Blurb
I had completely forgotten about this story until I was looking through old stuff to do another First 500 exercise on. I was pleasantly surprised to find it way less cringy than my writing from four years earlier. At this point in my writing journey, I had found that I didn't really like sketching out scenes to figure out plot and adding style later.Rather, I preferred to let the details I found in writing the little bit of the story that I knew fill in details for more of the story. This backfired a bit in that there is way too much exposition dragging down the action, especially with information that should be worked in naturally with the rest of the story — or not needed at all, other than as information for myself.
But, it's still fun! This story is about an assassin who has refused to complete a job, but since she works for her uncle, this has become a family matter.
Original (2009)
Sally is a smart, if not a particularly wise, girl. She knows that bubble gum pink and lemon yellow are inappropriate colors for an assassin to wear. The colors stand out, especially on her svelte, leggy future carcass. But the colors go so nice in contrast to her shaggy old black cloak and matching belt. She just can’t help herself.
Despite her weakness for fashion, Sally has two things going for her as an assassin that few of her contemporaries share. One is her literal, killer bod; a distraction at the best of times, a playground of carnal delights at ever better times. The other is her willingness to accept that her own demise is not only inevitable, but imminent. In the assassin business, there’s always someone who wants to kill you back.
Live by the sword, die by the sword. Sally likes to pretend that the proverb is from an old Bob Dylan song because few things give her the shivers like thinking about the wages of sin that she’s been racking up for years.
Morality aside, she has little choice of vocation. And if she can’t justify every kill by telling herself her victims deserve it (because quite a few didn’t), she can at least take pride in her efficiency and athleticism.
“Salleee….”
Death’s breath mists on the back of her neck as her assassin stalks the circle of mannequins, leaving knife holes in one cute outfit after another. Gokor has killed eleven out of twelve of Sally’s mannequins and he’s left a nice slice of steel searing the spot between two of her ribs. Black really is the best color for hiding stains.
“Sally-jhan, it‘s no use hiding from me. You know that. Just come out and let Uncle Gokor give you one last hug.”
As she waits for Gokor to find her, Sally no doubt feels the urge to pee that always reminds her of playing hide-and-seek as a kid. It never failed. As soon as she found the perfect hiding spot, she’d curse herself for not going to the bathroom first. It’s a problem that has persisted into adulthood. She’s killed countless men (one hundred and twenty-three (and a half)), and many a victim’s toilet discreetly disposed of her DNA before she disposed of him.
Although she’s been murdering since she was eleven, she’s never received this sort of injury. She’s been slashed at during knife fights with would-be rapists in dark alleyways, and from sparring with Gokor, -- everyone needs hobbies. She was even shot once. This is different. The steel is embedded, and she isn’t allowed to scream or cry or even breathe hard. No desperate scramble away from her murderer; no effort of movement or destination to distract her from the pain -- or from the need to urinate. No way to express her fury at her uncle’s betrayal, although, she must be accustomed to that particular frustration by now. Or maybe not.
Sally isn’t particularly misandristic, but she only kills men. She once waited two months to take out a guy on his eighteenth birthday. Gokor has thus far been surprisingly lenient in regard to Sally’s refusal to kill women. Sally’s failure to kill Dick is the reason she’s on Gokor’s “to do” list.
Sally is a smart, if not a particularly wise, girl. She knows that bubble gum pink and lemon yellow are inappropriate colors for an assassin to wear. The colors stand out, especially on her svelte, leggy future carcass. But the colors go so nice in contrast to her shaggy old black cloak and matching belt. She just can’t help herself.
Despite her weakness for fashion, Sally has two things going for her as an assassin that few of her contemporaries share. One is her literal, killer bod; a distraction at the best of times, a playground of carnal delights at ever better times. The other is her willingness to accept that her own demise is not only inevitable, but imminent. In the assassin business, there’s always someone who wants to kill you back.
Live by the sword, die by the sword. Sally likes to pretend that the proverb is from an old Bob Dylan song because few things give her the shivers like thinking about the wages of sin that she’s been racking up for years.
Morality aside, she has little choice of vocation. And if she can’t justify every kill by telling herself her victims deserve it (because quite a few didn’t), she can at least take pride in her efficiency and athleticism.
“Salleee….”
Death’s breath mists on the back of her neck as her assassin stalks the circle of mannequins, leaving knife holes in one cute outfit after another. Gokor has killed eleven out of twelve of Sally’s mannequins and he’s left a nice slice of steel searing the spot between two of her ribs. Black really is the best color for hiding stains.
“Sally-jhan, it‘s no use hiding from me. You know that. Just come out and let Uncle Gokor give you one last hug.”
As she waits for Gokor to find her, Sally no doubt feels the urge to pee that always reminds her of playing hide-and-seek as a kid. It never failed. As soon as she found the perfect hiding spot, she’d curse herself for not going to the bathroom first. It’s a problem that has persisted into adulthood. She’s killed countless men (one hundred and twenty-three (and a half)), and many a victim’s toilet discreetly disposed of her DNA before she disposed of him.
Although she’s been murdering since she was eleven, she’s never received this sort of injury. She’s been slashed at during knife fights with would-be rapists in dark alleyways, and from sparring with Gokor, -- everyone needs hobbies. She was even shot once. This is different. The steel is embedded, and she isn’t allowed to scream or cry or even breathe hard. No desperate scramble away from her murderer; no effort of movement or destination to distract her from the pain -- or from the need to urinate. No way to express her fury at her uncle’s betrayal, although, she must be accustomed to that particular frustration by now. Or maybe not.
Sally isn’t particularly misandristic, but she only kills men. She once waited two months to take out a guy on his eighteenth birthday. Gokor has thus far been surprisingly lenient in regard to Sally’s refusal to kill women. Sally’s failure to kill Dick is the reason she’s on Gokor’s “to do” list.
My Edit
“Salleee….”
Death’s breath mists on the back of her neck as her assassin stalks the circle of mannequins draped in her favorite capes and corsets, leaving knife holes in one cute outfit after another. Uncle Gokor has stabbed and slashed up eleven of the mannequins that are dressed up like her, and he’s left a nice slice of steel embedded in a spot between two of Sally's actual ribs.
“Sally-jhan, it's no use hiding from me. You know that. Just come out and let me give you one last hug,” Uncle Gokor says.
Sally, coldblooded assassin since the age of eleven, has never felt this helpless. She has scars from fights to the death with disfavored members of Uncle Gokor's gang -- Uncle Gokor's version of assassin school. She’s been slashed at during knife fights with would-be rapists in dark alleyways. Everyone needs hobbies. She was even shot, once.
This is different. The steel is embedded in her side, and she can't scream or cry or even gasp. She definitely can't fight back. Her life depends on her uncle neither seeing nor smelling the blood seeping into her clothing. She wore black because it looks similar, whether it's wet or dry. Especially in the dark.
Until now, Gokor had tolerated Sally’s refusal to kill women and children. She once waited two months to take out a guy on his eighteenth birthday. Sally’s failure to kill me is the reason she’s on Gokor’s “To Do” list.
And he can't excuse her for her latest refusal to complete a job, as I am neither woman nor child.(Original word count: ~543 → Edited: ~365)
“Salleee….”
Death’s breath mists on the back of her neck as her assassin stalks the circle of mannequins draped in her favorite capes and corsets, leaving knife holes in one cute outfit after another. Uncle Gokor has stabbed and slashed up eleven of the mannequins that are dressed up like her, and he’s left a nice slice of steel embedded in a spot between two of Sally's actual ribs.
“Sally-jhan, it's no use hiding from me. You know that. Just come out and let me give you one last hug,” Uncle Gokor says.
Sally, coldblooded assassin since the age of eleven, has never felt this helpless. She has scars from fights to the death with disfavored members of Uncle Gokor's gang -- Uncle Gokor's version of assassin school. She’s been slashed at during knife fights with would-be rapists in dark alleyways. Everyone needs hobbies. She was even shot, once.
Until now, Gokor had tolerated Sally’s refusal to kill women and children. She once waited two months to take out a guy on his eighteenth birthday. Sally’s failure to kill me is the reason she’s on Gokor’s “To Do” list.
(Original word count: ~543 → Edited: ~365)
Critique
Okay, so, a few things. First, the story started from an avatar outfit prompt, which explains why the opening emphasizes her clothing -- that was literally all I knew about her.Second, the POV in the original is not clear -- this is the would-be victim of Sally's that she refuses to kill. Not sure why I felt the need to make the whole story in his POV but I'm pretty sure it was just lack of confidence as a writer and just throwing as many bells and whistles into the thing as possible.The main thing I've learned since then is that clarity beats style. It doesn't matter how cleverly something is phrased if the context it's placed in doesn't make sense.
Setting
Anyway, I didn't spend a ton of time on the setting because by the time we get to this part of the scene, we should already be familiar with the setting.
Characterization
Sally’s been an assassin since age eleven, with a strict code: no women or children. She kills would-be rapists in dark alleys — her favorite hobby. Honestly, I still love her. What a badass.
Did I add any more depth to her character in the re-write than I did in the original? Nah. But, as this is an action scene (albeit one with a lot of inaction), it doesn't makes sense to go into backstory. I actually deleted about half of the original excerpt when re-writing because it was information that was not necessary to the scene.
Conflict/Tension
Oh, yeah, we have conflict. We have a kingpin (or something) who is intent on killing his personal assassin for refusing one too many jobs -- and he's her uncle. So, this isn't just business -- it's family business.
We also have Sally, who can't move and give herself away as a non-mannequin, for plot reasons. I think conflict and tension are covered.
Final Thoughts
Sally has two things going for her as an assassin that few of her contemporaries share. One is her literal, killer bod; a distraction at the best of times, a playground of carnal delights at even better times. The other is her willingness to accept that her own demise is not only inevitable, but imminent. In the assassin business, there’s always someone who wants to kill you back.
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