Today’s Ulog is about writing, and at the end, I shared an old piece I am fond of. In writing about writing, I’ll go back to the reason I’m online.
I’m online to find inspiration.
I’m here to meet people who might help me with character building for my projects, that through interaction, might spark new ideas and directions for my stories. That’s gold to me, it’s something no amount of STEEM or upvotes can buy. I deeply value people giving me their time personally to share their experiences.
What I didn’t expect was to spend so much time on artwork, since I don’t consider myself an artist or am connected to the art communities. I don’t even understand half the tags people use...
I’ll attribute my interest in developing my drawing skills to a post I’ve resteemed previously. It was authored by 
My current laptop wants to die.
It no longer runs on battery and it always takes two reboots to start up. And every time it does, I wait and wonder if Windows will load. It’s because of a dodgey laptop that I use google docs. Saving anything on my laptop with my habitual forgetfulness will end in tears. But my writing projects are becoming a frightful mess from the lack of organisation. I really need to switch back to Scrivener and start to plan out my projects a bit more. I’m someone who doesn’t plot, who just writes on the fly and by feel. My file naming convention can be a shocker too.
As I tried to make sense of my google drive, I found an old scene I wrote. It’s not my primary project. I have three writing projects that are close to my heart. This is a scene from Project 3. It’s a long distance sci-fi romance. The character POV is Edward. He’s the bad guy and will eventually be the stalker of my heroine, Holly. He’s the only villain I’ve written to date. It’s sad to say my writing portfolio is as slim as my art portfolio (which is whatever I’ve posted on the blockchain).
I’m the kind of writer who is against killing off characters as a way to gain sympathy or shock value. I’m the kind of reader who resents authors who do that. That’s just me. I’m actually very fond of Edward, he will be spared a gratuitous death for the sake of story impact. But in my fondness, I’m having a change of heart. Maybe he should ‘get the girl’ and they can end up having a ‘happy for now’ ending?
Okay, in this scene you will learn he’s less than ideal as a romantic hero, but he has potential of at least being the extremely anti-hero kind...?
There’s an appeal in the bad boy right? At least in novels. In real life, they’re to be avoided like the plague...
It’s a longer read than is ideal read at 2163 words. I’m posting because I just wanted to remind myself I’m here to write. But I also wanted to give Edward an airing after lying around getting dusty from being ignored. I wrote him in a flurry without much planning and until I decide to properly develop the storyline, I don’t want to change it much. I’ve left it mostly as-is, minus some edits from some feedback, but also I took out some of the dirtier bits to keep it closer to PG. ;)
So introducing Edward!!
(Source: Unsplash -Simone Hutsch)
Professor Edward T. Roberts stretched his neck but found no relief from the tension that pulled tight along his shoulders.
He stood before the floor-to-ceiling penthouse window and looked down at the choppy waters of the City Core. The one hundred and fifty kilometre diameter man-made reservoir with its complex hydroelectric system was the life force of Melba City. It fed power to the floating Superior Grid at its centre, then to the Respectable Boroughs that flanked the shores, before feeding what remained to the overcrowded Inferior Ghettos on the outer sectors.
Edward breathed in the crisp morning air, drawing the cold deep into his chest. The heavy panels of solar-glass were currently drawn apart and he could easily plunge to his death forty-six levels down. He took a step onto the porous algae infused concrete ledge.
It was so easy to slip—at least that was always the convenient excuse.
In seconds, he would hit the sloping concrete buffers that lined Grid’s waterfront and roll straight into the frothy swirl like a discarded sack of flawed genetic material. It would have been a terrifying thought, if not for the fact his suit was top of the line. The executive parachute system would activate at the rapid descent, and according to the manufacturer guarantee statement, he wouldn’t die.
Unlike Helen.
He released the cold breath as a heavy weight settled on his chest.
“It was a glorious night, Eddy,” purred the sultry voice from the bed behind him.
“Edward,” he corrected, knowing Margaret Benson enjoyed niggling at him. The tension tightened another notch at the reminder of how he spent his night. His skin crawled at the memory and it had taken two steam showers to rid himself of the stench.
This arrangement will end soon.
At this very moment, he needed his wealthy sponsor. His team was so close to a breakthrough.
Edward spared a brief glance at the sixty-five year old slinking naked to the hygiene cubicle. A combination of genetics and aggressive anti-aging therapy meant she didn't look a day over forty. His age. While Margaret was distracted cleansing herself, he walked over to opulent marble desk, sat down and check the messages on his tablet.
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A quick scan showed most were work related. A summary of the important details told him that Patient 33 didn’t survive the latest experiments and Patient 96 was improving. As expected. They still needed a strong specimen for the final testing and he’d already marked a good candidate. One that was well acclimatised and no one would miss. Which reminded him, he needed to secure the funding the General demanded. That would have to wait for a moment.
His mind segued to the messages from that dating site. He ignored all the unsolicited ones, because he never expressed interest to any candidates but one.
Holly had responded promptly.
He allowed the faintest of smiles on his lips. It felt foreign on his face but he’d been practising lately…
#New Message to: Edward T. Roberts
Dear Edward,
I’m flattered that you want to correspond further. It would be impolite not to consider our potential, but I hope you can understand that it could all amount to nothing.
I’m also embarrassed to let you know that I am not a Textile Engineer. It’s no excuse but my friends thought it was a good idea to create a good impression, even if it is outrageously untrue. I am really a laundromat operator. We are a major city operator and it’s possible I might launder your clothes!
And while I’m being honest, I have to let you know my dimensions were greatly exaggerated. If you look at the Universal Tolerances, I fall well short of all the ranges for a twenty-five year old female. I am petite.
In my defense, I am very healthy and have never had a sick day in my life. During that Flu outbreak a few of years ago that had parts of the outer city quarantined, I was one of the few untouched by sickness. This was without vaccinations because there was not enough available to the Inferior communities.
Hopefully, I’ve not scared you off with my lies. If you still want to get to know me then I’d really like to know more about you. You live in the same city so I assume you live in the Core? Also, do you have a photo? It would be lovely to have a face associated with the name.
Regards,
Holly
A lot of this information Edward already knew from his background checks. He stared intently at her photo and was reminded of how fragile she was. Her features were fine porcelain and her delicate collarbones added to her air of fragility. Feather light and silky soft, a puff of wind could blow away his shy little kitten. His body hardened at the guileless femininity, eager to experience the beauty of imperfection.
“She does look delicious, Eddy.”
His erection went limp at the heavy rose perfume Margaret used to disguise the ever present scent of formaldehyde. It was an unbearable byproduct from her over-usage of the miracle anti-aging medication known as Elixir7.
Edward’s lips thinned to a line. He tapped out of the message and opened another more pressing file.
“Not going to share the pretty little thing?” A still naked Margaret leaned in close to his face. “It would be like the good times with Helen.”
His rigid control snapped. He turned, grabbed her by the back of her neck and slammed her face into the desk. His other hand wanted to join and squeeze until there was no life left in the unnatural woman before him. Black anger triggered his arousal. It was the only way he got hard in the presence of the billionaire heiress.
He kicked her feet wider apart and positioned himself behind her.
“Let go—” she wheezed out, her hands grabbing at his wrist. “Asshole!”
Dragging her face across the table until she nosed the tablet, he squeezed her neck harder until her breathing became shallow. Then he made the same request he’d made many times over the last decade.
“Approve the extension on Research Grant, Margaret.”
Her silence dared him to go further, believing he wouldn't.
To provide incentive, Edward released himself and pressed against her. Margaret, the hedonistic slut that she was, twitched and wiggled, impatient to get closer. He slid his hand around to the front of her neck and squeezed lightly. For the last time, he repeated the hated words: “Approve the funding.”
Margaret’s body softened in submission. She pressed her thumb to the signature field and then entered her security code. They both waited silently until the approval was confirmed. Edward tightened his fingers around the slim neck. For a moment longer, he enjoyed her fear before he relaxed his grip.
“Now fuck me or I’ll stop being so generous.”
The greedy witch was already blindly grabbing back at him. He considered enlightening the old cow that he’d been doctoring the test results she’d been receiving for years.
“And next time, I want you to bring that girl.”
Bad mistake, Margaret.
With little effort, he picked her up and carried her towards the bed.
He walked past it.
A few more steps and he was at the open window.
“What are you doing?” Margaret screamed, beginning to struggle. “Without me, your project will fail!’
Edward tightened his hold and avoided her claws. “It’s as good as finished, the last trial starts in a month.”
Margaret's surgically sculpted mouth gaped wide to mimic one of those robot pleasure dolls his staff on the moon used. Ironically, he’d prefer to fuck one of those than the sadistic rich bitch in his arms. He aligned the tips of his leather shoes to the window ledge.
“You won’t get away with this. Marcus won’t keep supporting the use of the Mining Facility without my influence!” Margaret was screeching like a crazed banshee now.
“Your husband has his head up his ass. Or more accurately, that of the hired help,” said Edward, his tone matter of fact. “A poor return on investment when you consider the hideous fortune you've spent striving to remove the very imperfections he's drawn to.” He pressed his face until his nose almost touched hers, his cold eyes locked onto the anguished terror in hers. “As you’re well aware, I understand the sentiment.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” she cried, her eyes streaming with tears that strengthened the offensive smell of formaldehyde. It was making Edward’s head hurt.
“It was a mistake to bring up Helen,” he said.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She was now clinging around his neck with both her arms. “But it was you—”
“Be quiet!” he snapped and she was reduced to a meek snivelling mess. He continued calmer. “But it was a fatal mistake to associate Holly with your brand of filth.”
“Please, Eddy—”
“Edward.”
“Edward! Please, Edward! Don’t be like this. We can talk. I can convince Marcus to have more investment funds diverted to your projects! It can be used to extend the Moon research facility. A few calls and I can have more prisoners shuttled up there.”
Edward was no longer listening to her manic babbling. He was taken back to another moment with a very different woman in his arms. Broken and beyond repair.
This is for Helen.
He tore away from her hands clinging to his neck. “Goodbye, Margaret.”
Edward released his arms and disposed of the filth in his life.
“Noooooooooooooooooo!”
The fading cry was music to his ears. Too often he had heard the opposite from bitch’s mouth and had wished to smother it out of existence.
For the first time since he’d met his wealthy sponsor, he admired her. She made a beautiful sight falling through the air; her red hair fanned out, her golden body naked in its perfect dimensions.
Margaret Bensen looked her best plummeting to her death.
He watched with detached interest as her body hit the concrete rim and rolled into the water. The undertow of the hydroelectric system pulled her beneath the surface. Slowly, she would be dragged along the bottom of the Core until she got caught in a giant hydroelectric turbine. Margaret would not be missed for a while and by then he’d be back on the Moon.
A reminder bell sang from his tablet to remind him that he had places to go. Before he did, he returned to his desk and reopened the comms system. With a sharp click of his neck that released the pent up tension, he reread his Holly’s message.
After a long moment of contemplation as he visualised how this relationship would play out, he set to writing.
#New Message to: Holly Annette MacGuire
Dear Holly,
I’m a complicated man. I wish I could tell you otherwise but that would be deceptive. I have a lot of responsibilities, and my day is filled with managing a difficult maze of conflicting agendas. It would be a pleasure in the rare moments when I can relax that I am able to enjoy your messages.
Yes, I do live in the City Core but only for a few months of the year. Most of the time I am based on the Moon. I am a Principal Scientist leading a research on increasing the efficiency of the resources being mined there. I won’t bore you with the specifics other than that my work up there is very important. Although, you must not worry that you will be expected to live on there. It is not a nice place. It is filled only with the lowest form of human life. Monsters. It is unsafe.
The good news is that my research will be completed soon. Please understand I’m not at liberty to discuss the nature of the study until the official release.
I would like to take you out to an Opera before I head back.
Yours faithfully,
Edward T. Roberts
He activated the tablet's camera and took a head-shot. With a few swipes of his fingers, he dimmed the image and made some minor adjustments. Once he attached the image to the message, he hit Send.
After a quick glance at his watch, he set about clearing any evidence of his presence in Margaret's penthouse. It took him a few minutes to realise he was whistling, his mind filled with a controlled excitement at what Holly would say in her next message. He had not felt this light-hearted since he was much younger. The project was on schedule and he would finish his life's work in peace before settling down with a pretty little wife. Everything was going exactly to plan.
Edward curled his lips in a practised smile and concentrated on the creases at the side of his face. It felt more natural with each attempt. His concentration was broken by the light tapping on the door.
“Housekeeping.”
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