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----- NaNoWriMo, 2003 -----

NaNoWriMo 2003 Winner

DATE=

WORD COUNT= 50150
As of November 30, 2003.

CHAPTERS STORY
  1. This is somewhere near the end...
  2. Something from the beginning, for my fellow Queens denizens
  3. A scene from toward the end

RedCross.Org

This is somewhere near the end, but before the the first bit...

He rubbed his eyes clear of sleep gunk and let loose another yawn. After running a hand through his wildly disheveled hair, Xavier threw the blankets off his prone body and onto the floor. He stifled a groan as he heard the television remote control thud onto the floor. "If you can’t help having to be up, then it’s best to get up," Xavier reminded himself of the saying Frank would use most often when he came in to rouse his reluctant son from his bed. "That way it’s always so much more rewarding," Frank would continue with a twinkle in his eyes once he had gotten his son to open his, "When, after you’ve dealt with whatever it is that pulled you from your much deserved rest, you can climb back under the covers." "And pull them over your head," Xavier muttered the end of Frank’s saying now, trying to ignore the siren call of the pillow still behind his head. He sat up abruptly and swung his feet over the edge of the sofa and then stood, still holding the cordless phone against his ear.

This is from near the beginning...

It was only 5:30 PM and the Southern State Parkway more closely resembled a parking lot. As he gazed out at the sea of taillights before him, Francis Xavier Moran, Jr. heard his father's voice in his ears more distinctly than the sound of the nearby horns’ blaring. "The only time I’ve ever considered true violence, my lad," Francis Xavier Moran, Sr. had said, a small grin playing at his generous mouth. "The only time I’ve been tempted to get a gun and begin blasting away was driving that thrice-cursed parkway."

This happens toward the end...

Moving past the line of would-be club-goers, Xavier moved to enter the club. And the huge, muscle-bound bouncer moved to intercept him. "Where do you think you’re going?" an almost painfully deep voice growled from somewhere above Xavier’s head. "I am going in there," Xavier answered, his tone of voice enough to quiet the derogative catcalls of the lined up prospective patrons who had been incensed to see him walk right past them. "I am going inside to get my boyfriend. And then we are leaving." Xavier continued into the club. To this day he had no idea that it had been the look on his face that stopped the bouncer from hindering him further. The look came directly from Margaret Moran’s repertoire of expressions. It was the one Frank always said could "skin a cat and stop a Jehovah’s Witness in his tracks." Evidently it worked on seven foot tall, three hundred pounds of pure muscle, club bouncers too.


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