Since I shared this over on Silver James' blog, I thought I'd share it here, too. This is the beginning of that noir crime thing I started a while back. It's still pretty first-drafty, so be kind.
“My death serves no purpose,” she said. “At least not yet.”
“Did you invite me here to ask me kill you?” I wasn't sure how much Sara knew about the life I led or the jobs I had done over the years since I'd last seen her. A lot of people seemed to have the idea that men in my line of work would be willing to do any job for the right price, murder included.
“Goodness, no. I want to hire you so you will, at the right time, insure none of my heirs are arrested for my murder.”
I shook my head. “You’ll pay someone else to kill you then?”
She giggled and I could picture the girl she might've been. Once, she'd been a close friend of my parents. She was as near to a mother as a woman could get to a boy without actually giving birth to him. “Goodness no," she said again as she handed me a plate of Danish Windmill cookies. They were my favorite. When I was ten. I took the plate and set it on the coffee table between us without taking one. This wasn't the time for eating.
"I am more than capable of doing it myself once the time comes.
I sat down with this story last night, read through it and tightened up some stuff, then wrote new words on it. It's at 8690 words right now, with the 828 I added last night. This might be the thing that gets my writing jumpstarted again. Not promising anything. It seems like every time I promise something (even to myself) lately, it falls apart. For now, I'm going with the flow for as long as it lasts.