Possible Pulp

I’m toying with the idea of a science-fiction pulp noir story. Originally, I had planned to write it as a comic book series, but the artist that I was kicking it around with ended up committed to other projects. That’s when the notion hit me that maybe I’d try my hand at a novella of sorts. A novel is out of the question with my attention span. It was start something like this…

I woke up with a number of the usual questions. When did I black out? Where was I? Why did my head hurt so much? But this time around there was a new question dogging me…

The big question…

Who the hell was I?

It was dark — dark because I wanted it to be — except for the occasional pseudo-flash of pain keeping time with the throbbing within my skull. My eyes were shut and I wasn’t sure if I should be in any sort of a hurry to open them. I mean, I had woken up before asking myself, “Who the hell was she?” But, not knowing who I was myself, I wasn’t sure if that was the greatest way to start the day. What I did know, besides my head hurting, was that I was lying on my back on something hard and cold. I wouldn’t have been surprised to open my eyes and find myself lying on the floor of the men’s room of some dive bar or monorail station. Or, at this point, even a coroner’s slab.

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