Chorioactis

A fantasy mash up of edo period japan, and the old american west

“Do we have a deal?” asked the man, absently twirling his cane, his cigar filling the room with thick, stinking smoke.

“We have a deal, but I want 50 up front.”

“50?! Are you outta your goddamn mind, Jesse? I’ll give you 30 now, take it or leave it.”

“50 now, or I walk away.” Jesse replied, staring into the man’s eyes, daring him to argue.

“Fine, 50, but you better have the goods before the deadline or there’ll be hell to pay.”

Without responding Jesse walked out into the hot sun, mounted his horse, and rode off. Eventually, he reached the station where the train would be stopping, the train he was to rob. It was a simple job really, get on the train, get the goods from the cargo carriage, get off, and don't ask what’s in the boxes. He walked up to the ticket booth and slid two coins across the desk and the ticket man handed him a ticket, good for one trip to the next town over. It would be some time before the train arrived, Jessie decided to get some shut eye in before the job. Not long after he had settled down, the whistle of the train roused from his shallow sleep. Jessie heaved himself up, grumbling about how he had just gotten comfortable, and went to board the train. He handed his ticket to the conductor, and headed to his seat. Soon after, the train’s whistle sounded again and began to move. Jesse stood up and started walking towards the cargo car, keeping his hat low over his face. It didn’t take long for him to reach the cargo car and slip inside. The cargo car was dimly lit by only a few gas lanterns hanging from the ceiling, crates lined the walls stacked on top of each other and held down with leather ties. It did not take Jesse long to locate his target, a small sack near the back of the car, he took the sack, and slid it into a loop on his belt. He then walked to an exposed portion of the wall, drew his katana, a long, wicked sharp sword, and with three precise cuts he opened a hole in the side of the train. As the wood broke off and crashed off of the train, people started yelling, coming closer to the car, just as Jesse was about the climb through the hole, the door burst open, revealing three guards, all in full armor, their Diashos glinted in the light from the train’s lanterns and reach of them held revolvers in hand. 

“Freeze!” bellowed the one in front, clearly the leader of the trio, “You are under arrest for theft and damage of property, drop your weapons and come with us or we will fire.”

Without saying a word, Jesse slid through the hole, flipping himself up to the roof of the train, the men’s pistols rang out, but they all missed their mark. Jesse drove his sword into the roof of the train, anchoring himself and preventing him from being blown off by the winds that ripped at his hat and cloak. Soon, the guards climbed up to the roof, the wind ripping at their hats, their pistols glinting in the noonday sun.

“Stand down, or we will fire.” bellowed one of the guards over the roar of wind.

Quick as a flash, Jesse drew his pistol and fired, felling one of the guards with a flash and puff of smoke. Almost as quick, the remaining guards fired, but their bullets only found empty air. Jesse leapt off the train, rolled as he hit the ground, stood up, and saluted the guards on top of the train as it sped away. He then put two fingers in his mouth and let out two whistles, one high and one low. Soon, his horse came galloping out of the sun. Jesse mounted his horse and rode back towards the town. He arrived in front of the house of the man who gave him the job, he pushed the door open and let himself in. The man turned around startled.

“AH! Sorry, you surprised me Jesse. Did you get the goods?”

Without saying a word, Jesse dropped the small bag onto the desk. The man picked it up and looked inside, and then threw a bag onto the desk, it jingled with the sound of coins. Jesse picked it up and inspected the coins.

“This is not the agreed upon amount.” 

“Well you wanted a larger advance, so i took it out of your pay.”

“That was not the deal.” Jesse drew his katana and pointed it at the man’s throat, “Pay the rest, or I will cut your throat open and spill your blood here and now.”

“You wouldn't, and even if you did, my men will hunt you down, you will never be able to res-” 

His words were cut short by the cut that had appeared in his throat, his blood running down the front of his suit. Jesse pulled a small cloth from his belt, and cleaned the blood off his blade. Jesse bowed his head.

“Ancestors, forgive me for this act and accept this spirit into your world.”

He then re-sheathed his sword and left the building, mounted his horse, and rode off into the sunset.

Author's Note

maybe i'll write more of this, i dont know tho, so let me know if you want more

Reviews

[JayG]

• “Do we have a deal?” asked the man, absently twirling his cane, his cigar filling the room with thick, stinking smoke.

One of the problems with “telling” a story, as against making the reader live it as the protagonist, is that as the author, anything you say goes, be it make sense or not. And because everything you say is in overview, you tend to compress details, and leave out things a reader needs. Then, when you read it, because you know all the details before you begin, you fill in any missing data and never notice the problem. Here, you encapsulate pretty much all of what I mentioned. You’re thinking in visual terms, a cinematic approach. But look at this line as a reader must, as-they-read.

1. “Do we have a deal?” asked the man,

Someone unknown is asking someone not introduced if they have agreement on some unknown kind of transaction. What can this mean to the reader? “The man?” How can we have “the” man when we don’t know there’a any man, don’t know where we are, who we are, or what’s going on? We don’t know the year, the country or city, or even the planet. The “man” knows what’s going on. The one he’s talking to knows. But who did you write this for? Shouldn’t they have context as they read? You can't, after all, retroactively remove confusion, and there is no second, first-impression. Right?

2. absently twirling his cane,

So he's either spinning has 32” of cane hooked over his wrist and is doing it in a room, while puffing on a cigar, or, twirling it like a baton while puffing away. Neither way is something you can do “absently.” Had you placed yourself into the persona of the man, in the moment he calls "now," you'd know this couldn’t work as stated.

3. “his cigar filling the room with thick, stinking smoke”

You’re thinking in terms of static pictures—a vision of the man in the room with smoke curling around him. But that’s not what you said. You told the reader the man’s cigar IS FILLING the room. Think of how long it takes to literally fill the room with smoke, while he’s standing there twirling the cane waiting for a response.

Readers aren’t looking for general terms and synopsis of action. But that’s what you’re providing. You then have the man stride into "the hot sun," and to “the” station, to take the train to “the next town over.” That’s all generic, all overview, and all meaningless to the reader.

Unfortunately, fiction is not at all like the kind of writing we were taught in school. In fact, since you learned to read, every book you’ve chosen to read was created by a pro, using the skills of the profession—skills we’re not taught in school because they are professional skills. And if we don't know what a scene on the page is and how it differs from one on stage; don't know the elements that make a scene up and why they must; don't know such things as why a scene on the page ends in disaster, how can we write one?

Bad news, I know, but it is the world we live and work in. Write fiction with the book-report and essays skills we learn in school and it reads like an essay or report. Transcribe ourself telling the story aloud, and not a trace of the life in our voice, or our performance, makes it to the page. I wish there were a way around that, but, unfortunately, there’s not.

There is, however, a way to fix the problem, which is to hit the library’s fiction-writing department and devour a few good books on the tricks the pros take for granted.

Sorry the news isn’t better, but you did ask.

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

[Squid]

thanks man, ill try and keep all this in mind going forward