Category Archives: Experimenting

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.


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


Filed under Experimenting

Kenmore Station

Kenmore Station sits between two busy roads, hemmed in by a near constant stream of traffic.

The buildings (old worn brick and faded paint, towers with rounded sides and pointed tops, renovated, condemned, renovated) line the way, with shops and businesses. They opened under different names a long time ago and closed and reopened again.

The station is always busy, with people heading in and out. It’s a small nexus where the buses and trains meet in one single point and then spread out again through the city. Below the buses, trains move underground, shuttling through the tunnels.

The people, above and below, vary wildly. There are students, many students, going to and from school. There workers, retired folks, unemployeds. There are homeless and crazy, some sitting and staring, but not seeing or hearing, vacant agitation awaiting stimulus. Others keep to the side.

There are the loud people shouting, bellowing greeting to one another and greetings are returned.

Smokers off to the side, billowing grey air, isolated from the others.

Foreign voices in half a dozen languages: trilling, guttural, nasal, singsong, rapid fire, languid languages.

The buses bring them all here and then take them away again.

Dylan Charles


Filed under Experimenting