The Beginning

By R.W. Taylor

Origin story/Set up for alien contact!!

QUESTION: What would you do if you could absorb another person's memories, feelings, and talents...by killing them?

Welcome to Smith's life.

~~~

Smith was a very peculiar sort. He didn't like condoms, and he believed that men were superior creatures, designed to make children and forget about them, spread the seed as God in His great wisdom intended.

Smith happily boasted he'd created at least 12 children, none of which he'd ever paid a dime of child support for. He'd never felt a shred of guilt over it. He was the type who believed he could do no wrong. Even worse, he believed he was intelligent.

He was a short man with a gruff voice. He was the fool's captain and the coward's bully, and for that Reginald was his lapdog. At least the fool part, that is. Reginald, his companion, was no coward. He was a gigantic mound of fat and muscle and an absolute dimwit with seemingly no concept of danger. A living cliche of strength and stupidness.

Follow their adventure as they discover a secret about murder that will change the course of their lives.

This story is based on the writing prompt, "You accidentally kill a person. Instantly, you absorb all of their memories, feelings and talents. It feels quite addicting to you" from Reddit's WritingPrompts subreddit.

~short read with HUGE potential for growth and novelization!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.W. Taylor
• Release date: Oct 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386513650

R.W. Taylor

Cross-genre writer R.W. Taylor likes to write...a lot. Think twelve hour days with a good-old fashion notebook and pencil—yes, that's how he prefers it—although he uses a laptop, too...sometimes. He's most at peace when he's diving deep and getting lost in the act of creation. He prefers writing science fiction and romance, but he's written political thrillers, erotica, poetry (bad poetry), and even a 50,000-word survival-lite fiction novel that may or may not ever see the light of day. He likes to experiment with styles and voices. He loves sharpening his skills through practice and experimentation. Short stories, novellas, novels; different tenses; serious stuff; light-hearted stuff; you name it. He likes to write about unique, imperfect characters who pull at your heartstrings because...they bleed. Or maybe one day he'll write about a perfect character with no flaws, or better yet, the most perfect character ever. When he's not writing, he works as a nobody associate at a secret chain store...somewhere in the universe. He also likes naps, because, who doesn't like naps? And he likes his wife, Yeli Tige, too. She's pretty cool. Wait; scratch that. She's really cool. Without her, R.W.'s writing would have never come to be. Probably because he's a perfectionist and she's always telling him not to throw stuff away. Of reader interest: The two of them are currently working on a science fiction romance series. Let's see, what else? Right! Chocolate. R.W. Taylor likes chocolate. Lots of it. He can't write without it. Brain food 101. So you can thank chocolate, too.

Book preview

Introduction

This short story is based on the writing prompt, You accidentally kill a person. Instantly, you absorb all of their memories, feelings and talents. It feels quite addicting to you from Reddit. To find the thread, see the book's back matter.

––––––––

Sometimes good things happen to not so good people. Call it a stroke of luck or fortune or just plain weirdness. Truth is, cards fall how they will. Hard work, merit, intelligence, these are negligible factors in the face of the cosmic hand.

––––––––

Smith and Reginald weren't the brightest bulbs on the street. In fact, it was questionable whether they should even be considered bulbs at all. They liked to prowl at night, drink, try and pick up married women at bars, occasionally succeeding when they found one lonely and desperate enough to fall for their persuasion. They chose married women because Smith was convinced that doing so reduced the chances of catching STDs. He was a very peculiar sort. He didn't like condoms, and he believed that men were superior creatures, designed to make children and forget about them, spread the seed as God in His great wisdom intended.

Smith happily boasted he'd created at least 12 children, none of which he'd ever paid a dime of child support for. He'd never felt a shred of guilt over it. He was the type who believed he could do no wrong. Even worse, he believed he was intelligent. He was a short man. Pale, wiry. Had large, glassy eyes, grayish. Crooked teeth, discolored. Bad breath, and a gruff voice, more of an act than anything. When he made a command, you ignored him, laughed, or listened. Deep down, Smith was probably aware of his paradoxical nature. He was the fool's captain and the coward's bully, and for that Reginald was his lapdog. At least the fool part, that is. Reginald was no coward. He was a gigantic mound of fat and muscle and an absolute dimwit with seemingly no concept of danger. A living cliche of strength and stupidness. Reginald had a crop of curly blonde hair, a big nose, a wicked frown, and a pitiable smile—all teeth and gums—small eyes that showed little comprehension. Smith liked that. Reginald didn't ask for much. He'd never tried to take any women for himself, never argued when having to wait long hours for his boss to finish business. He might have had to sit and listen to Smith and whoever else moaning in the next room, and he wouldn't even frown the slightest bit. Reginald only frowned when he sensed Smith was displeased.

Presently, Smith bobbed his head to indicate one of their usual stops—a small bar with bright holiday lights, the cheap smell of alcohol. A number of loud, fat women bumbling in and out. Smith smiled. Married women. Birth had a way of making them large, and he loved that. I reckon I'll find one in there. Maybe two. Yes I will, good old buddy. Maybe I can have a mother and daughter at the same time. I'll make an aunt and nephew, uncle and niece...or you know some other combo. They'll come out together. Picture that, Reg.

I...I like this.

Smith raised an eyebrow. What do you like, good old buddy?

Reginald fixed his eyes in a stupor on the bar. Finding...uh...married women.

Smith nodded, obviously pleased, and patted him on the shoulder. That's right, good old buddy. We do like it. He turned. Let's go.

Who...who we gonna find?

No questions like that, Reg. Ruins things. God, sometimes I have to repeat myself. Smith's annoyance came and went, vanishing as soon as they entered. Reginald trailed behind, head down. Smith made his way to the bar, took the center, and sat. He had a process. He would scan the interior. Right to left...right