Evan S
Veteran
this is an exerpt from a short story I was writing. Someone told me it was crap, and i'm looking for a second opinion. I never finished. :kali: :furious3:
He slinks slowly down the hallway, his footsteps quiet - nearly unheard, masked by the rain pounding on the window. He doesn’t exist, a shadow in the darkness, the ghost in the corner of your eye . He unhooks his sidearm from his holster. He brings it up to his side, he navigates the darkness with ease. He turns his back to the wall, readying his gun. He looks down toward the door handle - his reflection shooting back at him, the only proof of his existence. Mumbling on the other side of the door can be heard. He reaches back and pulls out a circular object, presumably a silencer. Sure enough, he begins screwing it onto the tip of his tired pistol. He clicks the safety off just as his hand slips down to the door handle. In one swift motion the door flies open, the two men sitting at the table look up startled and before they can make a movement, he slams down on the trigger sending one bullet after another straight into one of the men’s sternum.
Terrified, the uninjured man speaks, “Don’t shoot man, Please!”
“Why not?” Our mysterious character questions.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know! Please you gotta believe me!”
Our mystery man walks toward the table, we hear a clicking sound and our mystery man raises his gun once more. This time aiming between the eyes.
The thug sitting down pulls up a gun and aims back.
“Go ahead and shoot me, you’ll be dead before I hit the floor !”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Look, I told you I’d tell you anything you want to know, but you’re making this difficult for me man!”
“Why. You raised the gun.”
“I.. uh?”
“I’m not here to chat.”
He sends a bullet straight between the thugs eyes, the mans skull rips open into beautiful shades of red, bits of brain redecorate the walls.
The mysterious shadow walks back toward the door he entered, he looks to his left and notices a long coat, it’s black. He cocks his brow - pulls it off the coat rack and slides it on, and exits out the front door as if killing a man was a normal occurrence during his day.
Our mystery man in the long coat enters a nondescript car. We finally meet him face to face. Emmanuel Dyson, standard height, medium build. Nondescript like the car he drives. His eyes are cold, no emotion can be seen. He stops blinking staring into space, it is evident something in his mind is working on something horrible. His eyes start to tear up, and he begins sobbing. The grown man sits in his nondescript car, with his nondescript features, crying softly into his steering wheel.
He starts the car, and drives off.
He slinks slowly down the hallway, his footsteps quiet - nearly unheard, masked by the rain pounding on the window. He doesn’t exist, a shadow in the darkness, the ghost in the corner of your eye . He unhooks his sidearm from his holster. He brings it up to his side, he navigates the darkness with ease. He turns his back to the wall, readying his gun. He looks down toward the door handle - his reflection shooting back at him, the only proof of his existence. Mumbling on the other side of the door can be heard. He reaches back and pulls out a circular object, presumably a silencer. Sure enough, he begins screwing it onto the tip of his tired pistol. He clicks the safety off just as his hand slips down to the door handle. In one swift motion the door flies open, the two men sitting at the table look up startled and before they can make a movement, he slams down on the trigger sending one bullet after another straight into one of the men’s sternum.
Terrified, the uninjured man speaks, “Don’t shoot man, Please!”
“Why not?” Our mysterious character questions.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know! Please you gotta believe me!”
Our mystery man walks toward the table, we hear a clicking sound and our mystery man raises his gun once more. This time aiming between the eyes.
The thug sitting down pulls up a gun and aims back.
“Go ahead and shoot me, you’ll be dead before I hit the floor !”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Look, I told you I’d tell you anything you want to know, but you’re making this difficult for me man!”
“Why. You raised the gun.”
“I.. uh?”
“I’m not here to chat.”
He sends a bullet straight between the thugs eyes, the mans skull rips open into beautiful shades of red, bits of brain redecorate the walls.
The mysterious shadow walks back toward the door he entered, he looks to his left and notices a long coat, it’s black. He cocks his brow - pulls it off the coat rack and slides it on, and exits out the front door as if killing a man was a normal occurrence during his day.
Our mystery man in the long coat enters a nondescript car. We finally meet him face to face. Emmanuel Dyson, standard height, medium build. Nondescript like the car he drives. His eyes are cold, no emotion can be seen. He stops blinking staring into space, it is evident something in his mind is working on something horrible. His eyes start to tear up, and he begins sobbing. The grown man sits in his nondescript car, with his nondescript features, crying softly into his steering wheel.
He starts the car, and drives off.