The Great Left-Handed Story Experiment: Days 3 and 4

So yesterday I missed a day, but here are days 3 and 4! And it gets dark this time:

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 The girl emerged  from the building, her face nearly black from the soot. Her eyes were even redder than before, two strips of of clean white skin carving through the filth on her cheeks. In her hands was a twisted piece of blackened metal. She cradled it to her chest for a few moments before storming down the hill towards town.

“Stop!” Josh called after her. “You can’t take that!”

The girl vanished as the crowd swallowed her up.


“Yeh had one job, you sorry bastard! Is your head so full of shite there’s no room for my orders? Is that it, McKinney?!” Lieutenant O’Bannon screamed, his breath so ripe with alcohol that a match would have caused the man’s teeth to explode out of his mouth like a hail of grapeshot. Josh smirked at the thought.

“Did I say something funny yeh dimwitted son of a whore’s chamberpot?!”

“No Sir!”

“That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve heard you say since I had the misfortune of meeting your sorry ass!”

“Sir if you would all me, I’ll arrest her immediately and -”

“Arrest her for what you slackjawed bespewing gnobmoucher!” He screamed again. The lieutenant was so close that Josh could see that dangly thing at the back of the throat whipping around like a fish out of water. “The only thing the girl did was correctly assume the scrawny, arsefaced soldier in front of her had less of a spine than the snails on her porch!”

“Well they do have that hard shell.”

The lieutenant looked at him, mouth agape. The only thing moving was the lower lid of his bulging right eye, which was rapidly twitching like a rattlesnake’s tail…


Annabelle DuPrix sat on the stairs of her house, stooped over the charred bit of metal she’d rescued.

“Ya enjoying your inheritance thar, Miss DuPrix?” A cackling voice called out. She looked over to see a young black girl leaning against the far railing. She flashed a smile of chipped, yellow-brown teeth.

“Git outta here, Beth!” Annabelle spat.

“Nuh-uh,” Beth said, still smiling her toothy grin. “Don’t take orders from white people no more!”

Annabelle’s nails cut into her palms as her fists clenched shut. A few short years ago Beth had been their house slave, and Annabelle would have had her daddy whip her good for such impudence.

“This is still private property and I demand you leave!” Annabelle said.

“And who’s gonna make me?”



Well what the fuck Left-hand. This was turning into a perfectly lovely little romance, and you went and bucked all the current trends by actually making the girl a slave-owner. Seriously.

An interesting turn, since most stories taking place in the deep south and featuring a southern protagonist end up ignoring the whole slave thing. So this could either be extremely cool, or turn so dark and horrible that it literally scars my psyche.

Let’s find out tomorrow shall we!

1 comment

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