This post is approximately 650 words, and there might be swears. I wrote this piece in August and forgot to post it!

This is just me, writing as far as I can after starting with nothing. No ideas, save for what popped into my head right before I sat down. No plan. The only goal is to write until the baloney runs out.

Usually, writers will recommend that you can’t write effectively unless you sequester yourself in a quiet room with no distractions, whether visual, auditory, or Internet-y. You need to be focused, wholly devoted to the art that is splashing upon the page as dripped by typing fingers than can usually concoct a better analogy than this.

But for this exercise, I’m sitting in the living room, which is our primary communal area in the house. Scout our dog is continually dropping a slobbery ball on my lap. Benji keeps running over, updating me on his play using non-verbal sounds. Sam is sharing Internet memes. Kirsten and I are talking about her work day. Hopefully, she’ll confirm that I’m actively participating.

If you care to read beyond this introduction, I can’t promise you’ll read anything particularly compelling. I might not even review it before I post this. I’m hoping at the very least, it’s grammatically correct (as far as my character goes). Perhaps most importantly, this entire post will be at least 500 words, which is more than I wrote yesterday. It all adds up. It all counts toward the improvement of my writing. Read on, if you dare; send feedback, if you care.

BTW, I wrote this introduction during the writing that you are about to read. I’m sooooo not a linear writer.

BTW2, the computer died in the middle of this, but it didn’t kill my momentum.

*     *     *     *     *

The world is full of good people. You know the ones. The neighbor who cuts that shared bit of lawn between your houses. The mom of your son’s teammate who offers who drive him home after baseball practice. Even that person who opens the door when your arms are full of groceries.

I used to be one of those people. I lived in a nice house with my second wife Marlene and adopted son Josh. I drove kids around. Grilled with the neighbors. Helped people move in. Helped ’em move out. I was a pretty good guy. People used to tell me so, so it’s not just me talking out of my ass.

My job was going well. Recently been promoted, so the bump in pay was great. Sure allowed the paycheck stretch further than usual. That seemed to smooth over some of the rough patches me and Marlene had. They were always saying that money was one of the biggest stresses on a marriage. And it might have been for us, except for Marlene’s ex: Bertrand.

His first name’s Murray, but everyone called him Bertrand because that’s how you address cops, whether you’re cop or you know a cop. Always introduced by last name. You probably couldn’t even get his attention by saying “Murray”. Not that you’d want to get his attention. Suspicious sonuvabitch, but then again, most cops figure, they stare at someone long enough, a person’ll confess some dirty secret. And they’re usually right. Bertrand was especially right.

So with this set up, you’re probably already thinking, It’s another good-cop-gone-bad story. The cop in it, yeah, he’s the bad guy. But since I’m also a cop, and since I used to be a good guy, yeah, I guess I’d say you’re not far off. My story is about the good cop who went wrong. Way wrong.

But I’d be goddamned if that piece of shit Bertrand was going to kill them and not suffer for it.

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And there you go.

–Michael

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