I will start by making one chapter, and will not move on until I find it to be "perfect" in my own eye's.
Premise of this story; A girl living alone with her dog and built up emotional trials.
Chapter One
Layla sat in the rocker. Back and forth, back and forth. She puffed silently on a Marlboro Light 100. Beside her sat her German Shepherd mix, Dance. The creature had been her companion on many a sleepless nights.
How many days had she spent in her lone shack? Has it been a year, two? Or maybe only a few months? Not possible, time was a bastard and she liked to go along without thinking about it, if she did, she would become like a dog seeing a mangy cat it'd been trying to get to for years, and now it's rope that tied it down was wearing away. The dog in her snarled at the thought of the elusive time. Mangy fuckin' time, Layla thought. Mangy, mother fucking time!
She stood up and flicked her index and fore finger, signaling Dance to come inside with her.
Then something strange happened. In all the time she had Dance, it must be the German Shepherd in her, she merely wanted to please her master and would do whatever she was told to do, but now the dog sat solid. Staring with intent bright, brown eyes into the forest. Her cream coat began to rise, it looked as though the dog had grown a mo hawk.
"Somethin' out there, baby girl?" Layla asked as she gave Dance a firm pat on the head. Dance jerked and looked to her master, having been brought out of her trance of whatever she sensed. For a moment the dog stared at her, almost questioningly, it seemed, as if to ask "What more do you want from me? Let me watch over you. I sense something coming.". Layla shrugged, gave the dog another firm pat and went inside.
Once in, she examined her surroundings. She stayed in an abandoned cabin, two bedrooms, one full bath, a small kitchen and just as small living room. A beat up sofa, recliner, coffee table and a very small chester droor by the recliner, were her refuge.
After taking post on the recliner, she opened the first droor in the small cabinet and began rummaging. There were many a different pipe in the droor, along with four sandwich bags filled with a different strain of marijuana. She decided on a bag labeled "#3". Layla believed it contained the strain called Popcorn Kush. Now to select the pipe that would serve her. Though they were all dirty she decided on what she called "Ole' Faithful". A wooden Sherlock Holmes styled pipe, the mouth piece and bowl were ivory, or at least very good imitation ivory. The bowl was the head of a renaissance styled goblin.
She walked straight from living room to the connected kitchen with Ole Faithful. Before she crossed this 'threshold' she looked outside, Dance still was on guard. "Strange creature, but thank all that watches over us for her." Layla thought as she went to the kitchen cabinet above the sink and pulled out a bottle of 97% alcohol and a large container of Morton Salt. She took all three items to the sink and pulled a ziplock sandwich bag from the box that was next to the sink. Being careful, she held Faithful over the sink, opened the canister of salt and began pouring it into the bowl of the pipe and down the stem. She then set this inside of the baggy, and poured in about 1/4 a cup of alcohol. She held the stem and bowl closed with her hands after making sure the baggy was zipped locked tight, and began shaking the pipe back and forth, counting to thirty, then swishing it in the now dark brown substance for another thirty seconds.
She took the pipe and out and began running it under warm water for a few minutes, making sure to get every bit of salt and alcohol out. She threw away the baggy and began to dry off Faithful, changing from using a towel to blowing in the stem and helping the water to get out. When she was 'sure as shit' she was done, into the recliner she sank.
Layla had loaded the pipe with the Kush and puffed silently once more, using matches and enjoying the high that began to creep into her. When she bought this, the thought of renaming it The Creeper entered her mind, but she didn't like to fuck with what others had grown, and named themselves for all the work they had put into it. So she let the sleeping dog lie.
Once the first bowl was finished, or nearly so, the Kush was still amazingly wet and took quite some time to actually burn out completely, she stepped out to check on Dance.
This time the dog was standing, in a perfect imitation of a real Shepherd, ears perked, body tense and tail down but not in between her legs. There was a light rope tied around the dog, giving her a good amount of freedom, enough to wonder all around the small cabin and then some, she stood as far as it would let her, the mo hawk higher than ever. Is that a low growl Layla heard being made from her normally quiet creature?
"What the fuck is goin' on, Dance? Never seen you so tense 'cept that time that homeless fucker tried to break in! Calm down, girl!" Layla took no mind to speaking aloud. She realized it was one way of not getting cabin fever here. She grabbed her pack of smokes, a book of matches and sat back down in her rocking chair, steadily puffing on the pipe and wanting to pick up the old Stephen King paperback of Night Shift but not able to. IF something were to come out of the woods, she sure as shit wanted to be ready, and she was. Under her make shift table by her rocking chair was a Smith and Wesson .50 caliber. It'd knock the shit out of whoever needed it.
Layla briefly remembers buying that gun along with a .45. The gun shop owner laughed at her, saying she'd end up with a broken nose trying to handle a .50. Stone faced she asked for the God damned gun and the ammo and left. She had spent weeks practicing with the .45 until she felt almost no kick back, and then, scared as shit regardless, moved onto the .50. She DID NOT want to end up with a broken nose, miles from the nearest hospital, or a broken wrist. However, she got that .50 purring in her hands at the end of the first month once she had switched over. Once a week she took it to the gun range when she made her horribly needed trips to the local town, and made sure she still had it under control. No accidents as of yet.
Soon the Sun was dimming, Dance let out a small bark, very small for her normal fury, and then began to walk back to Layla, only once looking over her shoulder and emitting a low growl.
"Good girl, I knew I got you for a reason baby girl! C'mon, let's eat somethin'."
| © |
by V. A. Knowles
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This is all I have so far, but I intend to edit it and elongate it. For now, however, I am pleased a bit with what I've started with, now the question remains, where do I go from here?
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