I already know of some things that should be changed, but I want to see if anyone agrees with me before I start.
Also, do you think doing this in present tense would be an improvement? I feel like it would...
This isn't a first section/chapter or anything, it's just how much I've written so far. I apologize for the lack of indents. I can't seem to make the formatting for those work, so I double-spaced the paragraphs instead (for better readability.)
EDIT: Apparently the indents DID work, and apparently I'm still confused
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This job seemed too easy. The front door of this suburban palace offered little resistance, and the family dog barely batted an ear as I crept around the moonlit corridors. It didn’t take long to find the home-office. These people should have hired a better locksmith; the office deadbolt bowed to my demands just as the first had. I peeked inside, and was delighted by what I saw.
There they were, right out in the open; a small stack of photographs, some showing a man and a woman sharing laughs over lobster at some posh ristorante, and others showing the intimate encounter that followed. I pushed the door open, and it gave a welcoming little creak. The room looked exactly as I had expected. Aside from the LCD television and antique paintings, there was a box of expensive cigars lying defenceless beside the photographs, a gold paperweight, small ivory carvings on the shelf and several other shiny, pocket-sized things around the room. But I wasn’t there to steal any of that. The man in the photos would ensure that I didn’t go home empty-handed.
Like a fool, I took a moment to admire the impressive book collection that spanned the length of an entire wall. There were classics, encyclopaedias, old textbooks and self-help litanies. I used to be an academic with real prospects, but that was long ago. It’s a shame that I ended up a petty criminal, but when life gives you lemons, sometimes you have to steal the sugar for lemonade. Ends have to meet somehow, even at the cost of mor--
The jingling of the little dog’s collar snapped me out of my musings—how long had I been daydreaming? Panic. The pup’s barking could wake the man upstairs if it saw me. I snatched the photos from the desk, and secured them in my pocket before creeping back along the same path I entered on.
As the hard rubber of my boot touched the doormat, the hard metal of something blunt struck my head. Shocked, I fell to my knees and was struck once more. Lying there, half in the house and half out, a hand fiddled around in all my pockets before finding the photographs. Through blurry, bloody eyes I saw the thin figure of the attacker leap from the steps, and stride to his dark red sedan. My eyes closed.
I woke up in my own bed, feeling like I needed a bottle of Aspirin and a shave. Apparently some kind soul had evacuated me from the house before the Lord of the Manor phoned the police. A delicious breakfast smell and the sound of a man singing to himself floated down the hall to my room. The bastard was still here—and he was eating my bacon.
The pistol in my night stand hadn’t seen daylight since I had placed it there a year before, but I felt the situation warranted its use. Caution is a man’s best friend, after all. With great effort, I heaved out of bed and shuffled towards the kitchen. The gun remained at my side—no need to be too hasty—as I peeked around the corner to the dining room, and saw a blonde asparagus fern attached to a head and body setting my table.
“Danny, you sneaky bastard!” I shouted over his singing. Danny spun around and grinned.
“Big brother! It’s been too long!” I tossed my gun onto the counter and hugged Danny. I hadn’t seen him since mom died. We were both just teenagers at the time, and Danny couldn’t handle the trauma. He ran away from us, got hooked on Lord knows what and couldn’t hold a job to keep himself afloat. I didn’t fare much better. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I came around the neighbourhood last night. Checked out the old haunts and whatever...looking for you. I ran into Darnel in the subway. He said you were running a job out in the ‘burbs, so I thought I’d save you some bus fare. Lo and behold, I get to the house and you’re laying the doorway all bloody, and there’s sirens blaring a block away. What are brothers for, eh?”
“Ha, yeah, I guess so. Well...thank you for the help. Did you see who hit me?”
“Nope. I got there, you were a bloody mess and the house was creepy quiet inside.”
“Hm. Alright.” Breakfast was ready, and we spent a few minutes plundering our plates in silence. I took the time to think about who jumped me in that house. There’s no way the lard-ass who owned the place did it—I would have heard creaking floorboards before he was anywhere near me—and I don’t suppose a little dog can wield a weapon. I wasn’t alone in that house, and whoever it was knew what they were after.
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