Monday, November 01, 2010

short story

short story Monday is started.

story 1.

the stairs.

To start, I must tell you my mother times the coffee machine for insane times in the morning, so this mistake was well placed. It was 2 am when I woke up to the sound of a coffee maker dripping, dripping, dripping. It drove me up the wall. I got up, and walked down the unreliable rickety staircase, creaking, I knew that I was being the opposite of stealthy. My sister, Maggie, dressed in her princess pajamas, opened her door, and said, "John, what are you doing?" I said I was just going downstairs to turn off the coffee maker, it had woken me up.
"Can I come?"
I said sure, but only if she promised to go right to sleep after. With her promise tightly secured by a lock and key, I picked up my 8 year old sister, and we went down the stairs. What was waiting for us, we never could have foreseen.

The bodies of my parents were quite possibly the worst sight I ever had seen. My mother, in her red dress that always gained her the wrong kind attention, and my father in his bathrobe, arms flayed like a crucified bank accountant had a shocked look on his face. "Mags, go up stairs. Now."
"But John, I. I. Mom?"
"mags. Now."
The little girl just sank on the floor, and cried.

I heard a clanking sound coming from the kitchen, and I heard a rough voice saying, "Shit! Kids!" and two men dressed in black turtlenecks with a green snake embroidered on the back, ran out of the screen door.
I grabbed the nearest thing I could, an old blue umbrella, told Mags to call the police, and charged head first into danger.

No one could run faster then I, with my 15 year old agility , a burning feeling of pain and excitement resided in my stomach, and an adrenaline rush like nothing I had ever experienced, caught up with the burglars. I beat the closest one, a man in his forties, over the head with the umbrella, he swore, and turned around, producing a butterfly knife. He charged me. I hit his hand with my umbrella tip, causing him to drop the knife. The other, turned around, pulled a gun. And fired.

My last thoughts were the blue and red lights on street. And of mags. Now all alone. I felt sorry for her. Wished I could have stayed alive, or had her die with me. Not for her to be left alone. An eight year old with an idiot brother.
And then. Nothing.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

I'm back and better then ever!

Well, It's been three years! I can't belive that i haven't posted for that long!

Well, I am almost 15 now, and I am back! seeing as time has passed, so have my interests, tastes in music, and stuff, so don't be shocked if the main theme of this site is no longer Bionicles and World of Warcraft.

Glad to be back.