Clo's contest: The terrorist

11:23 PM IN THE LOFT

My name is Lauren Fields, and my daughter is a terrorist.

It wasn’t hard to figure it out, you know. The first clue was all the time Maggie spent in the brick factory over the summer. That factory had been shut down, deemed a safety hazard. At first I didn’t think too much of her hanging out there, I thought all the local kids needed a place to just chill. Then I realized—when the other kids avoided the place like the plague—she wasn’t hanging out with any of them.

Maggie wasn’t going to answer any of my questions. She was a stubborn girl and when she felt a certain way, there was no changing her mind. I decided the best way to find out what she was up to was to spy on her. I know you might think that would be the wrong thing to do, but I was worried about her, you know. I had no idea what she was really doing, but I thought it had to do with drugs and those sketchy-looking teenagers who had darting little eyes. But they weren’t druggies afterall.

One night, Maggie said she was going downtown to catch some dinner and a chick flick with a girlfriend. I knew it was a lie but I smiled and told her to have a good time. Ten minutes after she left, I headed for the factory. It was getting dark by the time I got there, but already I saw her little red Honda parked outside its old rusty gates. The factory looked as if it was going to crumble, a little like my world was about to.

I couldn’t hear or see anything from the outside, but I knew she wasn’t in there alone, by the looks of the other cars parked a few streets away. It was a bad part of town that the government had ignored for years, and I didn’t particularly feel like waiting outside, anyhow. I snuck through the gates and tried the front doors. They were locked, of course.

I looked for another entrance, but all the doors were locked and the factory had no windows. I found some stairs at the back that I went down—and found myself in a little outdoor cellar. My suspicions arose when I saw the giant black tubs that had warning labels: WARNING! EXPLOSIVES. Why did an old flour mill factory have explosives? I had to wonder.

There was a window in the cellar that looked into the factory, and I tried to open it but it was locked too. I found that if I lay on my belly and pressed my face into the glass, I could see what was going on inside. When I looked, I saw a giant open space, and ten, maybe eleven people surrounding a small table. They were looking a something, pointing, arguing. One man had a gun. Another was wearing a vigilante mask. One of them was Maggie.

I tried to press my ear to the glass but could hear nothing. That’s when I heard footsteps and an angry voice saying, “Now what the ‘ell do you think you’re doing, eh?”



11:55 PM, THE BASEMENT

So, now that I have disclosed the turn of events, it is essential to bring in present. I am currently gagged, the cloth oily and making my tongue slick. There is a metal-mesh type rope cutting harshly into my wrists and feet, although just loose enough to prevent my circulation from cutting off.

Don’t judge my daughter—I raised her in what could have only been the best way. She got all the love and care she deserved, and in no way is she a bad person. Sure, terrorists seem to have that evil, I’m-going-to-kill-the-world kind of appearance, but that’s all just media propaganda. My daughter may be a terrorist, but she knows what she’s doing, I hope.

They have a name for themselves. POTV. I’m not sure what it means, exactly, but they’re night vigilantes—revenge terrorists. I’ve only extracted a few bits and pieces, but from what I do know, they commit crimes they think are justified by justice. It is a bit skewed in morality, but I can’t help it—my blood runs through her veins. We all know blood is thicker than guilt.

Hi Medusa;

I saw her little red Honda parked outside its old rusty gates.

If the place is condemned, would she risk her car being so easily spotted it (as it was) by parking it at a condemned building?

It was a bad part of town that the government had ignored for years

The Government? Perhaps the City Council? Or the Police? Why? What went on here that made them ignore it?

They were looking a something, pointing, arguing. One man had a gun. Another was wearing a vigilante mask. One of them was Maggie.

Question 1: Where's the gun? Is it tucked away, is it in his hand, is it on the table?
Question 2: What's a vigilante mask? If he's using it to conceal his face, why aren't others?

Nice grab--a unique idea ^_^

--Buscador!

Thanks a bunch for checking this out! Um, I know that a house may be condemned for safety reasons, but they can be hangout spots for bums and teens. I meant the government ignored it--like they didnt put money into it, like a slum.

Quite the idea!
It's very unique. I like the idea of the mother being so involved, instead of another parent who merely begs their children not to.

The only thing I could find was this:

When I looked, I saw a giant open space, and ten, maybe eleven people surrounding a small table.

How are they surrounding it? Are they standing or sitting?

It's not even that important. The first chapter is very interesting: I look forward to reading more!

Thanks! I'll elaborate more, and I'll get the next part up soon.

Medusa wrote:Thanks a bunch for checking this out! Um, I know that a house may be condemned for safety reasons, but they can be hangout spots for bums and teens. I meant the government ignored it--like they didnt put money into it, like a slum.

I didn't mean so much that it wouldn't be allowed for her to be there, I more meant that it's a bit conspicuous for her to be parked there, and therefore would probably draw unwanted attention to the building--especially if they're planning a terrorist action.

This is a good point...Ill have to think about how to change that.

It would be easily remedied if she just parked a block or two away--even just on the street outside the building would be fine, if other people parked there as well.

Finished.

I liked this work very much. It was charmingly unique. Though the basic premise was a bit of a cliche: parent checks on kid who has gotten in with the wrong crowd and is now in craploads of trouble, the motif was original. It intrigued me.

I really liked this story. It's believable, interesting, and yet not bogged down in the details.

The little red car being parked outside was a little iffy. I would have her park it inside the rusty gates, at least. It's not actually that bad of an error. I was more annoyed by the "DANGER, EXPLOSIVES". I would adjust this a little.

The world's greatest gift to terrorists is diesel fuel and fertilizer. Although it needs to be a specific kind of fertilizer, you don't need to give it a label. For the sake of expediancy, generic fertilizer would do.

Just have 55 gallon drums of diesel and pallets of fertilizer stacked against a wall. That's still preturbing and it wouldn't let the mother know right away that her daughter is a terrorist. More of a mystery and less obvious than a box that says "DANGER, THERE'S STUFF IN HERE THAT WILL KNOCK YOUR FRICKIN' SOCKS OFF"

The explosive materials I just described have been used commonly by scuzzy little terrorists around the world.It's what Timmy McVeigh used to redecorate the Oklahoma city building and what the first terrorists who attacked the trade center used when they bombed its foundation back in 1993. This type of explosive is set off by a blasting cap and it's what the army uses for cratering charges and what some miners use in blasting because it's relatively cheap. It's called ANFO, pronounced Anne'-Foe

So there... now that I've given you your terrorist lesson... Be safe and have fun writing.