Young Writers Society

I watch. I wait. I plot. I am patient. I am the hunter.

I like to portray myself as a highly skilled hunter. Like a tiger in a forest, shadowing their pray. But skilled enough to never give away their position to it's intended victim until, sadly it is to late. As any hunter, you must stalk your prey. Even in the most foulest of weather. When the wind blows ferociously and its cold and crisp breeze numbs your skin and the rain pours down in sheets. Drenching you, making the bitter cold seem insignificant in comparison. It thrills me. Makes me feel alive. More alive than I've ever been. It elevates my senses, I am one with the wind and the rain. It's amazing how people run like rabbits when it begins to rain. I see no reason to. People look at me like some alien creature they have never seen before as they run past covering their head with their news paper and umbrellas. Cars go swishing past at a breakneck pace. I walk close to the gutter parallel to row after a row of houses, the water splashes up at me from the passing vehicles. I take no notice as more icy water is dumped over me. What's it matter? I ask myself.

I continue to walk, rather I limp. Despite the icy cold, my arthritic riddled knee continues its warm, yet dull throb of pain. As a hunter, I must dis-regard this minor inconvenience and push on. I walk on, the rain continues to fall on my eyes and cheeks.I place one hand, I notice that my hand is a milky white color and I grip my soggy black fedora hat. It feels squishy upon my touch. I grip it and casually throw it into the gutter. I watch with amusement as it is whisked away along the current made by the rushing water. It reminds me, in a less confused time in my life, before I became a hunter. Where I had a small yet stylish boat, black in color. It had been my most favorite possession. But that, and everything else in my life is gone. How I miss the life I had. I would give anything in the world to have it back. To see my caring wife's eyes just one more time. The color of emeralds they had been. But as the light of life faded from her eyes they had become just common muddy river pebbles. I could feel her weight, as I held her body in my once strong and toned arms. Blood was dribbling from her mouth. I didn't care. I pressed my lips against hers. I could taste mingling flavors of her coppery tasting blood and her strawberry lip balm. Oh how I had cried for her, rocking her half naked limp body back and forth in that cold bed room, where the wind and rain and blew in from the opened window.

But I am the Hunter now. And I shall have my last hunt. I reach a trembling hand into my pocket, my heart sinks. But then my shaky hands grip the piece of paper with the address of my last hunt. A wave of relief washes over me. I take it out, instantly it becomes soaked making the scrawl almost illegible. Not before I read the address. My eyes were still strong unlike the rest of my decaying mind and body. I throw the piece of paper away. No longer needing it.

My last hunt's door lay before me. The rain was deafening upon the tin roof of the rather grand house. I drew in a mighty breath. I called upon my all my composure to make my hands stop shaking. Even the third time, I still had the shakes when it neared the end. Admittedly it fear was a contributing factor, but it was far from the greatest. I knocked, my hand began to buzz after just one knock. The cold had indeed worked it's way into my fingers. I paused. I could hear nothing, the rain overcame any other noise that I had hoped to hear. Suddenly the door opened. At first I was taken back, there was no one standing before me.

"Mister?" A voice called. I looked down, a small child stood before me, or rather, below me. I gulped, my mouth was dry like sand paper. I had not expected this. "Ah, yes. Um would your dad be home?" I said, trying to sound as normal as I could. The child just stared back at me suspiciously.

The child turned her head and yelled down the hall. "Dad, some old guy is here to see you." And with that, she ran down the hall and into her room. And then, it was just me and the rain and the wind again. I felt calmed by it. How fitting, I thought. My ears perked up when I heard a mans voice gruff and angry. "What do you want? And in this spiteful weather as well." I didn't answer, only just waited patiently at the door, hands the pockets of my dripping wet pants, one hand gripped the cool metal....I am patient, for I am the Hunter. I plot, for I am the Hunter.

Just as the man reached the door, I yelled, no screamed. " And you are my hunted!" I drew my gun, a little Colt firearm I had gotten in my time in Vietnam. I leveled it on my kill's head. He looked scared, good. Just like my dearest wife. "Hey man, chill. I-I-I have plenty of money, you're welcome to it." He pleaded with me.

My lip was trembling. I whispered, "Rape."

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that." The man said edging backwards. I took a step forward. Despite my earlier shakes. My hand was perfectly still.

"Sir, please sh-sh-show mercy, I-I---."

"Shut up." I roared. I continued enjoying the stricken look of my kill, "You and your mates never showed mercy to my wife did you? You each took a turn, I bet you went first. Whose idea was it to kill her? It was you wasn't! You raped and killed my wife!"

I paused, waiting for his reply. My heart was hammering hard in my chest, my eyes firmly transfixed on this bastard before me. His expressions were blank, but only momentarily. Knowing dawned on his face. I knew then that everything I had said was true.

He stammered, "Look mister, we were young, maybe only 16 at the time."

"Does it matter what age you were." I said coolly. I fingered the safety, I felt sick to my stomach. "I am no longer patient. I have plotted, and I'm sick of watching you. For I am am the hunter, and you are my hunt." I closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger. I could see my dead wife's eyes in my mind. They blazed a fierce green. I love you honey.

I stood their, looking at his life less body. Blood had began to dribble from his head and onto the polished wood floor.

A voice echoed down the hall. "Daddy?"

I help up my gun again. My wife's spirit with me. "I am the hunter." I whispered.

Hello!

Like a tiger in a forest, shadowing their pray.

Your simile is just about one tiger, so it should be shadowing “its” prey rather than “their” prey because the tiger is singular. Also “pray” means to pray to a deity; you mean “prey”.

But skilled enough to never give away their position to it's intended victim until, sadly it is to late.

“It’s” with an apostrophe is short for “it is”. You mean “its” without an apostrophe, which is for the possessive. Also, “to” should be “too”.

As any hunter, you must stalk your prey. Even in the most foulest of weather. When the wind blows ferociously and its cold and crisp breeze numbs your skin and the rain pours down in sheets. Drenching you, making the bitter cold seem insignificant in comparison. It thrills me. Makes me feel alive. More alive than I've ever been. It elevates my senses, I am one with the wind and the rain. It's amazing how people run like rabbits when it begins to rain. I see no reason to. People look at me like some alien creature they have never seen before as they run past covering their head with their news paper and umbrellas. Cars go swishing past at a breakneck pace. I walk close to the gutter parallel to row after a row of houses, the water splashes up at me from the passing vehicles. I take no notice as more icy water is dumped over me. What's it matter? I ask myself.

Your sentences are all short, which makes this run jerkily. If you read it out loud, you should be able to hear the awkward rhythm. Ideally, you should mix up your sentence types and lengths so you have variety to break up the monotony. I found the bolded sentence a bit odd, because plenty of people walk in the rain.

As a hunter, I must dis-regard this minor inconvenience and push on.

All one word: disregard.

I place one hand, I notice that my hand is a milky white color and I grip my soggy black fedora hat.

This sentence doesn’t make a lot of sense. He places his hand—on what? Typically you place something on something else, you don’t just have “place” without saying where the thing was placed. The next part is unconnected to the first four words, so a comma isn’t strong enough to join the two. It also seems a bit weird; the description is out-of-place.

But that, and everything else in my life is gone. How I miss the life I had. I would give anything in the world to have it back. To see my caring wife's eyes just one more time. The color of emeralds they had been.

I’m really not feeling the emotion here. Before, your guy’s been walking along and it’s seemed like he’s enjoying himself. He’s been proud about staying out in the rain, and you’ve twice said that he’s amused, so to have him just say “I miss my old life” doesn’t ring true. It sounds false. The description of his wife sounds cheap and hollow. There’s nothing new there, nothing that makes his wife a person. She’s caring. Okay. So what? Loads of people are caring. Her eyes are green. Okay. So what? Likening her eyes to emeralds is probably one of the oldest similes out there. It’s not new, it’s not particularly tender, and it doesn’t show me how this guy really feels about his wife. It’s all very well to tell us that he cared for her, but there’s no emotion there. I don’t feel his emotion, so I can’t work up any emotion of my own.

I could taste mingling flavors of her coppery tasting blood and her strawberry lip balm. Oh how I had cried for her, rocking her half naked limp body back and forth in that cold bed room, where the wind and rain and blew in from the opened window.

This bit does have emotion. The description is there and it paints a good picture.

But I am the Hunter now. And I shall have my last hunt. I reach a trembling hand into my pocket, my heart sinks. But then my shaky hands grip the piece of paper with the address of my last hunt. A wave of relief washes over me. I take it out, instantly it becomes soaked making the scrawl almost illegible. Not before I read the address. My eyes were still strong unlike the rest of my decaying mind and body. I throw the piece of paper away. No longer needing it.
My last hunt's door lay before me. The rain was deafening upon the tin roof of the rather grand house. I drew in a mighty breath. I called upon my all my composure to make my hands stop shaking. Even the third time, I still had the shakes when it neared the end.

There’s a lot of tense-switches here. Sometimes you’re in past, sometimes you’re in present. Stick to one.

The cold had indeed worked it's way into my fingers.

Again, should be “its” without the apostrophe.

How fitting, I thought.

Why?

My ears perked up when I heard a mans voice gruff and angry.

You need an apostrophe there—man’s.

"What do you want? And in this spiteful weather as well."

Not really feeling the realism here. “Spiteful weather” doesn’t sound right. “Spiteful” sounds petty, the kind of thing a woman would say.

Just as the man reached the door, I yelled, no screamed. " And you are my hunted!"

Again, not feeling the emotion. The bolded bit bogs the flow down. This is the vital bit, the climax and all, and the bolded words hold it back. You should also end the line with a comma to lead onto the dialogue.

He looked scared, good.

Blah, bland!

"Hey man, chill. I-I-I have plenty of money, you're welcome to it." He pleaded with me.

End dialogue with a comma not a full stop and start the tag (“he said” or whatever) with a small letter. You do this throughout, but it’s vital that you get it right. Even if your other grammar needs work, get the comma/small letter bit down pat and you’ll succeed in life.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that." The man said edging backwards.

The comma/small letter thing here. I don’t find his dialogue very realistic. There’s a crazy wet guy at his door with a gun. He should be freaking out, pinwheeling in terror, thinking of his kid back in the house, gibbering with fear. Not politely requesting a dialogue encore.

Despite my earlier shakes. My hand was perfectly still.

There is no reason to split this into two sentences. Make it one.

"Shut up." I roared. I continued enjoying the stricken look of my kill,

This is boring. “Roared” is good, but the rest is unbelievably passive. “I continued” “I enjoyed”. These words have no real meaning. We use them all the time for ordinary, everyday things that have no serious meaning. This is serious, this has pots of meaning behind it, and using bland, boring, everyday words like this doesn’t work.

He stammered, "Look mister, we were young, maybe only 16 at the time."

Write out numbers: sixteen.

"Does it matter what age you were." I said coolly.

I find this odd. One minute he’s roaring, the next he’s being cool and cold.

"I am no longer patient. I have plotted, and I'm sick of watching you. For I am am the hunter, and you are my hunt."

You’ve got a repeated word.

I closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger.

Boring.

I stood their, looking at his [blife less[/b] body. Blood had began to dribble from his head and onto the polished wood floor.

“Their” is possessive. You mean “there”. “Life less” is all one word: lifeless. This is very lacking. He’s been waiting for years upon years to kill this man and when he does, there’s no description, no emotion. From the way he’s acted before this, I’d expect some level of satisfaction at the kill, some glorying over the corpse. Instead, all you give us a mundane description of the blood coming out of his head. Well duh, he’s been shot, there’s going to be blood. There’s nothing else, nothing that really brings the scene or your guy to life. Pun unintended.


---
I apologise if this sounded harsh, but it’s really only meant to help your writing improve. ^_^

Overall, what’s lacking here is believable emotion. This is first person, so you have excellent opportunities to show us how your protagonist feels, but instead you just tell us his thoughts and give us nothing in the prose to show us his feelings. There’s a good article on showing and telling here. EDIT: Here's another article on just general storyness, but it's very good and very helpful.

You had a good sense of pace, and you’ve got the concept of summary vs scene well, which is very important. I like your overall idea, but I’m curious as to why it took this guy so long to track the other guy down?

Do please PM or Wall me if you have any questions!

-twit

oh my god! i loved it. totally! it had me gripping all the while.

It thrills me. Makes me feel alive. More alive than I've ever been

you have way to short lines. its a stop read. stop read. stop read pattern. "it thrills me making me feel more alive than i have ever been" works too.
[quote I take no notice as more icy water is dumped over me.][/quote]
it usage of the word dumped

It reminds me, in a less confused time in my life, before I became a hunter.

i dont seem to get this sentence at one read. maybe even two. a bit of editing might act.

Blood was dribbling from her mouth

for me it sounds grossly creepy. how about "blood smeared mouth/ lips"

I reach a trembling hand into my pocket, my heart sinks

why does his heart sink excatly? does fit it there

I called upon my all my composure to make my hands stop shaking

?? "i called upon myself all my composure" maybe?

And with that, she ran down the hall and into her room

hmm..can you actually see the room from the door? i am sure a suspicious girl woudnt let door wide open.

My ears perked up when I heard a mans voice gruff and angry

"my ears perked up when i hears a man's voice- gruff and angry"
or
"my ears perked up when i hears a gruff and angry man's voice"

It was you wasn't!

"it was you, wasnt it?"

Sorry, didn't quite catch that."

agree with Twit here. wrong dialogue.

"Does it matter what age you were." I said coolly. I fingered the safety, I felt sick to my stomach. "I am no longer patient. I have plotted, and I'm sick of watching you. For I am am the hunter, and you are my hunt." I closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger. I could see my dead wife's eyes in my mind. They blazed a fierce green. I love you honey.

"i felt sick in my stomach?"
and why hasnt he killed the man when he has been watching for so long. and if he has been watching then he would have been aware of the daughter too.
"am" repeated.
"i closed my eyes and pulled the trigger"
again agree with Twit. movie cliche. and it doesnt excatly show the man as a fanatic or revenge taker. he would rather see his enemy in pain thanshut hs eye at the brink of the moment.
but love the last two sentences.

except for the glitches the story was really good. i loved it. your description goes into depth but your emotions dont. but that can be worked on.
hope i helped. any more help you can always PM me.

keep writing. i do love this piece of work.