Mona

A man who catches his girlfriend in an act of infidelity turns to a witch to enact his revenge.

MONA

The brilliant red sports car sped down the lonely highway. It's bright headlights piercing through the darkness. The driver was slightly inebriated, but alarmingly drunk on rage. He had walked in on his girlfriend in bed with another man. His anger boiled inside him. The humiliation impairing his thoughts, not unlike drunkenness. He floored it sending the engine into a beast like roar. He took a hard right onto an unmarked road. Beer bottles clanging together as they rolled all over the passenger side floor.

He hoped it was still there, he hoped she was still there. Dean glanced through the passenger side window and saw the small dilapidated building with the bright neon signs. He pulled in and stopped his car. He gripped the steering wheel tightly as he garnered up the balls to get out of his car. Finally he stepped out and headed inside.

The aged wooden steps creaked under his weight as he approached the entrance. He pushed the stubborn wooden door open. Inside curious patrons looked up momentarily from their hard drinks. But most paid Dean no mind as they were lost in their own woes and sorrows. A haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air, almost like a fog. Dean then made his way towards the back room, that is where she would be. Someone called after him but Dean simply ignored him and quickened his pace, incidentally kicking crushed beer cans and crumpled packs of cigarettes that lay in his path. There at the end of the long hallway was her door.

Dean reached her door and he threw it open, and there she sat going about her business. A beautiful woman whose demeanor and mannerisms suggested a much older woman. He stood in front of her stunned. She looked up casually as a large hand clamped down on Dean's shoulder. But Dean simply brushed it off. “It's OK.” Said the woman. “You can let him in.”

But the man then grabbed Dean by the elbow, which sent a wave of anger rushing through him. “You heard her.” Said Dean the agitation in his voice readily apparent. Dean then painfully slammed the older heavy set man to the dusty floor. “Hey boys, I said it is OK. I know why the young man is here. Jack you can leave.” Shouted Mona as she stood up from behind her desk. Jack slowly got to his feet and left them alone.

With her bodyguard gone she motioned for Dean to have a seat. Her office was neat and well arranged. It was densely packed with countless books on the occult, many in foreign languages. “Mona, I am Mona.” Said Mona introducing herself. “I know.” Answered Dean. She smirked at the angry young man as he lit she a cigarette and then exhaled slowly.

“What you want comes with a price.” Said Mona. “Doesn't it always?” Answered Dean sharply. “Well do you have it?” Asked Mona. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled up wad of cash. He tossed it down on her desk. Mona surveyed the wad of bills and was confident it was all there. “My you are serious.” Mona said coyly. “Are you sure about this?” “Yes.” Answered Dean firmly. “I want you to break her heart, literally!” Mona leaned forward and gently caressed the smitten man's face. It was then Dean noticed the age hiding behind her beauty. “It shall be done.” The deal was made, but the pain still burned inside of Dean.

Dean left Mona's, but he could not head home. Instead he decided to crash at a nearby dumpy highway motel to wait it out. Dean threw himself down on the bed and stared up at the yellowing ceiling. His head was pounding and it felt as if the alcohol would burn right through his stomach. Dean shut his eyes in an effort to sleep it off.

His mind flirted with sleep as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Lucid dreams of Michelle tormented his thoughts as he struggled with what she had done, and what he had done. He agonized and wrestled with his emotions. But then Dean opened his eyes, unable to deal with what his mind was showing him.

But Dean still thought about Michelle and what he had done. His thoughts were disrupted by the sound of bass heavy music pounding through the wall of the neighboring room. He also noticed the muffled moans coming from directly behind him, accompanied with a subtle bump, bump, bump. As the bed in the room behind him was too close to the wall.

Dean pulled out a heart shaped locket from his pocket. He opened it and there was a tiny picture of him and Michelle. Her dark hair was in sharp contrast to her fair skin. She had a beautiful smile. But now it seemed like a facade. Dean closed the locket and turned it over. Forever was embossed on the back.

Dean's mind was wrecked with emotion. He stared up at the ceiling again and was surprised as it seemed to be even more discolored with unsightly shades of brown mixing in with the yellow. As if the ceiling itself was decaying.

Unable to stand being in the hotel room any longer Dean got up and went outside for some air. This gave Dean little relief as it was rather muggy and humid. Dean was having second thoughts about what he had done. He realized that one should never act on such strong emotions, that one should give oneself time to think with a level head.

As Dean pondered this his thoughts were once again interrupted, this time by Dean catching a whiff of cigarette smoke. It was the couple in the room behind him. They were engaged in a close lustful conversation. With the cigarette dangling from the woman's fingers. Their words were nothing more than a murmur to Dean, but it disgusted him.

Finally the cheating couple noticed Dean. Upon reading Dean's expression they quickly disengaged from their embrace. Seemingly embarrassed the couple retreated back to their motel room. Dean was again left alone with his thoughts.

But then a sudden pang of remorse and guilt crept over Dean, what had he done!? Such a shameful act for one to commit. Panic washed over Dean. Michelle, was there still time to save her? Was it too late? A burst of adrenaline coursed through Dean's body. Maybe there was still time to stop it. Dean ran to his car and sped off to Mona's.

Finally Dean arrived at Mona's, it was now the wee hours of the morning. Dean jumped out of his car and into the muggy air. He was greeted by a cacophony of noise from the frogs and toads in the surrounding swamp like area. Insects fluttered about his face and mosquitoes immediately stung his flesh.

Dean was made readily aware of the searing pain that surged through his body. He suddenly felt weak and very sick. Why had he drank so much? He barely made it the entrance but had to vomit before entering. Once inside he noticed almost nobody was there. Dean slumped up against the wall as he made the long walk to Mona's door.

Dean more fell through than opened her door. Mona was sitting at her desk complacently. Dean struggled to speak, “Michelle.” Barely escaped Dean's now pale lips. “It is too late Dean.” Said Mona flatly. Dean shut his eyes in anguish.

“But in case you haven't figured it out yet, you are dying. You see Dean, Michelle was here too and she really likes that other guy.” Dean could not believe what Mona had just told him. His legs gave out under him as he collapsed to the floor and Dean wondered which pain he was going through was worse.

“I almost feel sorry for you Dean. At least you showed some remorse.” Said Mona with empathy. As Dean lay on the floor feeling his life rapidly slip away he graciously welcomed the relief death would bring.

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did invite critique, so you you have yourself to blame for this. But since there are major structural problems getting in the way I thought you’d want to know.

The first thing that hit me was that you’re telling the story to the reader in the way you would were you writing a report, or telling it to an audience. On the page that can’t work, and by its nature introduces other problems.

First, a story isn’t a record of a series of events. That’s the plot. You can only talk ABOUT the plot, as you talk about the events here. And presented that way, it has all the immediacy and excitement of a history book. You won’t see it as you read, because, knowing he story in detail before you read the first word, there is immediacy. You begin reading knowing the characters, intimately. You know their mood and objective. You know who we are, where we are, and what’s going on. So you begin reading with both context and intent. The reader has neither. And that’s a killer.

You possess another advantage, in that as you read, the narrator’s voice—your voice—is filled with emotion, which makes up for the inability to see the emotion on the faces of the characters being talked about. The reader has only the generic emotion suggested by punctuation.

But above all that, your pre-knowledge will cause you to leave out detail that seems, to you, to be obvious, but which the reader requires. And when you read the work, because it is obvious to you, that missing detail will be invisible, and the story will live. But pretend you’re a reader, who knows only what the words to any given point have suggested. Look at the reader’s reaction to the words as-they’re-read:

• The brilliant red sports car sped down the lonely highway.

You read this and in your mind see where we are and, know who’s driving. The reader? They don't know what planet they’re on. Would the story change in the slightest if the car were British Racing Green? If not, who cares what color it is? We can’t actually see it.

Think about it. Had you called it a Ferrari, wouldn’t the feel of the story be different than had you called a MG midget, or a Porsche? So while brand might matter, color? Who cares?

And…how can you have “the” car when we know of no car?

• It's bright headlights piercing through the darkness.

The first line should have ended in a comma because this is part of that thought. Because this line lacks a subject, is what’s called a sentence fragment. And as a minor point, "it’s" is a contraction for it is. When used as a possessive, as it is here, there's no comma. It’s a special case.

But forget that. What matters here? The man or the car? Obviously, the man. The car is only his way of getting to where he’s going. So what kind of car it is is irrelevant. It’s his story. Why not start with him? Suppose your first line had been:
- - - - - -
Anger roiling through him, Dean floored the gas as he turned onto the highway, muttering, “That b***h…that dirty b***h,” over and over.
- - - - - -
The original opening told he reader that someone of unknown gender, age, and situation, in an unknown place, was driving a red sports-car to an unknown place, for unknown reasons. It’s data, and lacks all trace of context. But, no one reads fiction for data. So there’s nothing in the current opening that would make a reader want to know more. That means, it’s 17 words that serve only to delay the arrival of the actual story.

The alternate is 22 words long. At its end we know the driver is a man, and we know his name. We know he’s driving fast because he floored the gas. We know he floored the gas because he’s angry. We know he’s angry because of a women, who he’s calling a b***h. And, we know he’s on that highway you mentioned. Of more importance, the reader will be WANTING to know what happened to make him feel, and act, that way. And at no time did the all-knowing narrator step on stage to tell those things to the reader. So with 22 words we place the reader on the scene, we develop character, orient them as to where we are, who we are, and what’s going on, and, give that reader a reason to want to turn the pages. Doesn’t that make the reading better than a parade of generalities?

Who cares about, “the small dilapidated building with the bright neon signs?” That’s generic, and has no known function to a reader. Unless we know what the signs are, there’s knowledge, yes, but no image. So… Tell the reader he pulled into the parking lot of a honky-tonk (or honky-tonk bar, if you insist), or dive-bar. Give it a name that will also tell the function, or a use one of a hundred other things to do that, and the reader provides the picture for you. Every time you, the narrator, talk TO the reader, you kill all sense of realism.

As a minor point, because you’re explaining you miss LOTS of obvious problems. For example. The car is speeding, and you not only have it make a 90° turn at that speed into a two lake wide road, before he does, he pushes the pedal to the floor. Seriously? “Speeding” means 60 mph or more. Even a race-ready car is not going to make a 90° turn at that speed. Add in that instead of slowing into the apex of the turn and accelerating out of it, he’s got his foot on the floor going in and he’s going to die.

And, a bar where they throw their empty beer cans on the floor to the point where people have to kick them aside, and drunks will trip over them? I’ve been in a lot of bars over the years, but never one where that was a feature. It might be common where you live, but not where most of your readers do.

And the ending makes no sense. He walked in on his girl in bed with a man, not a man and a woman. And he leaves immediately to race to the bar. Yet somehow, not only was Michelle there when he walked in, she somehow dresses and reaches the bar before he did.

But that aside, the real problem, and it’s both fixable, and not a matter of talent, is that in our school days we learn only the nonfiction writing skills that our future employers need from us, like writing reports and essays. Fiction-Writing is a profession. And all professional skills are acquired in addition to those general skills we’re given in school.

So spending time in the fiction-writing section of the library is time wisely invested. Like you, your reader was raised on a diet of published books that were written with those professional skills. And while we no more learn those skills by reading than we learn to cook by eating, we expect to see the result of them being used. So adding a few of the tricks the pros take for granted makes a lot of sense.

And to help, the best book on the basics that I’ve found is available for download, free, at the address just below. Copy/past it into the URL window at the top of any Internet page and hit return to go there.

https://archive.org/details/TechniquesOfTheSellingWriterCUsersvenkatmGoogleDrive4FilmMakingBsc_ChennaiFilmSchoolPractice_Others

It won’t make a pro of you, but it will give you the knowledge and tools with which to do that if it’s in you.

For what it may be worth, many of the articles in my WordPress writing blog are based on that book (address at the bottom)

So…I’m certain this isn’t what you were hoping to see. Who would? But it is what you need to know. And since you can’t fix the problem you don’t see as being one, I thought you’d want to know.

So dig in. You’ll find it a lot like going backstage at the theater. And since the practice is writing better and better stories, what’s not to love?

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/