of shuffling, standing patrons in the diner.  He wormed into a booth in the dark corner.

A burly man dressed in work clothes plowed through the mass of people.  He joined the stocky man soon after, sitting in the booth as if he owned it.

The bruiser’s face hardened and he mouthed something that the crowd would not hear.  The man in the trenchcoat let out a cat-like yowl and furry ears seemed to sprout from his head.   He sprang from the booth.  He pointed a shaking forefinger at the man with a boxer’s build.   A flash of purple-green energy lashed out, striking the seated man in the chest.

The large man slumped forward.  His head landed on the booth’s table with a thump.  The squat man bored back through the throng.  His dirty trenchcoat flapped with his speed.  He hastily threw a few greasy bills at the cashier behind the register as he ran out of the diner into the rainy night.

Author’s Note:  This piece had its origin in ShadowRun, but I attempted to file the serial numbers off.