These Violent Delights

A FEW NOTES: This is the extended version for jaetwee's contest The Beginning of the End. Had to be 250 words exactly and end with the same word it began. Natually I went with the most obvious option. Anyway, I've never been able to write anything with 250 words, so I wrote 720 and cut down from there. You can read the contest version here. The rating is for violence and the story is not something I plan to pursue, just something that came to me under pressure. ALSO: I spelled Kait's name like that on purpose. Pronounced "Kate." It's Irish, but whatever.

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“End it.” He coughed, the sound as violent as striking a match, blood spewing from his lips to drip from his chin. He glared at the barrel of the gun, a black hole directed levelly between his eyes.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, he was the only thing out of place in the ordinary kitchen-and-dining-room, with the exception, perhaps, the toaster. It lay nearly six feet from his crouched position, winking at him. She'd torn it from the wall to smash against his face, which explained his broken nose. The cheap plastic table, despite its flimsy appearance, was still standing, their dinner dishes still in place, their meal of microwaved curry and soggy rice half-eaten and no longer appetizing. The fluorescent light flickered as it usually did when it was turned on longer than fifteen minutes, and the radio was still humming in the background, a dismally disconnected soundtrack. “Total Eclipse of the Heart” had been drown out by the sound of fists thudding against flesh and bones splintering.
It had been a pleasant date. He'd managed to get her into his apartment on the grounds of “just staying in tonight”, coaxed her into eating something, and initiated a very amusing conversation about cell phone usage when he'd made the mistake of bending over to pick up a fallen fork.
That's when she slashed her dinner knife across his face.
“End it,” he repeated, spitting out a tooth onto the linoleum, where it landed with a cheerful clink. “Do it, Kait. You'll feel better when you're scraping my brains off your cupboards.”
Kait didn't flinch.
She was beautiful, even with the muddy brown black eye he'd given her, even with the small stream of blood trickling down her neck from where he'd banged her head against the corner of the refrigerator. Even with her face a lurid white against the stark black of the window, her pouty lips split down the middle from when he'd pressed his hand over her mouth to keep her from alerting the neighbors.
He hadn't wanted to hurt her. He wanted to give himself a chance to explain, to keep her off long enough to calm her down. He wanted to tell her that the tattoo on his chest she'd glimpsed meant nothing, not any more, but she'd always been stubborn. His attempt at self-defense had taken a drastic turn and now he was staring at impending death in the form of his killer girlfriend.
“Trust me, Kait, killing me won't do anything,” he said, coughing again, blood speckling the white of his shirt. “It'll only bring Them here faster.”
“Faster?” she snarled. “So you tipped them off but told them to take their time? Very considerate of you, S.” She took a step closer. At this range, she'd be cleaing up his brain matter from more than just the cupboards, she'd be picking it out of her hair.
“No, Kaity,” he said calmly, as if speaking to a wild animal. “I admit, I was sent here to--”
“Kill me?” she shrieked, raising the gun to his forehead.
He swallowed and nearly gagged on the blood dripping down his throat. “Yes,” he croaked. “But I wasn't going to follow through, Kait. You have to believe me. I—I've fallen in love with you.”
And there she stood, her body battered by his own fists, her veins opened by he who had just proclaimed his love, though admittedly she was in better condition than himself.
Kait's expression did not change. He hadn't expected it to. But if she didn't act soon—pull the trigger or don't—then she'd have a nasty surprise ringing the off-key doorbell in less than a half an hour—not long enough to scour body parts. His tracker was smashed and bit into the tough skin of his heel. They were coming.
“You've told me that before, S. I didn't believe you before. And I don't believe you now.”
Strange how his reflexes seemed to be powered off by the blast of the gun. Fire blazed through his side; the bullet ripped through his abdomen, shattering a few ribs and piercing his large intestine before clipping a kidney, and getting lodged in his back muscles. He hadn't even realized Kait had lowered the gun, but he toppled to the floor next to his abandoned tooth and hit his head rather hard. His vision blurred and he thought, What a fantastic end.

It had been a pleasant date. He'd managed to get her into his apartment on the grounds of “just staying in tonight”, coaxed her into eating something, and initiated a very amusing conversation about cell phone usage when he'd made the mistake of bending over to pick up a fallen fork.

That's when she slashed her dinner knife across his face.

“End it,” he repeated, spitting out a tooth onto the linoleum, where it landed with a cheerful clink. “Do it, Kait. You'll feel better when you're scraping my brains off your cupboards.”

Kait didn't flinch.

This is my favorite part I just love the story I almost cried it was so good.

u just took my attention.. believe me you earned a lot of respect by me just please clear the Mr. S or is this second chapter..I really like the part and conversation that took place between Kate and Mr. S Its really felt like a protective girl threatening her boyfriend and his boy friend defending himself.. Just add a little more it will be much much better and i like the part where you explained the house.. The End it Part was the past how you started with the story and end with the same dialogue.. Really appreciate it keep it up.

Just ease it up a little try to describe more who is Mr. S the most important other than anything
really awesome !

Keep up!!!

Hello, Sleepthief. I'm Love.

As is the usual for my reviews the nitpicks will be dealt with first.

Nitpicks:

He coughed, the sound as violent as striking a match, blood spewing spewed from his lips to drip from his chin.

Make sure to keep your tense - past tense, present tense - the same throughout the whole piece. In this quote you switch from past tense to current tense. I'm actually not sure if current tense is the correct phrase but I'm supposing that you know what I mean to say.

Also, I'm not picturing a striking match as a very violent noise, but that may just be me. I wasn't even aware that you could hear a match striking.

The cheap plastic table, despite its flimsy appearance, was still standing, their dinner dishes still in place, their meal of microwaved curry and soggy rice half-eaten and no longer appetizing.

This sentence just reads as a bit choppy. It doesn't read as very organized, but scrambled. I think the way this sentence is read is because of the use of so many commas. There is also a repetition of the words 'and' and 'their'. You use them too many times too close together. There are many different ways you can revise this sentence to keep the steady flow you've created - because your story is actually flowing very well - and I'm just going to provide an example of how I would do it. This example is simply for reference.

Example:The cheap plastic table, despite its flimsy appearance, was still standing. Their dinner dishes were still in place, the meal of microwaved curry and soggy half-eaten rice no longer appetizing.

It had been a pleasant date.

Oh, really? This part made me laugh.

He'd managed to get her into his apartment on the grounds of “just staying in tonight”, coaxed her into eating something, and initiated a very amusing conversation about cell phone usage when he'd made the mistake of bending over to pick up a fallen fork.

That's when she slashed her dinner knife across his face.

What ignited her rage, exactly? Or was she already planning to hurt him?

He wanted to tell her that the tattoo on his chest she'd glimpsed meant nothing, not any more, but she'd always been stubborn.

What tattoo set her off that bad?

And there she stood, her body battered by his own fists, her veins opened by he who had just proclaimed his love, though admittedly she was in better condition than himself him.

"Himself" switches the story into first person.

Overall:

I really loved this story.

It kept me asking questions and wondering what was going to come next. It me interested and involved, which is good. I honestly have nothing more to say about this since continuing on would be called gushing.

You say you mean to expand on this and I am looking forward to seeing S develop. I want to know more about the story behind they tattoo and who "They" are. Please notify me if you continue this.

Love,

Loveless.

“End it,” he coughed, the sound as violent as striking a match, blood spewing from his lips to drip from his chin. At the risk of being wrong, I'm going to go ahead and say I actually think spewing is the right verb here. He glared at the barrel of the gun, a black hole directed levelly between his eyes. Well, see, at first I found nothing wrong with this sentence. Then, after a few seconds, I realized that it'd be a weird sight. I mean, he's glaring at something pointing right between his eyes, which would actually make him cross-eyed. It's pretty amusing. Might want to make him glare at the person holding the gun instead.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, he was the only thing out of place in the ordinary kitchen-and-dining-room, with the exception, perhaps, the toaster. Your taste for long sentences is killing me. Try to vary it a bit. It lay nearly six feet from his crouched position, winking at him. How would a toaster wink? She'd torn it from the wall to smash against his face, which explained his broken nose. You started with action - great! Now tell me, do we really need all this information right now, or d'you think you could just drop it along the way in little plastic baggies? ^^" The cheap plastic table, despite its flimsy appearance, was still standing, their dinner dishes still in place, their meal of microwaved curry and soggy rice half-eaten and no longer appetizing. The fluorescent light flickered as it usually did when it was turned on longer than fifteen minutes, and the radio was still humming in the background, a dismally disconnected soundtrack. “Total Eclipse of the Heart” had been drown out by the sound of fists thudding against flesh and bones splintering. First, this sentence is super long and incredibly clunky. Next, I think "the" would work better than "a" before dismally disconnected. Lastly, when you punch flesh, it most certainly doesn't thud. Pick a better verb.

It had been a pleasant date. He'd managed to get her into his apartment on the grounds of “just staying in tonight”, coaxed her into eating something, and initiated an very amusing conversation about cell phone usage when he'd made the mistake of bending over to pick up a fallen fork.

That's when she slashed her dinner knife across his face. The flow of it seems awkward, mostly because there was no hint of tension before the point where she slashed him with a knife. So they just met (or so it seems), they go to his apartment, eat a bit, have a little talk - it's all very insouciant, almost flippant. Breezy, if you will. Then bam - she lashes out. What? Surprises are good, but there has to be some foreshadowing, something the reader can pick up on to warn them about the ending. You can't just pull a surprise out of nowhere. Set up the tension before they got back to his apartment or something.

“End it,” he repeated, spitting out a tooth onto the linoleum, where it landed with a cheerful clink. “Do it, Kait. You'll feel better when you're scraping my brains off your cupboards.” Your? It's his apartment, isn't it?

Kait didn't flinch.

She was beautiful, even with the muddy brown black eye he'd given her, even with the small stream of blood trickling down her neck from where he'd banged her head against the corner of the refrigerator. Even with her face a lurid white against the stark black of the window, her pouty lips split down the middle from when he'd pressed his hand over her mouth to keep her from alerting the neighbors. This sounds very Mr and Mrs Smith to me. o-o" Pouty lips sealed the deal, I think.

He hadn't wanted to hurt her. He wanted to give himself a chance to explain, to keep her off long enough to calm her down. He wanted to tell her that the tattoo on his chest she'd glimpsed meant nothing, not any more, but she'd always been stubborn. His attempt at self-defense had taken a drastic turn and now he was staring at impending death in the form of his killer girlfriend. This made me smile. You've found yourself in the unfortunate predicament of having made the reader laugh without intending to do so. oo" I don't think I can take this bit seriously.

“Trust me, Kait, killing me won't do anything,” he said, coughing again, blood speckling the white of his shirt. “It'll only bring Them here faster.”

“Faster?” she snarled. “So you tipped them off but told them to take their time? Very considerate of you, S.” She took a step closer. At this range, she'd be cleaing up his brain matter from more than just the cupboards; she'd be picking it out of her hair.

“No, Kaity,” he said calmly, as if speaking to a wild animal. “I admit, I was sent here to--”

“Kill me?” she shrieked, raising the gun to his forehead.

He swallowed and nearly gagged on the blood dripping down his throat. “Yes,” he croaked. “But I wasn't going to follow through, Kait. You have to believe me. I—I've fallen in love with you.” Well. That's it. I kind of saw this coming, but believe me when I say I was praying very hard you wouldn't do this. ^^"

And there she stood, her body battered by his own fists, her veins opened by he who had just proclaimed his love, Makes me think he slashed her wrists. though admittedly she was in better condition than himself. Sentence is awkward. I'd say revise, but this seems to need a total rewrite, to be honest.

Kait's expression did not change. He hadn't expected it to. But if she didn't act soon—pull the trigger or don't—then she'd have a nasty surprise ringing the off-key doorbell in less than a half an hour—not long enough to scour body parts. Scour body parts? Why would she bother with cleaning up? It's his apartment, plus, the way you set it up, it doesn't seem like she's the type to care. His tracker was smashed and bit into the tough skin of his heel. They were coming.

“You've told me that before, S. I didn't believe you before. And I don't believe you now.”

Strange how his reflexes seemed to be powered off Powered off? Do you mean they got turned off? Or that he got a kick out of it and his reflexes jumped back to life? by the blast of the gun. Fire blazed through his side; the bullet ripped through his abdomen, shattering a few ribs and piercing his large intestine before clipping a kidney, and getting lodged in his back muscles. Yay? I don't think slowing down and zooming into this scene really helps the story. oo He hadn't even realized Kait had lowered the gun, but he toppled to the floor next to his abandoned tooth and hit his head rather hard. His vision blurred and he thought, What a fantastic end. ...Not liking it very much. oo I mean, he's dying. He could think of other things - that's kind of a weird thing to think.

Felt a lot like Mr and Mrs Smith, but that's not really a problem. I think the problem is the complete lack of grounding and characterization here. There's tension - or at least, I think you tried to put in tension, but I can't tell. I don't feel anything for the characters.

Your characters fall flat mainly because they seem to be your cookie cutter assassins or something. I don't know. I just felt like I've seen/read this scene too many times before, and you don't seem to bring anything new to the table. They're just dolls you're controlling. I don't see anything about them that makes them real. Because of that, I don't really feel anything throughout the story.

The first thing the characters lack is motivation. So I get Kait's motivation, and that's what makes Kait (a smidge) more real than S. But what about S? I don't understand why he told on Kait, and it makes no sense at all that he told on her when he says he loves her. It's also pretty vague what the tattoo has to do with anything, but I'll pass on talking about vagueness because I'm an utter failure at clarity too. ^^" Back to motivation. You're going to have to make your characters' reasons clearer, and you'll want to make their train of thought easier to follow as well. Tell me how the progression is logical, because I'm having a difficult time understanding this. He doesn't want her to get caught - okay, so why does he bring her back to his apartment? She wants to get away and not get killed. Why is she worrying about cleaning up and killing him? Honestly, the logical thing to do would be to hurt him and run when he's incapacitated, then come back for him later. I see no precedent for irrational behavior, nor do I see any sign of what he or she is like outside of this situation. I'd like a little insight into these characters. Use minor quirks to your advantage. Maybe she never looks at the door - not once. Maybe she keeps glancing at it. I don't know. Something.

A story like this relies on emotional grounding. This way, the reader would be thrown around the way the characters are, and they will cheer for the protagonists. Without knowing who the admirable one is, we can't exactly sympathize with anybody. Work on getting us to cheer for your protagonist first, then we'll talk about nailing the right emotions.

This also comes off super dramatic. It's all, "LOOK WHAT HAPPENED OH NO." It's too theatrical to feel real, you know? I mean, if she was really being chased, then she wouldn't stick around to stare him in the eye before shooting him, especially if she's not averse to violence (which you imply) and if she has a gun (which I suppose she had with her all this time). ^^" He's also incredibly strange, because if you think about it he really loves her and now here she is, trying to kill him. He doesn't seem to feel guilty, even though he gave up the woman he loves - no, in fact, he's proudly defiant.

“End it,” he repeated, spitting out a tooth onto the linoleum, where it landed with a cheerful clink. “Do it, Kait. You'll feel better when you're scraping my brains off your cupboards.”

There. He seems to be taunting her. Come and kill me. I don't understand how the emotions are supposed to be working. Try to think about it. You really love this person, you do. You just betrayed them. Now, you're sure you can help her - but first to get her to the place where they'll catch her. ...What? Okay, so I've lost the train of thought at that point. But it's okay, let's move further down the line. He brings her to the apartment where "they" can catch her, but he doesn't tell her it's a trap or that they need to get out - no, he talks to her, eats with her, and it's only when /she/ finds out what's going to happen that everything gets out of hand.

You can't tell me he planned for it to happen that way. If he's fallen in love with her, why did he do what he did?

Also, let's examine him being a psychopathic liar. For a liar/unreliable narrator, he's surprisingly bad at it. The I love you line is not a very good excuse to go with when someone is trying to kill you. Plus, if he's one, then I don't think he'd be happy it ended the way it did. (That last line just went overboard, by the way. It's way too dramatic, and again, there seems to be no basis.)

On another note, if he knew there was a tattoo on his chest that could tip her off, then why wear something that might expose it?

To be honest, I think the weakness of this story is its vagueness. The reader has no clue at all what's going on here. What we do know confuses us.

So there's a lot of rambling there, but if you couldn't be bothered to read it because it was too long, I guess what I'm really trying to say is that you have to tone down the drama and try and examine what really happened. Then sort it out so you're clear - and make sure it's in line with the emotions your characters are feeling. Then write the story and review it. Review it lots of times, make sure it's clear on what is going on, and keep your readers emotionally grounded. No matter how good the plot is, your readers will leave if they do not care about the characters.

You're pretty decent with description, but your pacing is a little messed up as well. You go into crazy action, then stop it to explain things - and not very well, just long enough to throw the reader off the story. Unless you can manage the pace better, you might want to go with a linear approach instead, starting in the moment she saw his tattoo instead of this.


Anyway! It's been a while since I wrote my last review, and I'm afraid this came out really rambly. I hope you'll forgive me, but that you understand this and that it helps.

Sincerely,

Octave