Right, so I was just at a lot of different places/camps, and when we got home, we didn't have internet for like, more than a week. So, now I have internet (Hurrah!) and I can start updating stuff again.
I've made a change to that story I was writing. Major change #1: It's changing from 1st person narration [ie. I did this, and I did that] to.... I spontaneously forgot the word but it's basically she did this and she did that. (bahaha) So that might just be a teensy-weensy bit confusing.
That was the major change. Now I've begun writing the long story, not the version I had to submit for school. HOPEFULLY I can finish this one up after starting it (highly unlikely, but hey, we'll see). I've already written the prologue. So, here's the prologue. =D
*Little note, this can very much be changed because I might decide to do so because I realized something didn't work out, or something needs to be edited, or whatever.
It was around five in the morning, and a shadow flitted across the street. Nobody was really awake at this time; most working adults would still have around an hour before they got up for work, and the teenagers and children who got up for school with them. Frost covered the ground around, and it was nigh on the time that snow would begin to fall; the clouds were pregnant with rain waiting to tumble and turn into light flakes. The light was only just beginning to creep up on the horizon of the crisp world, and the sky was like the pale pallor of a bad bruise; indigo mixed with blue.
It was the perfect time to kill someone.
Only the victim would be up at this time. Still used to the farm life he’d grown up and worked on for many years, the old man named George Mason would be up getting his breakfast and reading his latest novel he’d borrowed from the library. It would be just another morning in his life out in the suburbs near the big city. He wouldn’t expect anything.
George hummed a stuck-in-your-head jingle that he’d heard on a commercial the night before as he got coffee boiling in a pot and popped a piece of mint gum into his mouth. He leaned against the counter and looked out onto the peaceful world with bright brown eyes as he waited. His face was tanned, wrinkled, and weathered after years of life outdoors, but his head still had a lot of hair for an old man like him. Also contrary to his age, his hair still retained some color of the deep brown it used to be; now it was a pale beige with streaks of silver.
“Ah!” He remembered his CD player and reached into one of his sweater pocket and pulled the circular device and the carefully-kept earphones out. He’d just bought that new CD the day before, and remembered that he wanted to listen to it. If you’ve already got music in your head, George, why not fill it with something worthwhile? George thought to himself.
The song had been introduced and the singer had just begun to drawl out his first few verses when George dropped the CD player onto the floor and it stopped playing. He backed into the counter and clutched at anything he could find. He gasped when his fingers only found the burning coffee pot’s handle.
“No,” he said softly, his eyes full of fear. “Please, please, please, please no!”
The shadow that had slipped through the back door unnoticed looked at him with contempt. It was a man of medium height, strongly built and well muscled. His eyes glittered in the pale light. “You owe us, old man. And you never paid. We can’t let people like you go unnoticed.”
George’s heart thumped vigorously in his chest, and fear pumped nerve-wracking adrenaline which he could do nothing with through his veins. His hands continued to fumble behind him on the counter and he started talking fast. “It was an accident that I saw what you all stole! I didn’t mean it! I promised that I wouldn’t tell anyone either! Can’t you just leave me alone?”
The other glared at him. “And trust you? Unlikely. We trust no one. And since you haven’t payed up-”
George’s voice rose to a shrill squeak, “I’ve told you, I haven’t got that much to give you!”
“-and since you have payed up,” the thug continued with ferocity, “we have to get rid of you.” He looked up at George with dead and merciless eyes; eyes that were used to cruel things and terrifying scenes. Unfeeling eyes. He then pulled out a gun with a silencer from his belt, and began to load it.
George’s heart leapt to his throat, and he reached for the coffee pot. Burned fingers are better than dying, George, he thought to himself, and he grabbed the searing handle and flung the pot and its contents at the killer. The pot flew into the thug’s face and much of the burning coffee splashed over his face and body. The man cursed violently and screamed at the same time. He dropped his gun and stuffed his fists into his mouth to quiet himself.
George used the opportunity to run. He didn’t get much further than past the kitchen doorway, however. A split-second after he heard a muffled bang, a searing pain ran up from his Achilles' heel to the rest of his right leg. George gasped and tumbled; all attempts at escaping were now thwarted. The adrenaline still ran through him though, and he began to try and drag himself across the floor towards the open back door.
The soft steps of the killer slowly followed him through the doorway of the kitchen. With dread and fear weighing heavily down on him, George stopped dragging himself and whimpered. As he turned to look at the thug he realized that he was sobbing. “Please,” he whispered.
The thug just looked at him with even more hatred than before; the skin on his face and hands a bright red from the coffee. His eyes were bright and black, and he held the gun straight out before him. He sneered as he said the second-last sentence George would hear.
“You’re gonna die, old man.”
George began to sob even more fervently and he feebly raised his hands in front of him. “Oh God,” he breathed out as he cried. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please, please, please, please, please...”
The thug stepped up to George and lowered the nozzle of the gun to the center of the old man’s head. George’s eyelids fluttered as he almost fainted. “God can’t save you now, old man,” the thug spat ferociously.
And with a muffled staccato crack, he pulled the trigger.
An hour later, unseen to the world, the body of George Mason lay near the sidewalk with his CD player lying beside him.
