Song of Sinai, Chapter 1

A good story's like a song; you just keep on singing until the tune's done.

“Man cannot remake himself without suffering, for he is both the marble and the sculptor.”

-Alexis Carrel

I

 

A man died today.

I don’t mean in some hospital bed, far away and lemon scented. Nah, this time, the body is in the streets, and I watched it happen. Don’t know him, didn’t care to. One minute he’s walking, next second he’s on the concrete, spasming and drooling. Last man he saw was yours truly, two dead eyes staring me down. Never got a good look at him before they scooped him up, but he died right there, just outside of my little urban hideout. Just the standard around here, I guess. Welcome to New Sinai, also known as the “Mad City”. I call it home.

Well, I don’t mean the whole city. Actually, my place is just this little old alley. On account of it being dark, dry, and gloomy, most folks don’t go near it. Suits me just fine. I rigged up some boxes, a thermos, and a cozy spot behind the dumpster. Hell, I even have a Maglite to keep me lit and warm at night. Keeps the rats away too.

No spot’s perfect. I saw some fancy gentlemen carrying toolboxes intruding on my squat the other day. I gave them a wide berth, but when they finally buggered off I had a new roomie. Some jerk installed a security camera over the entrance. One guy dies here, and suddenly everyone cares about the alleys. Not like it stopped corpse number two. Was I asked? Course not. Nobody listens to the little people anymore. I vote. Well, when they let me near the polls.

The eye in the sky is staring again. I didn’t see it, at first. Then, here you are again, eyeballing me like a piece of meat. Are you hungry, Big Dog? The man upstairs is always watching. That’s why I wear sunglasses. Identity is in the eyes. You won’t get mine that easily.  I paw around for a bottle, and chuck it. The camera goes blind, glass shards and sparks littering a lonely corner of the alleyway. Find your dinner elsewhere.

Sure, I know who you are. Just because I frequent soup kitchens isn’t an indication of stupidity. I have rights, and I have a brain. I use both. If you turn right on me, I’ll brain you. Joe Six-Pack might think these cameras are for his security, but I know better. Big brother is watching, and the Big Dog is sniffing out trouble. Allegedly. Try the vegetable beef; the chicken noodle’s too light.

Clawing the blanket shakes loose cigarette ashes and breadcrumbs. Amazing how charitable people are when they sleep. Rude though; didn’t even offer me a chair as I slipped in the window. Damn, it’s cold out tonight.

Plot twist. Someone’s coming down my alley. Looks nice, too. Looks like a kid. Backpack, glasses, and…paper? Great, petitions. I hate those things. Closing my eyes, I do my best impression of sleep. You’d be crazy to prod a sleeping hobo in this town. Alls going well until the telltale click of a lighter.

“No smoking.” Damnit. Cats outta the bag now.

I peer up, taking in the confused kid. He’s got limes for eyes and fuzzy fire for hair; gingers? Those are rare around here. He’s got a nice long black and white long sleeve polo on, with ‘Yearley Track and Field’ stitched on the chest. He looks like he’s been out of it a while, though; got a little extra fluff around the waist, youngster. His lighter is suspended in midair, just an inch or two from his surgically clean cigarette. Out of the box, ready to go, and this guy says no. 

“Speak up or spit it out. I want to get this chat or muggin’ over with.”

Kid takes the first choice, his ciggy dangling lazily off his lip. Got a voice like a lost lamb. “Why would I rob you?”

I draw the blanket tighter, wrapping it close. Warm, freshly laundered, all that good stuff. I hear cigarette ash is the new lemon.

“It’s cold out, and I have something you don’t.” You can keep the cancer stick, kid.

“What, the blanket?” Kid’s oblivious. Not even worth opening an eye over.

“Yeah, the blanket. Charitable donation from the tender sorts at the clinic. Gave it right up.” I scrunched it up tight. Mine.

“Kind of them. I didn’t think the doctors around here were so open to the homeless.”

“They weren’t. Left a window open. That’s the first thing.” My hand snuck out from under my cocoon, raising my index finger.

Kid pauses. “First thing?”

“Yep. Second thing follows. I ain’t homeless. I’m just a wanderer.” The beard and mud stained sweater say differently, but who’s counting?

“You seem to be pretty stationary for a ‘wanderer’. Why this dirty old alley?”

“You gonna ask what you came to ask or what? I could be sleeping right now, and the accoutrements of a ‘dirty old alley’ ain’t the kind of conversation worth staying up over.” Although, I would settle for a little Chopin.

The increasingly annoying guest cuts me off before I go further. Smart kid. I was planning to berate him away.

“I want to find Big Dog.”

Now, there was something worth opening eyes over. My inner laugh slipped right out. I leaned forward, mixing in a yawn with my giggle. Precocious little tyke, isn’t he? Brushing unwashed grey hair over my eyes, I leer the kid down. My shades and mop top keep the riff raff out. Can’t say the same about dirt though.  Yep, still there. White polo, Yearley Track and Field, notebook under the arm. Looks like he lost the ciggy. Kid nervously wiggles his left hand into his pocket. Go ahead, junior. Make a move.

“That so?”

Nod away, youngster. “No one else is willing to talk. After a little digging, the trail led to you.”

Have a crocodile smile on me, kid. This one’s on the house. “You might not like what you’re gonna hear. In fact, I’d bet on it.”

He obliges a polite smirk. I smell a poker tell.

Yawn, stretch, red eyes bugging me. Might as well make yourself useful if you’re gonna wake me up. You can keep the smile, but I need somethin’ first. “You got any eye drops, kid?”

“Eye drops?”

“Yeah. Brand don’t matter.”

He slips his left hand out of his pocket, yanking off a backpack. I hadn’t noticed it until now, though my vantage point’s been garbage this whole time. He slides his notebook into the bag, and as he digs, he peers up at me. As the various clinks and tinks go down, he hesitates, having found what I asked for. Gingerly, he asks me,  “What do you want them for?”

“I’m thirsty. The hell you think I want them for?”

Kid surrenders, handing me a half full dropper of some off-brand anti-redness stuff, though not without one of those I’m-probably-gonna-regret-this sighs. Well damn, lucky me. Doesn’t matter, refreshes all the same. My eyes have never been my friend. I turn from the kid, carefully aiming the dropper down my shades. Two drops per, and I’m ready for story time. I did hand the bottle back to the kid though. No reason to be impolite to guests, though it would’ve been hilarious if I’d actually drank the damn thing. Five bucks says this kid is a riot to screw with.

Once, twice, three times a lady, and off we go. As the drops are sinking in, it dawns on me that this youngster might not know what he’s getting into…or, even worse, whether or not he cares. Dropping the grin to a smirk for a second, I sniffle. Clearing my throat, I slide up the wall, straightening my posture. Not quite ready to get up, but I’m sick of staying in bed. Ever have one of those times?

“Kid…last chance to back out. This ain’t your standard song and dance.” He doesn’t answer, carefully packing up his bag. Hand in the hole, he never breaks his gaze on me, like he’s worried I’m gonna fly away. Stiffness setting in. Need to move.

Cracking my neck, I continue. “A good story’s like a song; you just keep on singin’ it, over and over again. And this tune’s a doozy. A real killer.”

He still looks a little sore over the lost ciggy. Bad habits hit the ground hard, kid. “Meaning?”

I shake my head. “No one sings in Sinai. Might end up in a bad spot.”

“Trouble?”

Pushing my shades up my nose, I look him straight in the eye. “Dead. Folks died when this tune finished up. Still do.”

Silence. It doesn’t take a genius to figure my smokeless stranger was thinking real long and hard. I throw him a bone, and give him one more go. “Last chance to back out, kid. Like a true artist, I keep playin’ till the tune’s done.”

One of them street cleaner cars rolls on by. There’s a long, viscous pause as it passes, the whooshing and whirring blotting all but us out. Those drivers know their stuff, and got guts to go through neighborhoods like this one. This guy in particular must have been real good at his job. Took the kid’s doubts with him. He gives me a smirk. “All right. Play me a song.”

You’ve got a lot of bravery or stupidity, kid. I wonder if you know the difference. For you, an alligator smile. I back off, throwing up my hands like a spited Italian. “So, you want to know about the big guy himself, huh? That, I can do. I have three conditions though.”

“And they are?”

“One. We tell this story over the course of a week. Two. Buy me lunch every day. I can’t always find good bread lying around.” Yearley. I know that name. Hell, it’ll come to me.

“And the third condition is…? ”

I rolled my neck around my shoulders. Sounds like I stepped on a damn twig. “Just a question. Why do you care? Hell of a risk coming to this part of town. For a Richie like you, that is.”

He didn’t hesitate. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the kid practiced it beforehand, like he had some tracks to cover. Lucky for me, I never know better.

“Answers.” I catch movement in his left pocket, his hand darting back in to its’ cave. I pretend not to see, but I think he’s digging for something. Gonna share with the rest of the class?

“For?”

Another quick, practiced response. Got a secret? “Does it matter?”

I cough some dirt out of my lungs, breaking out a raspy laugh. “Not one bit.”

He softens his composure. Just kiddin’. He hates my guts already. The pocket mining keeps up, though it looks like he’s just going in circles now. “Deal. May I write this down?”

“Do what you want. We oughta get introductions out of the way before I remain ungentlemanly. Just ‘cause I’m an unwashed wanderer doesn’t mean I’m an animal.” In theory.

“Fine. I’m John.”

“Call me Amos. And lose the damn cigarette.”

Author's Note

Enjoy the revised draft. If you enjoyed it, please tell a friend! More readers and reviews rock. This is the draft that currently appears in the published version.

Reviews

[Matt West]

This could use another revision, though I applaud you for finishing a novel, that is a huge achievement.

Your narrative isn't bad but it falls into a trap I've seen a lot of writers fall into with first person perspectives, myself included. This is the tendency for a viewpoint character to tell too much back story and too little actual story. You could trim 60 - 75% of this chapter and not lose anything valuable.

Focus on what really happens. A guy comes into an alley to talk to a wanderer there about someone called big dog. Your first line should be:

"Someone’s coming down my alley. Looks nice, too. Looks like a kid. Backpack, glasses, and…paper? Great, petitions. I hate those things. Closing my eyes, I do my best impression of sleep. You’d be crazy to prod a sleeping hobo in this town. All's going well until the telltale click of a lighter."

Yep. All the way down there. What about all the stuff before that? Just cut it. You won't miss it and neither will your readers. Try it and read it objectively and you'll see what I mean.

[M. L. Zane]

I'll experiment with your suggestion. I cannot definitively say I agree or disagree until I test the results for myself. I still have a week or so to hit Amazon, so we shall see.

[Matt West]

Have you used alpha readers yet? Or a professional editor? If not, slow your roll. You only get one shot at a first book. Be patient. Expect greatness from yourself, but not in a lame, paralyzing way.

Good luck!

[M. L. Zane]

Actually, I *was* a professional editor, but I decided on a less lucrative career as a writer. I still do it on the side when I get a client, though that work is completely under the table. I appreciate the feedback, though I believe it to be a bit broad to call this "lame" or "paralyzing". I am continuing to test both versions of the text within the circles I used to run, and if your suggestion works, I assure you I will adhere to it. So far, the omission hasn't been met with positive results, but I haven't gotten back all the feedback yet.

[Matt West]

I just want to clarify that I was not referring to your writing as either lame or paralyzing, I was referring to too high an expectation of greatness of being lame or paralyzing. No one is perfect, after all. That's all I meant.

Any suggestions are just that, and you are of course free to use them or not. Again, congratulations on finishing your book, I wish you nothing but success.

[M. L. Zane]

Now that you have cleared that up, fair enough.

[Flora]

The plot sounds very interesting. I did have a little trouble telling who was talking. I would confuse the boys statements for Amos' s. Other than that it sounds great.

[Asang Ronald]

hmmm real captivating story i enjoyed it...

[My Favorite Writer !]

Cohesive and Persuasive writing.

[M. L. Zane]

Tell a friend. More publicity the better.

[DanteYurei]

Good introduction; it caught my attention right away. Got nothing that I think needs more work or that I disliked.

Great job, will come back to continue reading!

[M.B.Valentyne]

Hey M.L.

Here we go.

- Enjoyable storyline, the severity of hearing the 'song' is a good hook.
- Your writing is good and entertaining, let's just get that out of the way. Nicely done.

Amos seems incredibly worldly, or insane. Then again, there is a fine line between the two. It's interesting, trying to figure out which he is.

There are lots of full stops. Abrupt. It adds to the snappiness of your character, and developed his nonchalant nature well, but is has it's drawbacks. It just reminds me slightly of a poem, one of the longer, story-like jobs.

Good write. Impressed.

[M. L. Zane]

Thank you. This story's been revised so many times I'm surprised it hasn't developed an identity disorder. Please, feel free to read further if I have your attention. And, as always, tell a friend.

[mila]

I love the style of writing, goes so well with the person character!

[M. L. Zane]

Tell a friend!