A Noir: In Three Parts

Part 1: Introduction

Our hero stands not so tall above the grime and grit of the City. He wallows in the gutterstench and he has a grease slick smile that spreads like spilled oil. His words burn spark and inflame the coming conflict. More than anything, it’s his ability to rub everyone the wrong way that opens up the case.

He moves in slow spirals toward the abyss, circling passed the bottle blonde with the pouting lips and the hair’s breadth dagger, passed the two-timing hood with the half-bent nose and absent heart, passed the reclusive old man who buries his dirty secrets in the City’s darkest chasms.

Down the detective moves, into darkness, where only the sound of his heart can be heard.

Part 2: The Conflict

It starts as a heartbeat’s slow thud rhythm. A steady punctuation mark, an ellipses between actions…waiting. Then a noise. Cloth rustling.

The beat speeds up.

Then another rapping. Footsteps tapping on concrete floor, hard shoes that run for cover, ringing out staccatto beats. Stutter step, a missed beat here, quick step slide. A beat with no rhythm now. Missed breath, catch in chest, ratta-tat-tat, quick, duck, down, low.

Silence.

Explosion of noise. Orange flame, dark night, sparks of light. Here, here, here. Flash and bang. Quick shots. Duck, roll, drop, spin. Violent percussion, cacophony. No beat.

Just noise.

Then the scream…the wail….break and silence looms.

Part Three: The End

A long whispered sigh begins to count out the evils that lead to this moment; to this point where the detective stands over the villain. A quiet thrum of dialog that explains everything. The gradual spilling of truth in a room heavy with copper smells and acrid smoke. The dead keep silent in the wings while all is revealed and they find out why they had to die.

An unfolding explanation that brings resolution to the reader and leaves the detective nothing but a mouthfull of ashes and a longing for the bottle.

Dylan Charles

2 Comments

Filed under Experimenting

2 responses to “A Noir: In Three Parts

  1. bravebluealpha

    He moves in slow spirals toward the abyss, circling passed the bottle blonde with the pouting lips and the hair’s breadth dagger, passed the two-timing hood with the half-bent nose and absent heart, passed the reclusive old man who buries his dirty secrets in the City’s darkest chasms.

    Is it the construction of the paragraph that makes me fear the blonde more than the other two or my own deep seeded misgivings? Good stuff. You said volumes in a paragraph.

  2. Pingback: Spoilin’ for a Fight | The Dylan Charles Blog

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