um..yeah. so i have been trying to write a story. my attempts so far have produced two semi-finished "bits of writing". its waaay harder than i thought it would be, too! i will keep plugging away at them till they meet my satisfaction (im Mr Perfectionist sometimes so it may be a while!)
...in the meantime, since i couldnt sleep i decided to write this. Im still not sure *how* to write a story, let alone a *good* one, but as a first attempt, i hope that it will suffice. the little note at the end should explain why it was a bit easier for me to write this.
hope you enjoy it :)
Breathing lightly and crouched over, the Urban Commando ran through the garden. He paused for cover behind a big shrub and looked around. No enemy was in sight. He was not surprised. He had killed them all. Ruthlessly, quickly, silently.
He was mean and tough and deadly, a true lone wolf and unstoppable. His mission was successful. Single-handedly he had penetrated enemy lines, found the enemies lair, killed all the guards and blew up the complex. All he had to do now was to escape.
The perfume from the flowerbed was heady and the buzz of the bees belied the drama that was unfolding. The Commando knew that he had stirred up a hornets nest, that the enemy was right now mobilising all its forces to track him down. Stealthily he crept through the flowerbed towards the big wooden shed that was perched on a raised bank at the end of the garden. The shed was huge. Old and crippled, its shadow loomed over him as he approached. Ever aware of the enemy, he hugged the dank wooden sides and crept round the corner towards the high wall.
A sudden sound made him hit the dirt. Still as death itself and ready to fight, the Commando listened. Lying in the cool shade of the shed, the smell of rich earth and composting vegetation filled his senses. He was still safe, invisible. His only weapons were stealth, cunning and his bare hands. They were all he needed. His whole body filled with tension as he inched his way slowly to the base of the wall. His eyes darted everywhere but saw no enemy. This time though, he knew they were close.
With incredible agility and strength the Commando leapt explosively at the wall. This was the most critical part, he was totally exposed as his fingers and toes found purchase in the crumbling brickwork. He hauled himself to the top of the wall and rolled off to the other side. Like a panther he landed lightly and in a semi crouch, ready for the shouts, he paused and checked his surroundings. It was a dirty little alleyway that bisected the houses. The sun didn’t penetrate well here and the gloom suited him well. Grinning evilly to himself and feeling in full control, the Commando made his way slowly through the discarded detritus left by the residents. Looking around, he noticed that the walls of the alleyway were a full six feet higher than he was. If he was spotted now he would be caught like a rat in a trap. Fully confident of himself, ready to deal with whatever came his way he…….
A frenzied attack!!! Without warning a huge beast had launched itself from the other side of one of the alley walls. Staring up in horror, the Commando saw teeth… big teeth set in a hairy snarling muzzle, ready to rip and shred. The mad staring eyes of the beast focussed on him and rolled up to the whites as it howled. Flecks of foam dribbled from its huge snapping jaws. Blind panic assailed the Commando, as he turned and ran, all he could hear was the scrabbling of the beast’s massive claws digging into the wall as it tried to climb into the alleyway. Panic was overwhelmed by fear. It raced up the Commandos spine and filled his brain with solid white noise, cutting off any rational thought. Fight or flight, there was no contest - his body was filled with pure adrenaline. And he ran.
Drenched with fear, stumbling and moaning the Commando ran up the alleyway. He clutched at his ears to block out the sound of the snarling, wailing beast. Running blindly he bounced off the walls. When he tripped and fell he thought that he was going to die. He could almost feel hot foetid breath on his neck. His skin tingled with the expectation of imminent pain and horrific damage the beast would cause while ripping him apart.
Almost beside himself with numb terror, the Commando managed to get to his feet and on legs that felt like rubber, he ran like he had never run before. Sobbing and moaning he made it to the end of the alleyway. He was almost safe. Almost home….
When he got through
the door, his mum took one look at him and asked why he had been crying and why
he was in such a grubby mess. Suddenly, he wasn’t a rough, tough human killing
machine on a secret mission. He was simply a ten year old boy playing imaginary
games. The garden was his back garden. The shed was where he stored his
bike…..and the savage beast….. That was a neighbours Alsatian that the boy
never knew was there.
The "style" seems a little childish only because most of it was written from memory... *I* was that ten year old boy ROFL! I had a really good imagination then and i was really enjoying myself, wrapped up in the fantasy when that bloody dog scred the living poo out of me.
It all actually happened (apart from the killing and commando stuff, obviously), and i simply described what it felt like at the time. Oh, and the dog just stayed on his side of the wall and barked. it just *seemed* like he was climbing over and giving chase.
funny the things you remember at three in the morning :)