This is an old story that I started re-writing last year. This is what I'm assuming will be Chapter 3, but we'll see. The story is about Tracy, a con woman who has run away from her old boyfriend (not abusive but very married).
She has a spreadsheet of known marks, what scams have already been performed on them, and by whom, and how much money each con artist made off of the mark, as well as the mark's potential net worth.
Fred has an asterisk under his name, which, at the bottom of the spreadsheet just says "The Incorruptible Man". He's a used car salesman, owns his own lot in a small town in the middle of nowhere. He has been touched by a LOT of con artists in Tracy's circle, but never for more than a few thousand dollars. His net worth is estimated at almost a million dollars. Tracy is intrigued and has nothing better to do, so she goes to check him out.
She meets him at a bar, offers to go home with him, and initiates sex. The next day, while he's at work, she cleans his house, gets to know his neighbors, and throws out the randos that he lets stay in his home. Chapter 3 is later that day, when Fred gets home from work. The previous chapters were from Tracy's POV and this is our first look at Fred from his POV.
Original (First 500)
Fred wasn't sure which smell hit him first, or hardest. The succulent beef stew simmering on the stove, or the total and utter lack of musty gym socks. The kitchen was dark and quiet, with only the stove hood light on. Silence reigned in his home for the first time in forever. He walked into the empty living room the beef stew trailing behind him to mingle with the faintest hint of weed snaking through a stronger combination of Pine Sol and Lemon Pledge. The couch was empty, all of Todd's stuff was gone. No bong, no scattered clothing and sneakers, no overheating XBox or screaming television. Only a lamp in the corner that Fred had completely forgotten he owned offered some light in the dark room. Thick bows that had previously lay abandoned on the carpet now held the curtains open. Fred felt the sudden need to set down. He sank down on to the armchair next to the couch and looked around.
He couldn't remember the last time the curtains had been open. Way before Todd, some couch guest had closed them, and that had become their permanent position. His second wife, Eve, had kept them open, but they had been chosen by Janice and hung by Fred. He'd never understood Janice's excitement about the exact shade of sage green, the way it perfectly matched the leaves on the floral couch. Everything had been chosen and placed so carefully, been preserved by Eve, and left to rot by Fred and his menagerie of uninvited guests.
Tracy had done this. She'd cleaned his house and made him dinner as a gesture of gratitude for hosting her the night before. Her car hadn't been in the driveway when he'd gotten home -- maybe she had gone back to Stucky's to find a more attractive, age-appropriate host. He tried to feel grateful, instead, he felt old, tired, and alone. He stood and fled the living room on slow, achy knees.
The hallway was cleared of the random accumulated junk he'd grown so accustomed to seeing that it had turned invisible over time. The absence of it made the space feel bigger and cleaner. And emptier. He flipped a light on in the bathroom. The bathroom smelled like clean laundry and had towels neatly layered over the towel racks. The sweet, plasticy smell of a fresh shower curtain liner wafted in the air, but he couldn't see it because it was hidden behind a mauve linen shower curtain. He recognized it as his wife's. For a deliciously delusional moment, he stared at the matching bath mat and engaged in a fantasy where Janice wasn't dead after all.
When the moment was over, that old cactus-spiked blanket of grief pricked at him, settling into his skin.He flipped the light back off and continued down the hallway. He already knew that the guest room would be clean and empty before he opened the door.
Fred wasn't sure which smell hit him first, or hardest. The succulent beef stew simmering on the stove, or the total and utter lack of musty gym socks. The kitchen was dark and quiet, with only the stove hood light on. Silence reigned in his home for the first time in forever. He walked into the empty living room the beef stew trailing behind him to mingle with the faintest hint of weed snaking through a stronger combination of Pine Sol and Lemon Pledge. The couch was empty, all of Todd's stuff was gone. No bong, no scattered clothing and sneakers, no overheating XBox or screaming television. Only a lamp in the corner that Fred had completely forgotten he owned offered some light in the dark room. Thick bows that had previously lay abandoned on the carpet now held the curtains open. Fred felt the sudden need to set down. He sank down on to the armchair next to the couch and looked around.
He couldn't remember the last time the curtains had been open. Way before Todd, some couch guest had closed them, and that had become their permanent position. His second wife, Eve, had kept them open, but they had been chosen by Janice and hung by Fred. He'd never understood Janice's excitement about the exact shade of sage green, the way it perfectly matched the leaves on the floral couch. Everything had been chosen and placed so carefully, been preserved by Eve, and left to rot by Fred and his menagerie of uninvited guests.
Tracy had done this. She'd cleaned his house and made him dinner as a gesture of gratitude for hosting her the night before. Her car hadn't been in the driveway when he'd gotten home -- maybe she had gone back to Stucky's to find a more attractive, age-appropriate host. He tried to feel grateful, instead, he felt old, tired, and alone. He stood and fled the living room on slow, achy knees.
The hallway was cleared of the random accumulated junk he'd grown so accustomed to seeing that it had turned invisible over time. The absence of it made the space feel bigger and cleaner. And emptier. He flipped a light on in the bathroom. The bathroom smelled like clean laundry and had towels neatly layered over the towel racks. The sweet, plasticy smell of a fresh shower curtain liner wafted in the air, but he couldn't see it because it was hidden behind a mauve linen shower curtain. He recognized it as his wife's. For a deliciously delusional moment, he stared at the matching bath mat and engaged in a fantasy where Janice wasn't dead after all.
When the moment was over, that old cactus-spiked blanket of grief pricked at him, settling into his skin.He flipped the light back off and continued down the hallway. He already knew that the guest room would be clean and empty before he opened the door.
My Edit
Fred wasn't sure which smell hit him first, or hardest. The succulent stew simmering on the stove, or the total and utter lack of musty gym socks. The kitchen was dark and quiet, with only the stove hood light on. He walked over to the simmering pot, and stared down at it. Yep. That was beef stew. The scent trailed behind him as he walked into the living room. Over the stew, the faintest hint of of weed snaked through a stronger combination of Pine Sol and Lemon Pledge.
The couch was empty, all of Todd's stuff was gone. No bong, no scattered clothing and sneakers, no overheating XBox or blaring television. Only a lamp in the corner that Fred had completely forgotten he owned offered some light in the dark room. Thick bows that had previously lay abandoned on the carpet, held the curtains open first the first time in years. Fred felt the sudden need to sit down. He sank down on to the armchair next to the couch and looked around.
Way before Todd, some couch guest had closed the curtains, and that had become their permanent position. His second wife, Eve, had kept them open, but they had been chosen by his first and only real wife, Janice. He'd never understood Janice's excitement about the exact shade of sage green, the way it perfectly matched the leaves on the floral couch, but he'd been happy that she was happy. Everything had been chosen and placed carefully by Janice, preserved by Eve, and left to rot by Fred and his neverending parade of uninvited guests.
Tracy had done this. She'd cleaned his house and made him dinner as a gesture of gratitude for hosting her the night before. Her car hadn't been in the driveway when he'd gotten home -- maybe she had gone back to Stucky's to find a more attractive, age-appropriate host. He tried to feel grateful. Instead, he felt old, tired, and alone. He stood, knees creaking, and continued the tour of his home.
The hallway had been cleared of the random accumulated junk he'd grown so accustomed to seeing that it had turned invisible over time. The absence of it made the space feel bigger and cleaner. And emptier. He flipped a light on in the bathroom. The bathroom smelled like clean laundry and had towels neatly layered over the towel racks. The sweet, plastic smell of a fresh shower curtain liner wafted in the air, hidden behind a mauve linen shower curtain. Another Janice pick that some guest had switch out for a cat wielding a trident and riding a whale, at some point. With the original curtain back, for a deliciously delusional moment, he stared at the matching bath mat and engaged in a fantasy where Janice wasn't dead after all.
When the moment was over, that old cactus-spiked blanket of grief pricked at him, settling back into his skin. He flipped the light back off and continued down the hallway, dread building in his stomach. He already knew that the guest room would be clean and empty before he opened the door.
(Original word count: ~490 → Edited: ~521)
Fred wasn't sure which smell hit him first, or hardest. The succulent stew simmering on the stove, or the total and utter lack of musty gym socks. The kitchen was dark and quiet, with only the stove hood light on. He walked over to the simmering pot, and stared down at it. Yep. That was beef stew. The scent trailed behind him as he walked into the living room. Over the stew, the faintest hint of of weed snaked through a stronger combination of Pine Sol and Lemon Pledge.
The couch was empty, all of Todd's stuff was gone. No bong, no scattered clothing and sneakers, no overheating XBox or blaring television. Only a lamp in the corner that Fred had completely forgotten he owned offered some light in the dark room. Thick bows that had previously lay abandoned on the carpet, held the curtains open first the first time in years. Fred felt the sudden need to sit down. He sank down on to the armchair next to the couch and looked around.
Way before Todd, some couch guest had closed the curtains, and that had become their permanent position. His second wife, Eve, had kept them open, but they had been chosen by his first and only real wife, Janice. He'd never understood Janice's excitement about the exact shade of sage green, the way it perfectly matched the leaves on the floral couch, but he'd been happy that she was happy. Everything had been chosen and placed carefully by Janice, preserved by Eve, and left to rot by Fred and his neverending parade of uninvited guests.
Tracy had done this. She'd cleaned his house and made him dinner as a gesture of gratitude for hosting her the night before. Her car hadn't been in the driveway when he'd gotten home -- maybe she had gone back to Stucky's to find a more attractive, age-appropriate host. He tried to feel grateful. Instead, he felt old, tired, and alone. He stood, knees creaking, and continued the tour of his home.
The hallway had been cleared of the random accumulated junk he'd grown so accustomed to seeing that it had turned invisible over time. The absence of it made the space feel bigger and cleaner. And emptier. He flipped a light on in the bathroom. The bathroom smelled like clean laundry and had towels neatly layered over the towel racks. The sweet, plastic smell of a fresh shower curtain liner wafted in the air, hidden behind a mauve linen shower curtain. Another Janice pick that some guest had switch out for a cat wielding a trident and riding a whale, at some point. With the original curtain back, for a deliciously delusional moment, he stared at the matching bath mat and engaged in a fantasy where Janice wasn't dead after all.
When the moment was over, that old cactus-spiked blanket of grief pricked at him, settling back into his skin. He flipped the light back off and continued down the hallway, dread building in his stomach. He already knew that the guest room would be clean and empty before he opened the door.
(Original word count: ~490 → Edited: ~521)
Critique
Setting
Conflict/Tension
Final Thoughts
My revision doesn't have any sweeping changes from the original, probably because the writing is so recent. I think I wrote this in 2024. I did go through and try to smooth out some of the transitions between rooms and clarify Fred's reactions, although I still want him to be a bit hard to read. Fred is never going to be a demonstrative character, but at this point in the story, he's very disconnected from his emotions, so melancholy and guilt are going to be uppermost.
I will share a spoiler, though. Fred is not alone in the house. Tracy is in his bedroom, which is at the end of the hallway, around the corner from the guest room. So, as Fred gets lonelier throughout his tour, and maybe even a bit resentful at Tracy's presumptuousness, he's going to be blindsided to turn the corner and see light shining under the door.
I came up with this character I think around twenty years ago and never did anything with him. He's so blah of a character at first glance that I didn't even know if I'd ever try to write his story. I came up with the idea for The Incorruptible Man maybe ten-ish years ago? And when I realized that Fred could the The Incorruptible Man, I was really happy that's I'd be able to use Fred in a story that had such a fun premise. For me, it's going to be really fun to balance the absolute soda-crackerness of his personality with a wild, WILD plot.
I don't have a lot of story ideas for "real world" settings. I mostly like high fantasy and speculative stuff. The thing about that is that you have to ground more fantastic settings with believable (for the genre) plots and characters. Not an issue with this story. As it's set in "reality", I don't need to ground it and it's going to get weird. Sometimes, conflict and tension just come from contrast. Fred's bland personality in juxtaposition with a wild plot is going to be SO fun.
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