Author's note:
-The only reason this is rated 12+ is because in certain situations my characters like to cuss, a lot.
-Please tell me if it doesn't read well in the tense that I put it in (which is present -tense) so I can change it for the better.
-As you can tell from the title, this is an excerpt, not where this story begins.
Start
God damn, god damn, god damn. The boy’s body lies on the cement floor, a small pool of blood already forming around where I shot him. I lean over and check to make sure he still has a pulse. Damn, he’s losing a nice amount if blood. I need to get him out onto the street’s sidewalk so someone can see him and call an ambulance. Oh dear, I didn’t mean to shoot him, just a warning shot to inform him that this warehouse is my territory.
I grab my coat and stuff my pistol into my pocket. Dragging him through the door that opens to the alleyway, a golden pocket watch falls from his now limp hand. I don’t stop to pick it up, I mean, why would I? Shit, it’s raining outside. Whatever. I finally get him underneath one of the streetlamps, shifting around so I don’t get caught in the yellowish light. I step back and shoot at a different streetlamp. The bulb explodes, I run, back to the warehouse, to my warehouse.
What should happen is simple. People and hopefully police will look onto the street, the noise from the shot have gotten their attention. They’ll see the boy on the ground, some guys will call 911, the kid will be taken to the hospital, be treated and things will be okay. Unless the kid tells them about being shot at the warehouse, and about me. He could probably tell I’m not older than 18. And I suppose I can’t really call him a kid, he’s probably the same age as I am. Whatever. Anyways, all I really have to worry about is if the cops come in here or something.
--
Damn, my back hurts. I yawn and look around. Everything is pretty much as it was when I went to sleep. I think some police were in here earlier, but they didn’t stumble upon me, which is all that matters. I don’t like to think of myself as a criminal, but if I was ever found, I’d probably be put in Juvi or prison or something. I see a glimmer out of the corner of my eye. Oh, it’s just that dudes pocket watch. I pick it up. A cursive ‘R’ is lightly engraved into the back. I feel kind of lightheaded, damn it. Whatever. I slide the antique into my own pocket.
I realize I never really took a good look at the guy I shot. I remember red hair . . . pale-ish skin . . . a purple T-shirt? There’s something else that had struck me about him but I can’t recall . . . Oh, right! His eyes! They were . . . a gold colour? I think? Maybe? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.
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Okay, I am seriously going to kill whoever was in that stupid warehouse. Seriously. They shot me and stole my pocket watch. Damn. It. My side hurts so fucking bad! Damn! And what the hell am I supposed to tell these hospital people? That I live all alone in an abandoned building because my mentor abandoned me more than a year ago? Hell. No. I guess I can go with the amnesia excuse. I wonder if I can just say, ‘Oh I’m fine now, I’m sure you can let me leave and I can find my own way home.’ Yeah, I’d like to see that work.
Maybe I can hypnotize some of them to let me leave? It’d be harder without my watch but I could probably manage. Oh shit, they have my DNA now and they know what I look like. Shit. Whoever was in that damn warehouse is fucking dead.
--
I’ve been here almost 2 weeks now. One of the doctors said they were going to release me soon. Of course I was thinking, A release? Already? Without many questions about where I live of my family or anything? And has my wound really healed that fast? But I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, or whatever that weird proverb says. The first thing on my agenda: go to that warehouse and have a fucking serious conversation with that dude who’s in there.
Now, I can forgive and forget about this damn kid shooting me. I actually planned to do just that, but stealing my pocket watch? That isn’t going to be forgiven without a serious explanation.
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