White Out.

I just had to LOL when I saw this hat. Introverted indeed. 

There were times where I was so full of ideas to blog and now, yet again, I'm starting to run dry.

Blogger's block? Hate it. Completely, utterly, and totally hate it.

I'm obviously cheating, of course, by posting up bits and pieces of the novel that I was supposed to write for NaNoWriMo here instead of blogging for real.

But nothing has really happened as of late.

It's a rainy day today.

Today is one of those days where the rain just pours and pours and everything gets wet and the biggest annoyance is when your shoes do as well. Thank goodness for flip flops.

Its a day off work for me today and after accompanying the girlfriend to work and meeting her for lunch, the most productive thing I've done today was to get at least 2000 words in for the novel. I'm horribly behind in terms of word count. The latest count showed 8,143 words when I should have done at least 30,000 words by now. How the hell did I ever manage to do my assignments in uni? Oh yeah. That's right. I always handed it in 5 minutes before the 5p.m. deadline. That's how.

Nothing to be proud, of course, but hey, it got the work done, right?

The day tomorrow is appearing quite nice and quiet in terms of a work schedule. I'm thankful for the break, to be honest. Having to work Saturdays suck eggs and balls and everything unpleasant in between.

It's been forever since I sat down with a good book. Why don't I do it more often?

And my thoughts have been incredibly fragmented for a while now. No one's fault, I must clarify first. Its just that there's so many things to do, get, be, whatnot.

And for the record, I'm writing this via HTML. Good heavens, I miss code. I seriously need to get back on it again. It's positively addictive, with all the greater and lesser than signs that I have to use.

Oh yeah. Totally.

Meh. I'm running out of ideas again. Enjoy.

***

CHAPTER 3


The next morning, Stefan still could not be sure that last night really occurred. 


A bad dream, he consoled himself, as he got out of bed. Head sure hurts like the dickens, though. He probably had quite a good solid knock to his head. Probably a concussion. Something for ole' Doc Earl to look at later. 


Until he saw the briefcase, still sitting on his study desk. The gold locks gleamed in the morning sun streaming through the window, teasing, promising him of wealth untold and beyond his wildest dreams. 


"Oh well," thought Stefan. Someone has to count the money. So he sat himself down at his desk, turned the briefcase around and clicked open the locks. 


Snap. Snap.


The sound of the locks opening was magical. Crisp. A deep solid metallic bass to it. The lid already felt heavy under his fingers. The leather rubbed and squeaked and the hinges smoothly grated to lift and expose its treasure.


Still there. All there. It was no dream. This was real. The money. Marty Rock. The Smith & Wesson inside his mouth yesterday. The whisky. The throbbing headache from yesterday's intimate encounter with the kitchen cabinet door. All real. No fakes. 


Wow.


An hour later, he sat back. Fingers sore from riffling through the cash. 


5 million Euros. Five. Oh. my. word. 


He would never have to work again. He could get out of this crummy apartment and look for a swank posh penthouse somewhere. Already, he could see himself in the Bahamas, sunning on a beach somewhere. A glass of whiskey in hand. A good book. 


Oh, what it promised. 


"So, I see you've started counting." Stefan turned to see Marty standing at his door. 


"Amazing, isn't it?"


Stefan could only nod his agreement. 


Marty strolled in, still wearing the hat and trench coat. Making himself at home, he perched himself on the edge of the study desk. 


"Here's the deal. You ready to listen?"


Stefan nodded again. 


Marty bit at an errant fingernail. "You take the money, you disappear. Anna's specifically said that if you take the money, you need to get out and get lost. Change your name, your face, hell, get a sex change for all she cares."


Stefan chuckled. "She seemed to enjoy the bedroom romps. She sure she wants me to get my gonads removed?" 


"Whatever. She's paying you handsomely so that she'll never have to deal with you again. And because she cares," Marty lifted both hands and curled his fingers in a 'quotation mark' sign. "She doesn't want you to suffer." He snorted and spat a gob into the rubbish bin 2 metres away. Stefan had to admire that. 


"Anna sure doesn't know what it means to make you suffer. Truth to tell, if I were you, I'd look her up again. She's a wild one, that girl." 


Stefan looked up, surprised. "Yeah?"


Marty nodded. "Yeah. But I'm getting sidetracked. Anna wants you to start a new life and stick to it. If you get back in touch with your past, I'm going to come back and make your last few days quite painful. So that means no contact with any friends, family, ex lovers, whatnot."


"Why is she so concerned with getting me out of the way?"


"Beats me. Why don't you ask her yourself?" 


"What? I get some leeway to settle things before this escapade?"


"Oh yeah." Marty grinned. "Anna's expecting you, anyway."


"Ah. Right."