Frank

Haven’t gotten to do much this past week, but a return to my regular schedule should get my writing back on track a bit. I’m still working on my ghost town story. The hero has been evolving quite a bit in my mind, I just need to get it all down. I think it’ll turn into a pretty interesting tale.

So here’s another old bit of text I found lurking in the hard drive. I don’t even know how to describe this one. I remember coming up with the first couple lines, but have no clue where I intended to go from there. Most likely, I didn’t know back then, either. It’s pretty ridiculous. Maybe there’s a market out there for stories under a hundred words I can send it to, as is. 🙂

There’s a second paragraph, but it’s not nearly as fun as the first.

Frank Caston died as he lived, with a monkey on his back and a knife wedged between his vertebrae. How the monkey got there and why it would murder the town’s star reporter is still something of a mystery. Some say it was a government trained monkey sent to silence the journalist’s latest scoop, others say it was just bad bananas, and still others say the monkey was just an innocent bystander, framed for the killing. Either way, the monkey was put down and nobody else stepped forward. The case was closed.