Filler Promo - Princess Nonomi by Micheal Grin

  “This week, I cut corners.”

If you haven't noticed yet, I wrote a book. It was published by Damnation Books and is currently available as print or ebook versions through their website, Amazon and many more distributors. You can the links along the sidebar.

This week, I'm sharing a piece from Princess Nonomi as my Sunday post. And to celebrate my procrastination, I'm giving away free PDF copies of the complete book itself to the first three to Follow my blog. These can easily be converted to any format necessary for your e-readers, or you can simply read it through Adobe.

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Enough self-masturbation for now. On with the post.

Enjoy.

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AN EXCERPT FROM PRINCESS NONOMI, BY MICHEAL GRIN

The Bus Stop - The Present

It might rain. I can smell it in the air. It’s interesting how certain things smell.

Rain smells moist, a humid coolness that clings to the inside of our noses and coats it. It’s clean and refreshing, like a fresh shower or a dip in a lake. Blood, on the other hand, though wet as well, has a metallic smell. Copper, like sucking on a penny. It’s thick, not only drenching your senses but drowning them in it, a tub of dark crimson blood you fall into and gasp for air. Every breath you take, you swallow more. At a point, you would start to throw it up. Now you’re throwing up blood and swallowing it at the same time.

This is just a taste of the world I exist within.

I’m sitting at a bus stop, in a glass shelter waiting for the No. 16 to take me out of this fucking city. I don’t care how often I might have done this, doing something so common as taking the bus always leaves me feeling naked. It’s maybe, what, nine or eight in the morning? I don’t know anymore. The clouds are gray and all these tall buildings are hiding them from me. I haven’t slept yet. I don’t remember the last time I’ve slept.

At a point of insomnia, you enter this orgasmic state of perpetual distance. The cars passing on the road, the people walking to their little jobs. I’m above them. I’m floating and looking down, hovering above their computerized heads. Across the street there’s an apartment building. It would make a great vantage point. I’ve never fired a rifle before, but with practice, like after the first or second kill, I’m sure I could take out a whole lot of these fuckers before the cops arrive.

That’s what I want to do right now. I want to kill everyone here. If I had a samurai sword I could just start swinging. Heads would go flying, fountains of blood rising from the collared necks and low cut blouses of men and women. There’s a man right now, across the street. Stupid suit, stupid suitcase. The bitch he’s walking with looks like a librarian. I bet when he fucks her, he fantasizes about ramming a fist in her ass, choking the stuck up bitch while he pictures her twelve year-old sister.

We’re all capable of thoughts like this. Everyone out there: the meter maid checking all the parked cars to my left, the loser on his bike, looking like a bug with his helmet and full bodysuit, the mother walking with her two boys, both of them looking bored. We are all capable of murder, all capable of the horrors and nightmares we fear.

The meter maid maybe goes home at night, thinking about all the tickets she had to hand out, all the people who came running out of the store, screaming in disbelief. “I just ran in for a minute to get milk. How was I supposed to know I couldn’t park here?” You can’t tell me when she goes back to her shitty apartment with her four cats, unfucked and unloved, that she doesn’t get the urge to dress up in a sexy dress, to head out for a club, to walk in with a pistol and just start shooting up the place. A bullet in some trendy cunt picking up Mr. Handsome. Blow the brains out of Dj Maxolisious. Just firing randomly, trying to kill as many of them as she can, like trying to rack up a high score in a video game. When the sirens approach, she’d likely turn the gun towards her face and marvel at how it looks a little like the exhaust pipe of a illegally parked car before the shot spreads her ticket-handing brains all over the bar.

What about tired old mommy over there? When those two boys are screaming and fighting over what to watch on television, you can’t tell me she doesn’t consider how easy it would be to hold a pillow over their faces at night, one first while the other sleeps. How easy they’d be to carry out to the minivan, toss them in, and drive out to the woods. To ditch their little bodies among trees and bushes, and be a free woman once more, ready to wear a short skirt without panties again.

“I like long walks on the beach, romantic dinners, and I hate having kids. If I get pregnant again, I’ll take a lesson from my past and mutilate my pussy with a crowbar. Abortion is the new chic.”

I wrap my arms around myself tightly. This fat black chick just sat down beside me, and I can’t shuffle over anymore. She smells like cheap perfume and hairspray. I think I’m going to be sick. I want to stick my knife into her three chins. I want to rip out her windpipe and piss in it. That would be hot. I want someone to piss on me.

To distract myself from her, I look over the map again. Dr. Collin gave it to me. It shows how far into the mountains I have to go, about a day or so from the city. So far, I’ve gone from the east side all the way to the west side of town. I’m sure by now the pigs are searching for me. Dr. Collin’s probably mad.

The Enchanted Woods, where Imagination Begins.

I love that line. On the other side of the map, it’s got a picture of it, of the plywood walls shaped like turrets, the cotton banners hanging over the portcullis. They almost sway with the breeze on the paper. It looks so real, and I know, I just know, if I get there, it won’t look like it does on this poster. It will be real. It will be tangible, and magical, and everything I knew it was.

A real castle, just within the mountains. A place to call my own. A kingdom for Princess Nonomi.

Midnight, Sunday on the 22^nd day of January, 2012.

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