So this is the writing assignment:

Write an Alternative Ending

I decided to do this for the story A Matter of Procedure

We fall into silences sometimes, but we have the same scarred history of alcohol abuse, so we know these silences. We trade war stories. We rue the day. We wish our grape juice was wine. The table is too long, I want to put my hand on that thick thigh. We watch each other eat, gleaning personality from patterns of consumption. I wrack my brain for questions, to keep him going, to keep him talking, but it is unnecessary. He is wound up. He seems to want me to know every part of him, and that is what I want. I want to observe him. I want to know him. I want to know who he was in the trenches and who he is now in the painful aftermath of sobriety…

When I asked him what he did for hobbies he clammed up.

“I-I-I don’t really h-have any good ones to talk about.” He seemed to try and avoid the subject. “You’re a detective right? How’s that?” He took a healthy gulp of his wannabe-wine.

Something was up. I had no idea what it was but I suddenly craved a drink. this wasn’t going to end well and I knew it. Annabel’s pictures flashed in front of my face. They always did. Torturing me is what they were doing. Telling me I could never look as good as the young women had felt. Never would I have the man I so desired. Because of Annabel I was angry. Angrier than I have every been.

“How did you know I was a detective?”

“What do you mean?”

“I never told you what it is I do. It wasn’t allowed at the meetings, and we haven’t gotten around to asking each other what we do for a living. So, tell me, how did you know, Roger?”

I could see the sweat starting to form on his head. His respiration picked up and his eyes darted around presumably to look for an escape route. “No. You’re wrong. Y-You must have told me. How would I have know?” He stands up so fast his chair is knocked over. “I need to leave This was a mistake.”

I turn to grab my gun and point it at him. “What did you do, Roger?”

“Nothing. You don’t have roof of anything.”

I get angrier. “HOW DID YOU KNOW!” I cock the gun

He drops to his knees. “I saw you! When you went to look at the girl. I saw you examining her.”

“What were you doing there?”

He hesitated. He looked ready to give me a cockeyed story, then his shoulders slumped and he stared me right in the eye. “I was going back for the girl.” His whole demeanor suddenly changed. He stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He smirked and restarted. “I was going back for the body. She was such a pretty little thing. I couldn’t resist the pull to her. She seduced me! Looking at me with those big blue eyes and that dreamy smile. What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? I needed something to take away the need for alcohol, and she was it. But then she decided she didn’t want it anymore. So I took it from her. She started a fight, and I ended-”

Before he could finish his sentence I put a bullet between his eyes. The gun clattered to the floor along with his body. I couldn’t believe it. Roger was the murderer we’ve been looking for all along. And he was right under my nose. I got even angrier. I turned to the photos I still had of Annabel. She took him. Because of her Roger was dead.

I wanted him. I realize now, I would never have had him anyway. All because of Annabel.

We were running. Running real fast. I looked over my shoulder, and I saw headlights approaching faster and faster. I grabbed Cora by the hand and lowered ourselves under a rotten tree branch as the car passed. She looked at me and said, “Frank, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t run. I just want to turn ourselves in.”

“Why would you say such a thing? You want to go straight to Hell?”

“I know that the life we are living now is Hell. We got away with killing my husband, Katz, and the rest of those nosy good-for-nothing-croocks; but we can’t get away with this one.”

“Look he had to die. He was charging us far too much for rent, and he was always watching us. I found a bugged radio in our bedroom. He was a friend of the Greek’s, and I know he was looking for something to pin on us. I’m sorry that his friend saw, and I couldn’t get him too; but that is life, Cora!”

“It was only another murder, you could have taken him out you stopped like a sissy.”

“I am a lot of things, Cora, and a sissy is not one of them. I asked you to leave with me, write a note the Greek, and leave when we failed to knock him off the first time. You couldn’t do it. You whipped out. You were greedy and selfish. You wanted his life insurance policy the moment you found out he wrote one. You wanted everything; but in this life, with the choices you’re making, you can’t have a perfect life like you want.”

“All I wanted was you, Frank.”

“And all I wanted was you, Cora; but you need to be reasonable.”

I picked her up once more, and moved toward the train station. We walked onto the tracks and watched to see which one we could get on. We hid in the woods that night. When we woke up to a train whistle, we knew we had to be quick. We watched as the trains slowed, and looked out for the loading ones. We jumped onto the least inconspicuous one, and rode on for a few days. We we ended our journey, we were in Ohio. We decided to stay the night at a drive up motel. I used some of the money we had gotten from the Greek’s life insurance policy, and loaded Cora into the room. She sat at the end of the bed, thinking.

“What’s a matter, Cora darling?”

“Nothing. Just thinking is all.”

“Sounds like a lot more than nothing. Hope your not plotting my death,” I laughed nervously.

See stayed quiet, and then spoke, “Maybe.”

We slept apart that night, and she woke up before me. I could hear her in the shower. I thought to myself, if it wasn’t for the baby, I’d get someone else. I’d knock her off easy. She hates me, and I hate her for it.

“Cora, honey; everything alright in there?” I paused—no answer. “Coooora?” No answer. I went out to the motel lobby, but she wasn’t there either. I stayed there for a while, and then went back to our motel room. Cora was still not there, and the shower had not been turned on—apparently it was the shower next door.

I figured she went out to get some air, so I went back to sleep. It was 4am after all. I fell asleep fast, but I couldn’t stay asleep. I kept having bad dreams and a feeling that something was not right. I turned on the lights, and looked for Cora. She was not there. I looked out the window, and nothing was there. Then I felt something kiss my shoulder. I turned around and it was Cora.

“You scared me, sweetie.”

“Oh, did I now?”

“Yes you did. Where have you been?”

“Around.”

“Well I wish you would have told me where you were going.”

“I’ll remember that for next time. Kiss me, Frank.”

As I kissed her, I felt something cold and sharp pierce through my stomach. I touched it, and saw blood on my hand. She had stabbed me. Stabbed me right with a coat hanger. The sly and cunning woman, she knocked me off before she could even give birth to my son. Shocked and bewildered, I looked her in the eyes. My mouth stumbled for the word, but she knew what I meant.

“You were never clever enough, Frank.” She stabbed me again. “You always thought I was after the money and after your love. I was only after the freedom.” She stabbed me once more, but this time with more coat hangers. “You see, I am not anyone’s second in command. I am not anyone’s second fiddle. I am not meant to stay in the kitchen all day, feed you, and give into your demands. I can take care of myself and my son all by myself. I have done it before, and I will do it again.”

She stabbed me one last time, and all I could say was, “Don’t hurt our son.”

A few months later, and Cora gave birth to their son. Cora enjoyed raising their son, Frank Jr., but she could never forgive herself for what she had done. Frank Jr. constantly asked about his father, and Cora could not give an answer. On Frank Jr.’s 16th birthday, ironically the date of his father’s death, she wrote him a note of their life together, and with that note, fell off a cliff that lead her straight to the Hell she had been avoiding for so long.

The assignment is to write an alternate ending to a novel, movie, short story, poem, etc. What else can I say but make it damn good!

I decided to make an alternate ending to Ernest Hemingway’s “The Killers”. I decided to write the alternate ending to “The Killers” because even though it was a really weird piece, I enjoyed reading it this week. This piece was written in March of 1927. The language in this piece is very vulgar and racist. At first I really didn’t like the piece at all and it made me very uncomfortable. It seemed to me that they were doing things for absolutely no reason or the background reason wasn’t given. When they do give a reasoning it is like a “just because…” I was glad that even though the title suggests killing, nobody was actually killed in this piece unlike the other pieces I read. This piece was definitely less gruesome, but still descriptive. I think after letting the piece sink in, I would have liked it better if it had a different ending, so for this assignment, I decided to create one!

This excerpt is from Ernest Hemingway’s “The Killers”

I begin my alternate ending, right after this excerpt.

“Did you see Ole?”

“No” said Nick. (Trying to keep a cover) “I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.”

The cook opened the door from the kitchen when he heard Nick’s voice. (He was skeptical)

Nick ran out. He claimed he had to go.

George followed him out because he was very suspicious.

By the time he got outside, Nick was already gone.

A couple of days later George found Ole dead. He was brutally beaten to death.

He suspects Nick did it, so he started spreading the news.

They never saw Nick again.

I wanted to change the ending and make someone die because in noir there often aren’t happy endings, so I wanted to continue the theme. I made Nick the culprit because he was involved in a lot of things and he had a hard time hiding his suspicions, so they were pretty much able to find out who did it. It isn’t very unique or creative, but I wanted to follow the style of noir.

In this post, I will create an alternate ending for Joseph Moncure March’s story, The Wild Party. I am hoping to create a more optimistic ending, as I have grown fond of the characters Queenie and Black, and want an ending that is different than the noir norm.

I will attempt to recreate March’s original style of lyrical prose, although the rhyme scheme may be (more than) a bit off. This assignment is one of the required writing assignments for the week of 1/19 to 1/25, and although it was required regardless of point value, it is worth 3 1/2 points.

So, without further ado:

The gun roared-

But he missed.

Black caught him by the wrist.

He wrenched till the bones began to crack.

The gun dropped.

Black snatched it:

Stood up:

Lurched back.

“Sorry for this, Queenie!” Black said.

He hit Burrs on the head:

Hard, to make sure Burrs knocked out.

Queenie gave a shout:

“Black, we’d better run!”

And begun to pack her bags.

Black said, “I agree.

But first, look at me.”

Black stared Queenie in the eyes.

“Stick with me

and you’ll never have to be

stuck with a life you despise.”

Queenie gave Black a hug.

Burrs was sleeping on the rug:

They moved around him carefully.

“Let’s flee:

Wipe off the gun and put it back.”

Queenie did as she was told:

took a hold of Black’s hand:

Neither one ever looked back.

As Max and Al left the store, they decided to wait in their car for a bit just to make sure Ole Anderson didn’t come to the store late. Thirty minutes passed and they saw Nick leaving the store early. Seeing this they decided to follow Nick and figure out where he was going just to make sure he wasn’t going to warn Ole Anderson about them. When they saw Nick enter an apartment building, they listened closely outside.

“This bright boy is actually going to warn Ole Anderson.” Said Al with a furious face

“This is our chance! You go in the back and find a way to the third floor and ill follow bright boy here up to Ole Anderson.” Said Max

When Nick knocked on the door and it opened, both Max and Al pushed Nick inside. Max and Al then killed both Nick and Ole Anderson and left the crime scene as fast as possible.

This is an alternate ending I wrote for the the story “The Pig Farmer’s Burden” by Darren Guest. The full story can be read at this link: http://shenandoahliterary.org/641/2014/08/15/the-pig-farmers-burden/

I pick up just towards the end of the story. Enjoy!

…………….

“Lloyd backed up and stood in front of his screen door. ‘Hell, you don’t have to go to no trouble, Mr Connor.’

‘Now, Lloyd, just point me out where those leaks is gettin in and I won’t have to fix the whole damn roof but for a pin prick. And what’s with this Mr Connor shit? I told ya Bill is fine. Now come on, I can get you fixed up before the sun gets high.’

Lloyd took to chewin his lip and tuggin at his greasy mop. ‘Truth is, Mr Con— Bill, I aint been keepin up with my chores since Joy left me. I thank you again for your kindness, but I couldn’t have you step foot in there. It just wouldn’t be right.

‘Hell, Lloyd, after my wife passed it was two months before I pushed a broom in my place, let alone ate off a clean plate. If you think I have any womanly sensibilities about cleanliness, think again.’ I stepped by him as he jabbered somethin, and opened the screen door. When I opened the front door proper, …..” (here’s where I pick up)

I saw why he wasn’t wantin me to come inside. I immediately felt his hands holdin mine so tight behind my back that I couldn’t get out and he was pushin me inside so he could shut the door.

There they were. Joe and Joy, sittin like two ducks all tied up with tape around their mouths. Next thing I know, Lloyd is puttin rope around my hands and tying me to a chair just like Joe and Joy.

“Told you they were cheatin on me Mr. Connor. I couldn’t let ‘em leave together though, that just seemed too easy for them,” Lloyd was sayin as he bound me tight as he could to that chair.

“Well Lloyd,” I said, “what exactly do you intend to do now. You’re a smart boy, but people are gonna start to take notice once the three of us have gone missin.” But Lloyd didn’t like what I had to say and quick as a whip slapped the duct tape over my face and shut me up quicker than my late wife ever could.

…

Those next two days seemed like two weeks. Sitting next to these two people I had never met, but in a situation that could be death or life. Lloyd didn’t say much, mostly just paced back and forth and constantly lookin worried as hell. Anyone with a brain could see the desperation in his eyes. The desperation for a plan. I never could see this boy just goin off and killin us all when the other day he was feedin my pigs and sayin they were smilin at him.

Lloyd disrupted my thoughts with a loud “HMPH!” and he shrank to the ground. After sittin there for a minute or so, a light suddenly came to his eyes. We all looked at him quizzically. He took notice and instantly stood up, all straight and proper like he’d just won the presidency or somethin prestigious.

“Well you three,” Lloyd started, “I think I’ve solved my little mystery here.” Lloyd was now speakin with this creepy tone that made the hairs on my neck stand straight up. “Mr. Connor, I think I trust your judgment the most out of the three of you idiots,” he was sayin as he slowly started takin the tape off my mouth. “But I hope you know that one shout out of you and you’re gonna meet the barrel of this shiny revolver I’ve got here in my side.” I gave him a nod lettin him know I was agreein to his terms.

“So here’s the deal.” He started makin his way towards Joy. “You’re gonna be comin with me,” he said as he was strokin her hair. “I’m gonna sell the pigs from Mr. Connor’s farm over there and give you the lavish life you’ve been wantin.” I tried not to let out an aggressive response, and just thought of what my wife would do in this situation. So, I sat quietly as he went on.

“No opposition there, Mr. Connor?” he asked me with a sly smile and a hand on his revolver. “No sir,” I said, “you know them pigs are worth a lot.” My response shocked him a little.

“Uh, well, good” he said. “And of course I know it’s smart, that’s why I’m doin it.” He started to loosin up a little, but was still creepin us all out by the looks in everyone’s eyes. “And as for the two of you gentleman,” he continued, “you two are gonna be able to find out your true destinies.”

“What do you mean, Lloyd?” I asked him.

A sly smile came across his face. “Well, everyone already knows that you’re a real son of a bitch, Joe. So yours shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. But for you, Mr. Connor, no one really knows…do they?”

He turned to look at me and saw the fear and confusion in my eyes. “Could he really know?” I thought to myself. Of course not…how could he?

“You don’t think anyone knows, do you Mr. Connor?” Lloyd continued. “Well, the funny thing here is, I do. How might you ask that I know? Well let me tell you.” I kept quiet hoping what he was about to say wasn’t what I expected.

“You see sir, I’ve been livin here a long time. And I’ve been feedin those pigs of yours for a long time too. I can’t believe it took you this long to even notice me out there. But when I was younger, I would go there everyday. One day when I made my way out there, the pigs were a little bit closer to your house than usual. I thought it’d be a good chance to maybe meet the owners of the pigs I loved to feed so much. So, I started makin my way up to your house. But as I got closer I could hear you and your wife arguin about somethin. She was fussin at you and was barely allowin you to get a word in. When I reached the bottom of the stairs I could see the two of you in the kitchen. I was decidin if I should make my way up the stairs or if I should just try to come back another day. While I was standin there figurin out what to do, your wife started yellin louder and louder. I glance up into the window and the next thing I see is you hittin your wife so hard that she is immediately shut up and hits the floor like a sack of potatoes. I started runnin so fast hopin you wouldn’t see the dust behind me out the window.”

I was shocked. My eyes were fillin with tears and my heart was goin a million miles a minute. “Lloyd…” I started, “I can exp…”

“No!” Lloyd cut me off. “You can’t explain nothin! The next few days I saw people comin and goin from your house. I saw you cryin, probably fake tears, as the ambulance left the house with your dead wife. You’re a selfish son of a bitch and I don’t know how you could even be livin with yourself.”

I started weepin hard. “Yes Lloyd,” I said through the tears, ” I killed my wife. And it’s somethin I’ve gotta live with everyday.”

“Well maybe not anymore,” he said.

Next thing I know, more tape is bein pulled around my face to shut me up. Then Lloyd goes to the back room and comes back out with three big jugs of gasoline. “So,” he began, “Joy, you’ll be comin with me to a new town. While these two boys will be sittin here figurin out if they’ll be dyin in here or not.” He started to pour the gasoline all around Joe and I. He pulled out a match and looked Joe and I right in the eye. “For my sake, I hope both of you will be dyin here.”

He swiftly cuts the rope connecting Joy to her chair and scoops her up quickly. With her hands and feet still tied, he puts her in his truck waitin outside and locks the doors. He runs back into the house, match in hands, and says to us with a smile on his face, “good luck gentlemen.”

The next thing I see is a wall of flames engulfing me and my chair while I hear the roar of his truck pullin away outside.

…

I opened my eyes in a state of confusion and saw white walls all around me. I tried to sit up but didn’t have the ability to. I hear a beeping to my right but couldn’t see what it was comin from. Next thing I know, I warm hand touches my arm and startles me.

“Mr. Connor,” says the voice, “I’m your nurse, Darcy. You were in a bad accident but you’re okay.”

Darcy sat my bed up so I could see the rest of the room. She was a thin woman with beautiful light brown hair and green eyes. “Sir, your body is paralyzed but the doc says your memory should still be all there.”

I was in a frenzy. I couldn’t move my legs, arms, or torso. I could barely move my face but just enough to still be able to speak. “I know who did it,” I said slowly. “And I’m gonna find him.”

“Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? So help you God.”

The cop straightened up. “I do.” It was the same cop that saw the ladder waiting out the window for Cora. The cop that heard the Greek yowl when Cora hit him in the head too hard.

Then the suits started asking him questions. “Where were you on the night of Nick Papadakis’s death?” “Did you see Frank or Cora on that night?” “Could you explain what you saw?”

And that was it; we were sunk. Cora had killed him and I was her accomplice. We’d get time for sure. No matter what Cora and I said up there. The cop saw the ladder, and he saw me outside waiting for her. Then there was the affair, so the jury knew our motive. That crafty lawyer saw the affair once he looked at the case. If she’d have just run away with me, we wouldn’t have any of this.

When they put Cora up, she said as little as could. She knew we were done, but didn’t want to give ‘em anything else. She’d barely look at me. I came up with the plan, but now she was in trouble ’cause my dumb plan went wrong.

.

We both got life in prison. No chance of parole. No chance of seeing each other again.

She was so resigned. She’d accepted it. But I couldn’t.

And then I hit this wall. I wanted them to get caught the first time, but I’m not really sure where to go with it after that. I suppose that I could have written more of the trial, but I don’t know enough about courts and it would just turn out messy. This assignment really threw me through a loop. I guess I tend to have a hard time figuring out how a story could go any differently when it’s ending was so purposeful. I kept picking up the story at different points and trying to rewrite endings. This was the best I could come up with. I wanted to do more, but nothing sounded right. I kept rewriting this bit, and editing, and rewriting more.  I could add a screenshot of my process, but I just went back and forth between the ‘Postman’ pdf and the edit post page. I’m guessing that part of the rubric doesn’t really apply to writing unless you use some special tool.

The ending of “The Killers,” by Ernest Hemingway, was very anti-climactic! When I read a story titled as such, I expect some killing! This probably sounds extremely violent on my part, but let me explain. Sloppy gangsters who hangout in a diner for a couple of hours, only manage to tie up two innocent men, … Continue reading The Killers of My Time…

The Shadow

The Death triangle

Dubrille: I will only be safe locked in my room. Corevet is coming to get me and it is safer locked in a room

Martin: Fine run away but I would be careful that he is not already in your room

Evan: I suggest we stay together so that we are all safe

Debrille: (in his room) Is that you Martin? If so leave I do not want you here

Martin: I have been trying to find the perfect moment to kill you both and now that we are all in a house alone this is the ideal time.

Debrille: did you think I was going to come to this house without something to protect me. I have a gun and you have a knife. Who do you think will win?

Martin: I promised Martin that I would kill you for him before I killed him. I am Corvet and this is where you die

BANG, BANG

Evans: How could Martin and Debrille kill each other. We were supposed to stand beside each other no mater what. Now I am the only one left for Corvet to come after.

Shadow: All three of them are dead. Corvet killed Martin and then pretended to be him and the fake Martin killed Debrille while Debrille killed the fake Martin. I found out that Corvet killed the real Martin a long time ago so that he did not have to be sent back. They pretended that they found him and sent him back so people would not worried. But really Corvet has been on the missing persons list for years. I have been keeping tabs on all of yall to see if there was anything suspicious. When I found Corvet putting on a wig and a mask I decided that I should send the music box so that this could be over with once and for all. I made sure that you, Dr. Evens were in no danger. Have a good evening.

I hate having to write stories because I am really bad at them. Having to write this alternative ending was so much harder than writing it from scratch. You already know how it is supposed to end to changing the ending just does not seem right. But nun the less this was a fun way to look at writing.

I did though like this play because it reminded me of scooby-doo with the masked villain.