Story Time... Bite 2!

Hello!

So, a couple of months ago now, I posted a short story that I'd written. I was terrified. It was the first one I'd ever publicly posted and I didn't know what people would think about it, or if anyone would even like it and read it. 

It actually turned out to be quite a popular post (I was soooo happy with how it was received that I later posted a different story (HERE) if you want to check that one out, too). Back to the first story though; there was even one lovely man who commented telling me he'd love to read more of it at some point.

I had written more to it then but I wasn't happy enough with what I had to post it on the interweb for everyone to read. However, after a lot of editing, and basically just re-writing it actually, I think I'm happy with this little section, so I thought I'd post it on here!

Once again, I'm completely open to feedback and criticism - it's the only way I can ever improve!

So to Tim, who commented on not only the first part of this story, but the first story I'd ever posted for anyone and everyone to read, thank you so much. You have no idea how much that one little comment meant to me.

Here is part two of the story.

(If you didn't read the first part then just click HERE, otherwise I think you might struggle to make sense of this post and you're probably just wondering what I'm cracking on about!)

Bang, Bang - Part 2

“Don’t. Move.” The figure whispered.

Rose stood stiller than the statue in the town centre; the one that she sat under eating her lunch every day. Mundane memories like that seemed pointless now. She stayed in the exact position she had found him in. She was struggling to take breathes when necessary and the fear in her eyes couldn't be mistaken.

“I’m really sorry.” The figure whispered.

She was still facing him, her eyes staring into his. Rose could see the fear from her eyes mirrored in his. He was scared too. How can the one holding the killing device be the one that's scared? She thought.

“Please don’t move.” He whispered, again.

She wanted to nod. But she didn’t want to go against his commands. She didn't want to move. 

She stood still. 

Completely unmoving. 

Her heart pounding in her chest – she could feel it in her head. In her feet. She could feel her hearbeat everywhere. 

She continued to stay in the same position he had told her to; staring at his face. His scared face.

The sound of the trigger being pulled rang throughout the shop and Rose collapsed on the floor.

She stayed there for several minutes. Motionless. She had moved, though. She hadn't meant to. She'd moved. 

Rose mentally assessed her body, trying to focus on any points of pain. None made themselves obvious. She wondered if this meant she was already dead. She tried to remove herself from the darkness that was surrounding her. A pale figure was standing in her line of view, though. Her whole body jolted back, hitting a large shelf of tins, several of them falling around her. 

Great. Those can't be sold now. The boss is not going to be happy about that. She mentally chastised herself - she was in a do or die situation and she was thinking about some dented tins of peas!

She sat there, her body shaking, staring at the pale figure but all he did was continue to watch her. His deep, midnight blue eyes scared and… pleading?

He closed his eyes, squeezing them, like he was trying to crush images and memories with them. She took the moment to try and observe him. His pale skin made him look like he'd been hiding from the sun for his whole life. It was the first time that she had taken him in properly, his dark hooded jacket hid most of his face but there were still a few black strands of hair that managed to peek out. His head was bowed and his eyes still shut. Rose made a further assessment of him. His shoulders seemed broad but she couldn't see much underneath the baggy hoody. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes; they were more prominent thanks to his pale skin. He couldn't be any older than herself... Mid-twenties, maybe?

Rose tore her eyes away from him, looking to her right. The cash desk draw still sat wide open. She wondered why he was still here if he’d taken the cash. Why? Part of her hoped someone had heard the single gunfire bang as they were walking past the little shop . She knew it wasn't likely. Not many people randomly walked past the remote, village shop.

She averted her eyes to the right instead, her mind still swirling with “why’s”.

A growing pool of red covered the cream-tiled floor.

The gunshot hadn't been a mistake.

A whimper escaped her body, ruining her vow of silence.

A hand came out to touch her shoulder and she flinched. It jumped back to its owner’s side.

“I’m sorry.”

Rose finally looked at him. Her eyes meeting his. Her stare was that cold that he was the one to flinch next.

“I’m sorry.”

She was starting to wonder if those were the only words he knew.

The fear she had felt was being overtaken by anger; she quickly crawled to her boss’s side. Her hands fluttered around his wrist. She was once taught how to look for a pulse but she couldn't remember where the best place was to check for it.

She pressed her forefinger into his inner wrist, praying for something. Hoping.

“He’s already dead.” The voice was closer behind her than she had thought and she jumped again. “I made sure it was instant. He didn't suffer. It was quick. The bullet went straight through his heart. He didn't suffer.” The last three words were no more than an airy whisper so much so that Rose wasn’t sure whether she had heard it or imagined it.

“You murdered him.” Apparently from anger came bravery. Or stupidity. Rose couldn’t decide which.

“Please don’t say that.”

She turned to look up at him, only to find he was knelt down; at the same level she was.

“You murdered him.” She repeated. Her tone colder than the snow that crunched outside.

“Don’t say that!” He shouted and swiftly stood, turning his back to her.

Rose had found her answer. It was definitely stupidity. Her fear came back in full swing; her anger melting quicker than the snow would when the mid-day sun shone tomorrow.

A Little Story

Hello!

I decided today was another day to take a risk and post a snippet of a short story I wrote. This was a task we were once given in a seminar, but it's not only been very expanded from its original hundred-word-long version since then, it's also been completely redrafted and changed.

Let me know what you think (in the nicest way possible) and I'm completely open to constructive criticism!

(I posted a short story I'd written last month, too, if you're interested, just click HERE)

Quick warning - it's not explicit but some people might consider it a little scary towards the end...

The Boy

It’s not slippery like a slide should be; it just feels like I’m walking on normal ground, but I’m not. I’m walking straight down the glowing, red helter skelter, my feet barely touching it. It’s what I imagine walking on air to be like… or clouds, but Jane and Tom say that’s not possible; they’re my foster parents, not my real parents. Everybody thinks I’m being silly when I tell them I can walk on anything, anything, but I can. Even the lady at the bottom of the slide told me to stop telling fibs and that’s why I’m up here; to show her that I’m not telling fibs. Mummy and daddy are gone now but they would have believed me, I know they would have. Daddy always used to tell me that nothing is impossible. He wouldn’t have called me mean names. Tom sometimes calls me nasty things, like “freak”, or sometimes worse… A lot of the time they’re worse.

I’m half way down the slide now, just on the curve in sight of the bottom. The lady in the yellow shirt at the bottom is staring at me with her mouth wide open. Now she has to believe me; I’m not lying. Her bright red hair stands out as she shakes her head and looks back at me but I just carry on with my even-paced walk down, eager to talk to her… If she’s still there, that is.

When I reach the bottom she comes running towards me. The rest of the park is nearly empty with just a few people dotted around in odd places, but I know none of them have noticed me. I’m good at reading people. Apart from this lady; I don’t know what she’s thinking. I think that’s maybe why I chose to show her what I can do; she might be special like me and maybe that’s why I can’t tell what she thinks.

“Kid, how’d you do that?!” She still looks shocked and I can see the strain in her forehead as she tries to figure it all out, figure me out.

I try to make words come out of my mouth but nothing happens. I don’t talk much normally. I don’t ever talk, actually. Jane and Tom don’t like to hear what I have to say, so I don’t ever say anything. In fact, nobody really likes anything I have to say. Mummy and daddy would have listened to me. They used to love to listen to my stories.

“Come on Kid, you’ve got to tell me how you did that.” She stares at me, her gold-y, brown eyes looking me up and down every few seconds. “At least give me your name, Kid.”

The lady kneels down so that she’s roughly the same height as me. She wears a name badge that says “Elle” on it, obviously her name. I know I can’t tell her so instead, I grab both sides of her head, pressing my fingertips into her hair. She jerks before falling completely still as I let my story seep into her brain.

When I move my hands back to my sides she falls to the floor, staring at me.

“What’s wrong with you?” She whispers, shaking as she slowly starts creeping away.

Turns out she’s not like me. It’s a shame, really. I would have liked a friend. My hands move back to her hair and move down to press the blue line on the side of her neck until she goes limp. There’s nothing wrong with me.

Story Time!

Hello!

I thought I'd be brave today (just like yesterday's post, HERE, said I should be) and share a story with you that I wrote a little while ago in a creative writing workshop. It's only a very short one and we had to write it in both first and third person, so here is the third person version but I can always post the first person one later to give you a bit more insight, if you want! I have also expanded on the story since then, so there is a bit more to it now but this is the original, short version. Let me know what you think, I'm open to criticism too, just make it constructive, pretty please!

Bang, Bang.

The noise echoed through the tiny, corner shop, making it all the way to the small staff room at the back where Rose sat, staring into her steaming cup of coffee, her hands wrapped around it to absorb the heat. Her head slowly lifted up a minute after the loud bang, a frown spreading across her pale face. She sat for thirty or so seconds longer, staring at the door expectantly, but nothing happened. Resigned, she stood up and, slowly, headed for the door, the plimsolls on her feet dragging across the old, carpeted floor. She pulled the heavy fire door, the strain showing on her face from the weight of it, heaving out a big sigh as she let it swing shut, her cup of coffee still sitting half empty on the edge of the table where it was left.

She walked through the short hallway to the shop floor and stopped. She stood in the middle of the aisle staring at the visibly open cash desk. You could see the slight tremble in her hands as they hung, limply by her sides and the hairs at the nape of her neck were all stood up on edge, alert.

There was another resounding thud that resonated through the small shop, coming from behind where Rose was stood. Her eyes closed momentarily and her previously heavy breathes came to a halt. It was several minutes before she reopened her eyes again and gained her composure. Slowly, her body started to turn, her clumsy feet turning a second later. The movement stirred the resting dust bunnies, letting them mix and swirl in the air before finding somewhere new to hide; somewhere safer. As she stood staring at what had been behind her only a minute ago her breath got lost in her throat, caught on her terror. Less than a couple of centimetres away from her face was a gun, a calloused finger resting on the trigger.