A Story
Sat Feb 05, 2005 4:12 pm
Okay, well I wrote a story last year about an assassin for my English teacher... opinions? Because I need a self centered boost, 'cause I'm feeling so down. But feel free to flame me/insult me/it if it's rubbish. You're not meant to be able to guess he's an assassin until the end of paragraph one, so forget I told you that. XD
The Assassin
The man shuffled forward on his stomach, peering through his binoculars at the road. The light breeze ruffled his unkempt, brown hair, now black with the heavy rain, which had plastered his hair to his head and forehead. He plucked nonchalantly at the grass in front of him, dropping the blade back to the ground. Hearing a distant rumble, presumably of thunder, he groped around the floor and found his case. He flicked up the catch, and then heard the revv if an engine. He lifted his head, craning his neck to see what it was. A red car. Looking back, the man lay further down and oopened the violin case. He smiled cruelly as he picked up the object inside, hoisting it onto his shoulder and peering through the lense. He grasped the butt and front of the rifle, poised.
The man pushed himself up onto one elbow, using the other arm to support the broad gun. He watched the house carefully. It was fairly old, perhap tudor-style, said to be haunted. Those who were sensible did not believe that story. It had red brick, cracked, weeds crawling up towards the roof and moss inching its way from the roof to the front side of the house. The only new developments were the windows. Sparkingly clean and brilliantly transparent, they were the first things people noticed when walking past it. It was set atop a hill, overlooking the nearby fields. Rare flowers grew here, the man knew, as he knew most other things.
The car pulled up in the gritty driveway. A man got out, wearing a tweed suit and carrying a large, brown, expensive briefcase. He had dirty blonde hair and brown, lustrous eyes, though these fine details were lost in the rain of that night. The man walked to the back of the car, humming softly to himself. He paused and cursed quiety, bending down to examine the tyre. He straightened up, shook his head, and started humming again.
The man watching the car smiled and flicked at the wet mud lazily. He then sighted down to the car and kneeled, trying to get comfortable. His target, meanwhile, had opened the boot of the car and taken a shopping bag out of it. He casually shut the boot, cursed, and opened it again. The man in the grass knew the time was right. With one movement he had pulled the trigger, and the bullet had cut through the air and sliced through one jacket and raw flesh. The dead man crumpled, juddered, and fell to the floor, bleeding freshly from his back, the blood spilling over his body and mingling with the rain water. His shopping bag and briefcase lay forgotten on the floor.
The killer carefully replaced his rifle and start to pick the empty cartridge up from the ground. He dropped it into the violin case and clipped it shut. He put it onto his shoulder and got up calmly. He walked over to a black car, parked just out of sight, and climbed into the driver's seat. He took out a communicating device and said into it, "Mission accomplished." He pushed the ariel back and turned it off. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket with names on it. He put a tick next to one of them with the air of someone doing the crossword, and replaced it. Turning the key in the ignition and, with the engine letting out a light purr, he drove off.
My teacher's comment was, "Wonderful, Olivia. A gripping, mature piece of writing. Reading this has made my day!"
*apologises for any spelling mistakes*
The Assassin
The man shuffled forward on his stomach, peering through his binoculars at the road. The light breeze ruffled his unkempt, brown hair, now black with the heavy rain, which had plastered his hair to his head and forehead. He plucked nonchalantly at the grass in front of him, dropping the blade back to the ground. Hearing a distant rumble, presumably of thunder, he groped around the floor and found his case. He flicked up the catch, and then heard the revv if an engine. He lifted his head, craning his neck to see what it was. A red car. Looking back, the man lay further down and oopened the violin case. He smiled cruelly as he picked up the object inside, hoisting it onto his shoulder and peering through the lense. He grasped the butt and front of the rifle, poised.
The man pushed himself up onto one elbow, using the other arm to support the broad gun. He watched the house carefully. It was fairly old, perhap tudor-style, said to be haunted. Those who were sensible did not believe that story. It had red brick, cracked, weeds crawling up towards the roof and moss inching its way from the roof to the front side of the house. The only new developments were the windows. Sparkingly clean and brilliantly transparent, they were the first things people noticed when walking past it. It was set atop a hill, overlooking the nearby fields. Rare flowers grew here, the man knew, as he knew most other things.
The car pulled up in the gritty driveway. A man got out, wearing a tweed suit and carrying a large, brown, expensive briefcase. He had dirty blonde hair and brown, lustrous eyes, though these fine details were lost in the rain of that night. The man walked to the back of the car, humming softly to himself. He paused and cursed quiety, bending down to examine the tyre. He straightened up, shook his head, and started humming again.
The man watching the car smiled and flicked at the wet mud lazily. He then sighted down to the car and kneeled, trying to get comfortable. His target, meanwhile, had opened the boot of the car and taken a shopping bag out of it. He casually shut the boot, cursed, and opened it again. The man in the grass knew the time was right. With one movement he had pulled the trigger, and the bullet had cut through the air and sliced through one jacket and raw flesh. The dead man crumpled, juddered, and fell to the floor, bleeding freshly from his back, the blood spilling over his body and mingling with the rain water. His shopping bag and briefcase lay forgotten on the floor.
The killer carefully replaced his rifle and start to pick the empty cartridge up from the ground. He dropped it into the violin case and clipped it shut. He put it onto his shoulder and got up calmly. He walked over to a black car, parked just out of sight, and climbed into the driver's seat. He took out a communicating device and said into it, "Mission accomplished." He pushed the ariel back and turned it off. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket with names on it. He put a tick next to one of them with the air of someone doing the crossword, and replaced it. Turning the key in the ignition and, with the engine letting out a light purr, he drove off.
My teacher's comment was, "Wonderful, Olivia. A gripping, mature piece of writing. Reading this has made my day!"
*apologises for any spelling mistakes*
Sat Feb 05, 2005 4:19 pm
Great story! I like your style of writing. It's a bit like mine, but better! 
Did you get a good mark? I think your story deserved one.
Did you get a good mark? I think your story deserved one.
Sat Feb 05, 2005 9:24 pm
You know I love this. Assassins make my day. 
Sun Feb 06, 2005 12:10 am
Everyone lurves assassins. Cos there's bad words in their name. XD
Lovely writing, though.
Lovely writing, though.