Mistakes

Alright, so this is just something random I came up with, but I'd like to continue with it (when I get a chance to )
Any reviews are appreciated so go ahead and rip it to shreds
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I fell to my knees before the stream, I was shaking so violently drawing each breath became a challenge, and wiping the drying blood off my hands even harder.
I knew he deserved it, didn’t he? Of course he did, after what he did with that poor farmer’s girl, I thought. But still I couldn’t stop trembling, and his face… oh god, his face… it couldn’t even be counted as a face with the state it was it, then it struck me. Maybe they wouldn’t recognise him; the axe had pretty much distorted his face, probably his whole body in fact, beyond recognition. All I had to do was shift the body from his house, clean the blood, get rid of the axe and no one would know, he was about to leave town anyway. I sighed and almost laughed; I was so relieved.
Wait.
“The axe…” As I realised my mistake my breakfast tried to make its grand reappearance.
“Oh shit.” I could feel despair crawling back in, sending violent shivers through my body once more. But the noose tightening around my neck was new.
“Oh shit, oh shit, SHIT!”
Before I stopped my stream of profanities I had crossed the distance from the stream to his back door, my speed would probably have been an impressive accomplishment had the situation not been so grave.
I pushed at the door, it didn’t budge. I pushed harder, this time with all my weight, not even a creak from the wood.
“Temperamental god damned fu-,” With my leg lifted as high as I could manage, I slammed my foot just beside the handle.
KRR.
There! It was barely audible but there had definitely been a cracking sound that time. I continued kicking the door, a knot forming at the back of my throat at each failed attempt. After the tenth kick I gave up and fell to my knees, this time crying, my hand slowly lifted to my throat, I could feel the noose biting into my skin.
It was over for me, surely. I couldn’t get into the house to get the axe, my parents axe he reminded himself, what would they say when they found out their teenage son had killed someone? He wept even harder.
Then it clicked. The front door.
I screamed at myself for my stupidity, beating my fists into my head as I ran around his house to the front door. Stopping short, I stared at the entrance where the door should have been, safely closed.
Someone had opened the door. Someone was inside the house, or already been in and out while I had been washing my hands.

(its obviously not finished, this is just an idea at the moment, if I still feel like I can keep going with it when I get home I'll keep writing, I promise )

Hmm. I think you wrote this very well. There were a couple words that weren't needed, and kind of disrupted the flow, but I think the end result is good. I'm curious as to what he did, why he murdered the man, boy? I'm always wondering about how old he is. Anyways, it was intriguing, mysterious, and well written. Keep writing.

Hey grimmy, Phoenix here to review.

I fell to my knees before the stream, I was shaking so violently drawing each breath became a challenge, and wiping the drying blood off my hands even harder.

The wording of this sentence is a bit odd. Rework it to make it flow better. The first part is fine but the bolded part is what I speak of.

But still I couldn’t stop trembling, and his face… oh god, his face… it couldn’t even be counted as a face with the state it was it, then it struck me.

Considered would sound better then counted and in instead of it.

“The axe…” As I realised my mistake my breakfast tried to make its grand reappearance.

Considering the situation I don't think this phrasing appropriate. A phrase like this would better be used in a piece that allowed comedic elements. Like a girl tripped in the hall and knocked over the principal or something. For this I'd keep it simple. "My breakfast threatened to escape my stomach." or something of that nature.

“Oh shit.” I could feel despair crawling back in, sending violent shivers through my body

Be a bit more subtle by cutting out some words. For instance. "Despair crawled back into my throat." By doing this you get rid of the feel, which is a bit to on the nose.

After the tenth kick I gave up and fell to my knees, this time crying, my hand slowly lifted to my throat, I could feel the noose biting into my skin.

Are there no windows?


A interesting concept. I think you started this story at the perfect moment to hook the reader. I must say I'm curious as to why your character killed someone. Such a hook would definitely keep a reader interested. So overall it was a good start that has tons of potential. I only suggest you go back and take a look at how you phrase things.

Ok, so here's the (hopefully) finished story.
oh, and PS: Ms Troe, if your reading this, I (Brandon) did write this, so it's not plagiarism.
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Mistakes

He snored softly, so peaceful in his dreamless sleep, I remember being infuriated that he could sleep so deeply, for surely that meant he didn’t feel the least bit guilty for the atrocious crime he had committed. I also remember the second when his death sentence was signed and sealed, the second that I was convinced he deserved to die for what he had done.

I went back downstairs, carefully placing each foot, not bothering to use the handrail; my hands were always covered in some sort of oil from working the leathers for my father. I tried to make as little noise on the aged wooden planks as possible. When I got to the bottom I racked my memory for the nearest wall, once I was convinced the wall in front of me was closest I got down onto my hands and knees and began crawling. Reaching the wall, I slowly lifted myself from the floor and started edging towards the door on my right, relying on my memory a lot.

Need a weapon…

I stood in the doorway for a minute or so, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Once adjusted, I made out through the dark what appeared as his kitchen, though any evidence of it ever have been cleaned wasn’t apparent. A bench ringed the room except for the south wall, which was occupied from a pantry, a particularly salty smelling meat-keeper, and the doorway which I was currently standing in. on the far side of the room, sitting on the bench, was what seemed to be the remains of his dinner, a roasted meat of some kind, rabbit perhaps. But I was more interested what lay beside the meat, a small butcher knife. Slowly, the edge of my mouth curled into a grin.

Perfect.

Grabbing the knife, I went back upstairs, taking each step of the stairs with particular care. Slowly and ever so carefully, I headed for the bedroom, every sense on edge, waiting for anything to impede my way to the bedroom. The bumps and cracks in the wooden floor stung my foot, I cringed at every groan and moan of the wood. Inch by inch my feet brought me to the bedroom, raising my knife I stepped towards the bed. He was within striking distance, I used less care as I closed into my target; even if he did wake up, it’d be too late.

You chose the wrong person this time, you made a mistake. PIG.

I brought he knife down with all the force I possessed in my short body, plus a little extra for good measure. The image of his shocked face as the knife sliced through his fat neck would be forever burnt into my memory; his small, beady eyes stared into mine as the life within them slowly burnt out. I stood shocked for a moment, the horror of death was not what I had expected, it was too… surreal, I couldn’t comprehend what I saw, it was too much. Something just snapped right then, and I started hacking away again at his face, each blow making what is easily the most disturbing sound I’ve ever heard.

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I felt the knife slip from my hand and heard it clatter cross the floor. I stood staring as blood pouring from his skull; it was hard to tell if it had even been a head at all. After a while blood soaked the body’s clothes, bed, and what were once his possessions that were scattered around on the floor nearby his bed.

I stumbled out of the back door of the house, making towards a stream.

I fell to my knees. I was shaking so violently drawing each breath became a challenge, and wiping the drying blood off my hands even harder.

His face… oh god, his face…

It honestly couldn’t even be considered as a face with the state it was in; the butcher knife had disfigured his face beyond recognition, even if it was cleaned of all the blood, the remaining scraps of skin wouldn’t reveal anything; his blond hair was the only recognisable feature left of his skull.

I killed him… but he deserved it, didn’t he? Stop shaking! Of course he did! He… he… what he did to her, to Kerry.

Fresh tears rolled down my face, she had loved me, and Maker strike me down if I didn’t return that love in full, if not double. Violent sobs shook my body, knocking me to my knees before the stream. I knelt there for what seemed like days, years even, reliving all the memories I had spent the last few days burying in the furthest corner of my mind. Pain hit me with each memory like salt in the wound, corroding away at my sanity.

The rising sun eventually brought me back.

I managed to regain at least a bit of my composure and started to wash my hands again in the stream, which wouldn’t have been so hard if the blood wasn’t mixed from the oil from the previous days work.

Wait. It hit me like a stone to the back of the head.

The oil… My father and I were the only people in the town who worked with oil and while the loss of Pig wouldn’t cause great despair, if some of the sadists he associated with found out who had killed Pig, well they were always looking for an excuse to do what they do best.

Oh, shit. I needed to get that knife, when someone found it they would trace the oil back to me, or worse, my father. If someone convinced the town my father was involved in the murder, my whole family would be put in shame and surely my father’s work would be affected. But if I were blamed the town would just gossip for a while about that poor family whose son was a murderer, better that than my family be socially out casted. Despair clawed its way back in, sending violent shivers through my body once more. But the noose tightening around my neck was new.

“Oh shit, oh shit, SHIT!”

By the time I stopped my stream of profanities, I had crossed the distance from the stream to the back door. On hindsight, my speed would probably have been an impressive accomplishment, had the situation not been so grave.

I pushed at the door, it didn’t budge. I pushed harder, this time with all my weight, not even a creak from the wood. Why isn’t it opening!?

“Temperamental god damned fu-,” With my leg lifted as high as I could manage, I slammed my foot just beside the handle.

KRR.

There! It was barely audible but there had definitely been a cracking sound that time. I continued kicking the door, a knot forming at the back of my throat at each failed attempt. After the tenth kick I gave up and fell to my knees, this time crying, my hand slowly lifted to my throat, I could feel the noose biting into my skin. I looked up in desperation at the grimy window, it could be broken with a stone, but I wouldn’t have had any hope of climbing through.

It was over for me, surely. I couldn’t get into the house to get the knife, what would they say when they found out their teenage son had killed someone? He wept even harder.
Then it clicked. The front door.

I screamed at myself for my stupidity, beating my fists into my head as I ran around his house to the front door. Stopping short, I stared at the entrance where the door should have been, safely closed.

Someone had opened the door. Someone was inside the house, so was the oil.

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Inside the house the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs reverberated through my head. Casting caution aside I ran through the house, tearing past the lounging room, past the kitchen, and came to a stop at the stairs. Peering up at the top floor a dark silhouette of a man was making its way through the bedroom door.

Taking the stairs two and three at a time, I ran to the top of the stairs and sprinted towards the man. I hurled myself at him and we both fell to the floor, with me trying my best to land heavy blows to his head, hoping to knock him unconscious. Even in the heat of the moment I realised how foolish and hopeless it was, within moments he had my arms pinned on the floor either side of me, with his knees digging into my thighs. I was well and truly pinned; he gave me not an inch as I squirmed.

“GET OFF ME!” I screamed as I tried everything I could think of to get free, nothing worked of course.

“Stop. Stop! I SAID STOP, DAMMIT!”

… That voice.

“Father?” It couldn’t be, what’s he doing here? I was relieved and perplexed simultaneously, my brain simply stopped thinking.

Looking up, I saw my father’s blue eyes boring into mine.

“What are you doing here, Milo?”

“I…” my eyes started watering again as it just became too much for my over-loaded brain to handle, “I’m so sorry.” I started crying in earnest as my father unpinned me and comforted me, he picked me up and held me until my sobs subsided, but he still held me and whispered into my ear.

“How about we go home and you can tell me everything there, hmm? It’s best we’re out of the house before anyone comes looking.”

I nodded and he led us home. On the way there I couldn’t help noticing the oiled, bloody butchers knife, my already violent shivers doubled, shaking me and my father.

“It’ll be ok. You don’t need to be afraid any longer.” So I stopped worrying, letting my shivers subside, and my father took me home.