Okay then, your the first to mention that. Thanks though for the comment, tis always appreciated.
On a busy commercial street there was a shop. It was tucked away between larger buildings, secluded and dark. Out of the flow of commuters, stepped a tall man in a dark suit, directly in front of the shop called TRINKETS AND TREASURES. Unlike the other businesses, none entered this place. He stepped forward, heralded by a small tinkle above the door.
Immediately he was overcome by stale, dusty air. All about him there were all manner of oddities: model aircraft, figurines of dragons, wizards…truly it was aptly named. His son would have loved it, he thought, smiling sadly. Behind the counter, a lanky, be-speckled teen looked up from the comic he was reading. His smile of welcome was replaced with a look of horror as he saw the man before him. He shot upwards, upending his chair with a crash and scattering objects everywhere.
“You couldn’t…couldn’t possibly” he stuttered “Couldn’t be, you couldn’t know…”
“I’m sorry Comrade”, the tall man said softly, in a husky Russian accent. He pulled out a sleek pistol, with suppressor already attached. Seeing his intent, the boy tried to run out a back exit, but made it only to the doorway. A soft sound, then the boy crashed onto the floor, a small red stain already spreading down the side of his face.
The man closed his eyes softly, “Target acquired”, he whispered. Tucking the gun away, he walked over to the exit. Taking out some tissues with his gloved hands, he gently wiped the blood spatter and brain matter away. When done he placed the bloodied tissues in a plastic bag, then turned to set about returning the desk to its natural state. Switching on the computer, he quickly accessed and activated the meltdown process. Every hacker had one; it would destroy all files, encoded or otherwise. He took one last look around, noting the dusty stairway in the corner, but seeing nothing untoward. Satisfied that his Mission was completed, he turned to leave and that’s when he heard it. A soft sound, a scuffle or sob that came from above. The assassin froze then swore softly in his native Russian; someone else was here, a possible witness. Stalking forward softly, he glided towards the stairs, walking up them on silent feet. He stopped at the top and looked around carefully. There were three rooms branching off from where he stood, one on either side of him and another directly ahead. In between them all were uncarpeted floorboards.
The man walked slowly towards the room ahead, making the floorboards creak only slightly. He reached the door in mere moments, turned the handle and withdrew his gun in one smooth motion. Facing him, however, was nothing more threatening then a toilet. He was in the bathroom. Frowning slightly, he turned around and tried the door to the left of the stairs. It was locked.
“Open the door Comrade,” he called out. Hearing nothing in reply, he tried again “Please, do not make me hurt you, just open the door.”
“Y-y-you won’t hurt me?” A teenage voice stammered, after a moment’s silence. “I-I-I don’t want to die, man. Oh god I don’t want to die.”
“No one does Comrade, that I promise you, now please. Open the door” The man closed his eyes, hating to lie but knowing that it was necessary. A moment later, he heard scrambling noises, followed by footsteps, then the sound of a lock turning. The door creaked open, revealing a geek’s equivalent of wealth; signed and framed posters of superheroes plastered the walls like a second layer of paint. Stacks of comics lay every which way, covering the small bed, and figurines/bobble heads stood tall, silent sentinels amid this geek’s abode. But what caught his attention was the computer screen in the corner- its glow filled the small room.
Before he could see just what was on the screen, a head popped into sight from behind the door, obscuring his view. The boy was breathing shallowly, sweat beaded his brow and upper lip, and he held an asthma puffer in his hand. Tears leaked from red-rimmed eyes, he sniffled. “Come in dude.”
The man silently crossed the threshold.
“Look man, I-I- didn’t see anything I swear, so you don’t—’’
He cut off with a gulp as the Russian raised his gun and gently placed the tip to his head. “I’m going to ask you something, once and once only” he said softly “I know you saw what happened, but only one thing matters: did you tell anyone?” here he nodded in the direction of the computer. The boy’s eyes flicked to it in alarm, answering the question, then returned slowly to the man’s face.
He looked away then squeezed the trigger. A soft sound, the brother to the one emitted only moments ago, was followed by the body crumpling to the ground.
Blood and brain matter was everywhere; too much to clean quickly. He went swiftly to the computer and was just in time to see a message pop up:
Message sent to freaky_geek@hotmail.com
He swore viciously, then accessed the ‘freaky geek’s’ information: 17, 22 Wellard Pl, Moore Heights. This was a distraction he couldn‘t afford, time was running out…
He activated the Meltdown process, turned, and stepping over the dead boy left the room. As he was walking down the stairs he noticed a small plastic statue of an embattled dragon; rearing above some human invaders. It was $5.99. He took out the correct money, placed it on the desk and left as quietly as he had entered, dragon in tow.
He could have gone to his luxury BMW, but instead he walked the distance to a bus stop where a vehicle awaited. He paid his fare and sat down as the bus clunked and rattled to life. Some moments later, he reached into his breast pocket, and took out his most prized possession: a fragile photo. Gently, he thumbed it straight and gazed down at his smiling family. His little boy, still fascinated by wizards, his baby girl with burnished golden curls held in the beaming arms of his wife. He swallowed painfully around the lump in his throat. And there he stood, a dark menacing shadow, grinning feebly—spoiling an otherwise golden picture.
“Soon, soon I will have you free” He pledged “I swear it by God, I will have you free!”
Okay then, your the first to mention that. Thanks though for the comment, tis always appreciated.
Suspenseful...
Decent, could make a good story. Yes, a bit cliche'd at the very beginning. But some stories like to start that way, if you know what I mean.
I mostly liked the intro, but I just didn't like the first sentence.
On a busy commercial street there was a shop.
Yes, thanks people. I fixed up that little "too quickly" thing earlier.
But again, Cheers.
Blood and brain matter was everywhere; too much too clean quickly. He went quickly to the computer and was just in time to see a message pop up:
Some technical things:
1. Do not change tense. The story begins in the present tense, then switches to the past. Present could possibly work since it would make th story more intense. past is probably a safer bet.
2. Do not become wordy. When you use words that are too big or cumbersome it becomes particularly present. In action fiction especially you want your structure and sentence to reflect your mood. Your moood is tense and face-paced. Simple sentences and short words work better here, pushing the reader to the edge of every thought. You do want to break it up occassionally to give us a breath.
Other than those things, this was well done. You used imagery effectively and you showed the action rather than telling us it. For that particularly I commend you. There was once or twice you could have told us a little less, such as "in a voice laden with sarcasm", but that's up to your discretion. Nice work. I wanna see more!
This is the next part, enjoy.
*******
As the bus took him to some unknown destination, he waited. He would be contacted soon; he merely had to wait patiently. The bus screeched to a halt, jerking him forward. The doors slammed open, and an old European looking dame stepped forward, burdened by shopping bags. “Apologies bus driver, I is being not as young as once was, yes” She said in a heavy accent, chuckling and breathing heavily at the same time.
He watched her with contempt.
She paid her fare then waddled forward slowly, wincing as the doors slammed behind her, loud as a gunshot. As the bus lurched back into motion, she staggered, coming to her knees right in front of him. A letter was slid across the seat then pocketed
“Is the mission completed?” She asked in Russian.
He hesitated.
“Well?”
“Yes.” He said curtly in their tongue “The inventors are dead and their secrets with them. One managed to send a message before I got to him. I go now to the recipient’s house.”
She absorbed this information for a moment, “We had not planned on you killing both of them, Piotr, for we had hoped to ply the other for information.” She sighed tiredly, looking every inch an old woman, rather then the highly skilled assassin-turned spymaster that she was. “Ah, perhaps you have done us a favour Piotr, and saved us from making a terrible mistake. Also, they were not inventors; they merely found what was once lost. They did not create it.”
Piotr shrugged, it didn’t matter either way to him. He appraised the woman for a moment, “Would you like some help, Old Mother?” he said, referring to her position.
She grimaced, “No, you buffoon. I would much rather kneel in pain, at your feet!” she said, voice laden with sarcasm. “Of course I would like your help”
He raised her forward, letting her sit beside him. As she rested, she noticed the photo he still clutched in his hand. Immediately the craggy, stern face softened, “Are those your—’’ she began, then sucked in a sudden breath as she felt a blade come to rest at her armpit. He leaned in, “If you say another word, if you ever speak of my family in my presence, I will kill you, old dame. It is not for the evil to speak of the good.”
She stiffened. “Apologies, Piotr. I meant no offence.” She breathed deeply, controlling her racing heart as the blade tip was removed. Then heaving her bulk up, she exclaimed in poor English, “Sank you young man, is much appreciated.” No one payed notice to her farce. Piotr hissed fiercely, “You can give the act a rest,” he was increasingly irked by her pretence.
She leaned forward, then planted a grandmotherly kiss on his forehead and whispered, in perfectly fluent English, “No, peter. I can’t.” And she smiled sadly, “It is all I have now.” With that, she turned and went to sit in another seat, an old European woman once more.
Anytime, pal--always a pleasure to read your stuff! I really should finish Shadow...I'll get to it eventually, I promise!
If you want me to crit anything else, hit me up with a PM and I'll get on it!
Cool. Thanks for the comments...god I sound like a broken record. From now on it mus be assumed that I appreciate comments, which I do.
Phoenix, some good tips given and I'll take a look at those parts mentioned. As for the blood splatter: it was on the wall but I must not have mentioned that and I understand about the spreading stain thing.
Cheers,
Jiggy.
It's much better now that is has been edited and Phoenix has already gone through most of it so there are no errors that I can see. Write more!
On a busy commercial street there was a shop. It was tucked away between larger buildings, secluded and dark. Out of the flow of commuters, stepped a tall man in a dark suit, directly in front of the shop called TRINKETS AND TREASURES. Unlike the other businesses, none entered this place. He stepped forward, heralded by a small tinkle above the door.
Immediately he was overcome by stale, dusty air. All about him there were all manner of oddities: model aircraft, figurines of dragons, wizards…truly it was aptly named. His son would have loved it, he thought, smiling sadly. Behind the counter, a lanky, be-speckled teen looked up from the comic he was reading. His smile of welcome was replaced with a look of horror as he saw the man before him. He shot upwards, upending his chair with a crash and scattering objects everywhere.
“You couldn’t…couldn’t possibly” he stuttered “Couldn’t be, you couldn’t know…”
“I’m sorry Comrade”, the tall man said softly, in a husky Russian accent. He pulled out a sleek pistol, with suppressor already attached. Seeing his intent, the boy tried to run out a back exit, but made it only to the doorway. A soft sound, then the boy crashed onto the floor, a small red stain already spreading down the side of his face.
The man closed his eyes softly, “Target acquired”, he whispered. Tucking the gun away, he walked over to the exit. Taking out some tissues with his gloved hands, he gently wiped the blood spatter and brain matter away. When done he placed the bloodied tissues in a plastic bag, then turned to set about returning the desk to its natural state. Switching on the computer, he quickly accessed and activated the meltdown process. Every hacker had one; it would destroy all files, encoded or otherwise. He took one last look around, noting the dusty stairway in the corner, but seeing nothing untoward.
“Open the door Comrade,” he called out. Hearing nothing in reply, he tried again “Please, do not make me hurt you, just open the door.”
“Y-y-you won’t hurt me?” A teenage voice stammered, after a moment’s silence. “I-I-I don’t want to die, man. Oh god I don’t want to die.”
“No one does Comrade, that I promise you, now please. Open the door” The man closed his eyes, hating to lie but knowing that it was necessary. A moment later, he heard scrambling noises, followed by footsteps, then the sound of a lock turning. The door creaked open, revealing a geek’s equivalent of wealth; signed and framed posters of superheroes plastered the walls like a second layer of paint. Stacks of comics lay every which way, covering the small bed, and figurines/bobble heads stood tall, silent sentinels amid this geek’s abode. But what caught his attention was the computer screen in the corner- its glow filled the small room.
He looked away then squeezed the trigger. A soft sound, the brother to the one emitted only moments ago, was followed by the body crumpling to the ground.
Blood and brain matter was everywhere; too much too clean quickly. He went quickly to the computer and was just in time to see a message pop up:
Message sent to freaky_geek@hotmail.com
I'll take it then, that you like this newer version, eh Torpy. Im not sure when I will post/write the next part, but it shouldnt be too long from now.
Yeah, the 'M' was meant to be capitalized. Thanks for your comments Doe and others. I personally think there isnt enough to it. As if he should have done more, what with being a professional and all. So, Ive added to it. Tell me if it's better or worse.
Thanks,
~Jiggy.
On a busy commercial street there was a shop. It was tucked away between larger buildings, secluded and dark. Out of the flow of commuters, stepped a tall man in a dark suit, directly in front of the shop called TRINKETS AND TREASURES. Unlike the other businesses, none entered this place. He stepped forward, heralded by a small tinkle above the door.
The man closed his eyes softly, “Target acquired”, he whispered.
His Mission completed, he turned to leave.
It was $5.99. He took out the correct money, placed it on the desk and left as quietly as he had entered, dragon in tow.
Awesome, thanks for your comments. I'll get to fixing those errors. As for the BMW/Bus thing, yes there are reasons for its existence, the primary one being that he is wealthy and yet opts instead to take a bus ride. There's another reason why he takes the bus but that'll be explained later.
Thanks again!
Ooh. Mysterious! :O
I liked it. Pretty original. Pretty decent "reader catcher" past the first few sentences. I'm curious as to why what happened happened. Write more. 
=========================================================================
It was tucked away between larger buildings, secluded and dark. Out of the flow of commuters, stepped a tall man in a dark suit,
Tucking the gun away, he walked over the exit. Taking out some tissues with his gloved hands, he gently wiped the blood spatter and brain matter away.
His Mission completed, he turned to leave. Noticing as he did so, a small plastic statue of an embattled dragon, rearing above some human invaders.
He could have gone to his luxury BMW, but instead he walked the distance to a bus stop where a vehicle awaited. He paid his fare and sat down as the bus clunked and rattled to life.
Some moments later, he reached into his breast pocket, and took out his most prized possession: a fragile photo.
Gently, he thumbed it straight and gazed down at his smiling family.
Cool. Cheers ppl. I'll add on as soon as I can, Im all too busy lately. I wish I could just focus on my stories, but I cant at the moment. We'll see what happens.
Thanks for the comments, and please if you feel there is something that needs to be improved upon...dont hesitate to mention it.
Cheers,
~Jiggy
That was good. Okay, so that was very good. It was original like everyone else has said.
You started off kind of weak, but it got better the farther you read. Your grammar, punctuation, and spelling is good, but could do with a small bit of improvement. Just piddly stuff. It didn't take away from the story though. Hopefully we'll get a bit more of a description of the main character later on. There wasn't much physical description which left a lot up to the reader. I hope we get some more background too.
Really good so far. Not great, but really good. 
3.5/5 smilies.
Thanks For orginality ive noiticed its been mentioned before I have started an oringinal story or i belive to be orriginal but i didnt know what to put it under but yah keep it up dont fall in the groove
Lol, thanks. Its always good to hear such things.
Comments are appreciated, so thanks again.
I left but came back, lol. I got one more comment.
this story seemes original and too many stories arent anymore so keep up the good work.
112,515 Literary Works • 603,685 Reviews
Points: 6517
Reviews: 798
Donate