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Literature Text
Have you ever asked yourself, “Would you ever kill someone?” If I asked another person they would just laugh and call me crazy, but when I ask myself the same question more pop up. Like Why? Why Would I do it?
To protect someone, replies a calm voice.
As look up at myself in the glass and see the empty look on my face I ask, Who? Who would I protect?
The person you care for the most, responds the voice so softly.
As I recall my past and my present my face changes to that of annoyance, That doesn’t really help me.
Sorry... I can’t tell you more than what you already know. The final comment made me stop and like when you wake up from a nightmare you can’t remember my mind becomes silent. I can’t remember if it was the sound of a woman screaming or the fact that I was having a conversation with a voice in my head that made me look through the glass and into the coffee shop.
***********************************************************************************
After it happened I wonder if it was fate or luck or some mystical force that I was there. In the end I decided it was my habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time that lead me there. Although the thing I wonder most is what would of happened if I wasn’t there and decided to do like almost every action movie star does and play the hero.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
My first though was to run. Like everyone in the coffee shop I was scared. Who wouldn’t be?
There you go again with the questions. What’s with you and questions?
The fierce tone of the voice snapped me out of my confusion and let me focus on what was happening in front of me. “I should help them, shouldn’t I?” “Do they need my help?” “I wonder If anyone has called the pol...”
Shut up! Do you hear yourself? Your decision making skills really need improvement. Think about the people inside. That guy in there doesn’t look like he is making friends. Make a decision for them.
I ran even before making up my mind. I knew that someone had to do something, and I decided it would be me. So I swung open the door and charged at him. He pointed a gun at me and I heard nothing not people screaming, the man shouting profanity, but a voice in my head saying, He had a gun. Who knew?
And before I could even shout a sarcastic remark at myself. I dropped. Not like a stone. Not like a brick. Like a teenager with a bullet in his shoulder that wishes he didn’t try to be the hero. As soon as I heard footsteps, my eyes flashed open to see the man standing over me.
He stood about 6’7” a whole half a foot taller than me and I could still smell the overwhelming stench of whiskey on his breath as he slurred a, “Hey, Mr. Hero. How’s the floor. Is it comfy?” He laughed hard at his own joke that I didn’t find too funny, but heck I wasn’t in any position to say otherwise. That was until he lost a hold of his gun.
After he talked to me he stood up and walked into a table. Straight into it and I would say he hit it hard by the way he went, “OOF!” I would have laughed if I wasn’t bleeding profusely and in agonizing pain, but there was one person a girl about the age of six who did.
Now that got him mad. He rushed over to the girl on the other side of the room and pointed the gun at her yelling, “You think this is funny? You think this is funny? Well I will tell you what is funny! And frankly this isn’t it,” but with the whole thing said like he had a dozen marshmallows in his mouth, the girl jst looked on confused and scared. Before another hero stepped up.
I didn’t know what the raven haired girl thought she was doing, or who she was. I didn’t believe she was an angel, but I hoped she was because we were in desperate need a miracle.
The girl ran in between the man and the girl, then kicked the man in the hand sending the gun across the room. He responded by punching her in the gut, grabbing her hair, and throwing her to the floor. After that he pulled out a large knife like you see in the slasher flicks.
I have never fired, held, or even seen a gun until that day. Where I held that pistol in one hand. Only needing the simple words, pick up that gun, and help her, as encouragement.
Although I can’t remember if I told him to stop when he was attacking the girl or when he was running at me, but I knew that by then I knew this was the moment of truth. A moment where time goes by too quickly for some and so slow for others. I felt as if time just stopped as the man fell to the the ground not even having enough time to clench his wound before his body made a reasonably loud thud on the tiled floor.
My first thought was relief, then nothing, then overwhelming pain as I dropped to a knee. The heroine ran over to me and looked into my eyes as she asked me if I was alright, but instead of answering I stared into her hypnotic green eyes before I felt unconsciousness wash over me.
***********************************************************************************
I woke up blinded by white and a calm soothing voice. Hoping I was in a hospital, I looked around and saw my right arm in a sling, an IV in my left hand and a dark head of long hair staring at me. “How are you Mr. Hero?”We laughed at her joke which I think we both found a lot funnier than the one made by that man.
The man I killed. I shot. The one I wonder if I should feel bad about.
But you don’t, my voice stated.
I know I don’t, but I don’t know why.
Because you protected the person you cared for the most.
I don’t think it makes it right, does it?
That’s it, you missed the point, and you ask too many questions.
“Hello, Mr. Hero. Are you alright?” Another voice broke me out of my conversation in my mind.
“Oh, ya, I’m alright. And the name it Kit.”
“Oh, I’m Skye.”
“Hey, when I get out of here would you like to get some coffee?”
“Sure what’s the worse that can happen?”
To protect someone, replies a calm voice.
As look up at myself in the glass and see the empty look on my face I ask, Who? Who would I protect?
The person you care for the most, responds the voice so softly.
As I recall my past and my present my face changes to that of annoyance, That doesn’t really help me.
Sorry... I can’t tell you more than what you already know. The final comment made me stop and like when you wake up from a nightmare you can’t remember my mind becomes silent. I can’t remember if it was the sound of a woman screaming or the fact that I was having a conversation with a voice in my head that made me look through the glass and into the coffee shop.
***********************************************************************************
After it happened I wonder if it was fate or luck or some mystical force that I was there. In the end I decided it was my habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time that lead me there. Although the thing I wonder most is what would of happened if I wasn’t there and decided to do like almost every action movie star does and play the hero.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
My first though was to run. Like everyone in the coffee shop I was scared. Who wouldn’t be?
There you go again with the questions. What’s with you and questions?
The fierce tone of the voice snapped me out of my confusion and let me focus on what was happening in front of me. “I should help them, shouldn’t I?” “Do they need my help?” “I wonder If anyone has called the pol...”
Shut up! Do you hear yourself? Your decision making skills really need improvement. Think about the people inside. That guy in there doesn’t look like he is making friends. Make a decision for them.
I ran even before making up my mind. I knew that someone had to do something, and I decided it would be me. So I swung open the door and charged at him. He pointed a gun at me and I heard nothing not people screaming, the man shouting profanity, but a voice in my head saying, He had a gun. Who knew?
And before I could even shout a sarcastic remark at myself. I dropped. Not like a stone. Not like a brick. Like a teenager with a bullet in his shoulder that wishes he didn’t try to be the hero. As soon as I heard footsteps, my eyes flashed open to see the man standing over me.
He stood about 6’7” a whole half a foot taller than me and I could still smell the overwhelming stench of whiskey on his breath as he slurred a, “Hey, Mr. Hero. How’s the floor. Is it comfy?” He laughed hard at his own joke that I didn’t find too funny, but heck I wasn’t in any position to say otherwise. That was until he lost a hold of his gun.
After he talked to me he stood up and walked into a table. Straight into it and I would say he hit it hard by the way he went, “OOF!” I would have laughed if I wasn’t bleeding profusely and in agonizing pain, but there was one person a girl about the age of six who did.
Now that got him mad. He rushed over to the girl on the other side of the room and pointed the gun at her yelling, “You think this is funny? You think this is funny? Well I will tell you what is funny! And frankly this isn’t it,” but with the whole thing said like he had a dozen marshmallows in his mouth, the girl jst looked on confused and scared. Before another hero stepped up.
I didn’t know what the raven haired girl thought she was doing, or who she was. I didn’t believe she was an angel, but I hoped she was because we were in desperate need a miracle.
The girl ran in between the man and the girl, then kicked the man in the hand sending the gun across the room. He responded by punching her in the gut, grabbing her hair, and throwing her to the floor. After that he pulled out a large knife like you see in the slasher flicks.
I have never fired, held, or even seen a gun until that day. Where I held that pistol in one hand. Only needing the simple words, pick up that gun, and help her, as encouragement.
Although I can’t remember if I told him to stop when he was attacking the girl or when he was running at me, but I knew that by then I knew this was the moment of truth. A moment where time goes by too quickly for some and so slow for others. I felt as if time just stopped as the man fell to the the ground not even having enough time to clench his wound before his body made a reasonably loud thud on the tiled floor.
My first thought was relief, then nothing, then overwhelming pain as I dropped to a knee. The heroine ran over to me and looked into my eyes as she asked me if I was alright, but instead of answering I stared into her hypnotic green eyes before I felt unconsciousness wash over me.
***********************************************************************************
I woke up blinded by white and a calm soothing voice. Hoping I was in a hospital, I looked around and saw my right arm in a sling, an IV in my left hand and a dark head of long hair staring at me. “How are you Mr. Hero?”We laughed at her joke which I think we both found a lot funnier than the one made by that man.
The man I killed. I shot. The one I wonder if I should feel bad about.
But you don’t, my voice stated.
I know I don’t, but I don’t know why.
Because you protected the person you cared for the most.
I don’t think it makes it right, does it?
That’s it, you missed the point, and you ask too many questions.
“Hello, Mr. Hero. Are you alright?” Another voice broke me out of my conversation in my mind.
“Oh, ya, I’m alright. And the name it Kit.”
“Oh, I’m Skye.”
“Hey, when I get out of here would you like to get some coffee?”
“Sure what’s the worse that can happen?”
Full title "Double Heroccino Extra Mayhem No Foam"
Comments7
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Ahh, I know this is really small and nit-picky, but it's one of my biggest pet peeves |D;
"would of" should be "would have"
There's some problems with verb tense consistancy and that makes it a little harder for me to read.
There's also a few places where you're missing a crucial word that without it, the sentence makes little to no sense, such as, "As look up at myself in the glass..." An easy fix for ths would be to read the story out-loud to yourself and listen to it, see if it makes sense.
Also, watch out for misplaced capitals.
And in some places, your wording would probably be clearer if you added some commas to separate thoughts.
For example, "...but there was one person, a girl about the age of six, who did."
The info about the girl is not necessarily needed in the sentence for it to make sense, and is more of an added in thought, so, adding the commas kind of clears the sentence up. It also makes it look like less of a run-on sentence.
Overall, this is a pretty neat piece.
The man, you've got him down to a pretty good stereo-type of an armed robbery person and thus he is believable.
The plor flows fairly smoothly and it's not your cheesey, traditional over-done scene. You stepped away from that dream-like quality authors tend to use when their chartacer has been shot or injured badly (Which, I'll admit, I've used often). It's interesting that despite the agonizing pain in his shoulder, Kit is able to keep a fairly level head and think about picking up the gun, without thinking about his pain and blah blah blah.
"would of" should be "would have"
There's some problems with verb tense consistancy and that makes it a little harder for me to read.
There's also a few places where you're missing a crucial word that without it, the sentence makes little to no sense, such as, "As look up at myself in the glass..." An easy fix for ths would be to read the story out-loud to yourself and listen to it, see if it makes sense.
Also, watch out for misplaced capitals.
And in some places, your wording would probably be clearer if you added some commas to separate thoughts.
For example, "...but there was one person, a girl about the age of six, who did."
The info about the girl is not necessarily needed in the sentence for it to make sense, and is more of an added in thought, so, adding the commas kind of clears the sentence up. It also makes it look like less of a run-on sentence.
Overall, this is a pretty neat piece.
The man, you've got him down to a pretty good stereo-type of an armed robbery person and thus he is believable.
The plor flows fairly smoothly and it's not your cheesey, traditional over-done scene. You stepped away from that dream-like quality authors tend to use when their chartacer has been shot or injured badly (Which, I'll admit, I've used often). It's interesting that despite the agonizing pain in his shoulder, Kit is able to keep a fairly level head and think about picking up the gun, without thinking about his pain and blah blah blah.