Young Writers Society

This is my new version of the Little Terrorist Prologue.


Prologue

The night was silent and nothing stirred. The silence to was too quiet, and in a way it was disturbing. You always tend to hear some kind of noise when you’re out and about. But the quietness was beyond imagination.

Mrs Price sat in her flowery chair watching Songs of Praise on her 1960s TV set.
“Your body broken on the tree, the blood you shed to set us free…” she chorused.

She was singing the next part of the song when there was a knock at her door. Mrs Price sighed. “Who on Earth could that be at this hour?” She heaved herself out of her chair and walked into the hallway towards the front door. There was another knock, but this time it was more like a bang.
“Just wait a minute, dear. I’ll be there.” Mrs Price said with a sweet granny tone in her voice.

She took the chain off and turned the key and opened the door. There was a small ‘Pss’ sound and Mrs Price tumbled down onto the floor. A sixteen year old boy in a black leather motorbike suit stood in the doorway, holding a silenced handgun in his hand.
“Move in,” he said, and several teenagers in black Kevlar body armour stormed in, carrying L85 Assault rifles. They were wearing black gas masks and had two pistols in their belts each.

The teenager in the leather suit walked into the hallway. “Raid the place, burn anything that’s shite in the back garden. Keep any cash and anything that looks more than fifty quid. Then radio HQ to tell us that we have control of the house and say to send more units to take over the village. The SPS don’t stand a chance.” And at that moment, the boy a large evil grin on his face and then started to shoot the dead body of Mrs Price.

First thing: the title. It sounds like Little Einsteins or The Little Rascals. I'm sorry, but a sixteen year old boy shouldn't be killing some lady when his 'agency' sounds like some little kid TV show.

Second thing:

two side arms each

I'm sorry if I don't have the 'battle-scene/secret service tech' lingo, but I don't know what this means.

Third thing: Great prologue. Keep it coming. I can't wait to see what the little terrorists will do next.

Sorry, but, as usual, I forgot some stuff.

Fourth thing: SPS are the initials for my school! Whoopee!

Fifth thing: Why would the guy shoot a dead body? Just curious. Okay, I'll go away now and stop pestering you at half past midnight. Cheerio!

The boy's agency isn't called Little Terrorists.

Thanks for the critique. I'm good at prologues., but not at books

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Prologue Critique
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*grins* Nice, I love the idea but I do have a few points.

She was singing the next part of the song when there was a knock at her door. Mrs Price sighed. “Who on Earth could that be at this hour?” She heaved herself out of her chair and walked into the hallway towards the front door. There was another knock at the door, but this time it was a bang.

Ahhhh, too many doors in such an enclosed space. Try to get rid of some, it will make this tense moment even more sudden and give the story a lot more pace.

Mrs Price said, witha sweet granny tone in her voice.

Either have 'with' and get rid of the comma, or get rid of 'with' and keep the comma. Both together don't work!

There was a small ‘Pss’ sound and Mrs Price dropped dead one the floor.

Ok, two things here.
1) 'One' need to be replaced with 'on'.
2) Dead. Hmmm. Very to the point. I personally hate the use of 'dead' in writing. Here, I feel that it would be far better if it was replaced with a 'slumped to the ground' or 'crumpled and fell to the ground' or anything except 'dead'. I think that it sort of kills the story and tension at the same time as Mrs Price . Also, your readers aren't stupid. If you have her fall to the ground they will realise she's died without you telling them. I'm sure you've heard the 'show don't tell' phrase so do it!

They were wearing black gas masks and had two side arms each

I think the solution here that stops it sounding like two actual arms is to use a hyphen. 'Side-arms'? If I'm wrong, I'm sorry but I think it would make it easier to read.

The man in the leather suit walked into the hallway.

Earlier in the prologue he was described as a:

sixteen year old boy

but now he has become a man? I think the idea of keeping them 'Little Terrorists' is to keep them young.

“Raid the place, burn anything that’s shite in the back garden. Keep any cash and anything that looks more than fifty quid. And radio HQ to tell us that we have control of the house and say to send more units to take over the village. The SPS don’t stand a chance.” And at that moment, the boy, a large evil grin on his face, and then started to shoot the dead body of Mrs Price

Please cut down on your 'and' usage. It looks obvious when they're laid out in bold . Please also just proof read the very last sentence, it just doesn't flow nicely, and add a full-stop at the end.


Enough of the line-by-line critiquing. It interested me! I did read it so it can't have been too bad! Try not to be put off by the amount of critique. The more I write, the more I want to see it flourish. You have a talent for making the story come alive, I can very much sympathise with poor Mrs Price and it is a good place to start a prologue! I'd recommend proof reading yourself a couple of times to cut down on the few mistakes that you do make. Now, if you'll forgive me for this long critique I'll keep reading .

DarkLight

Thanks a lot for your critique dark light.

You don't become a man/woman until your 18 and that is a fact. And you don't usually find terrorists under 20, do you? Terrorists are usually 25 before they start killing. 'Little Terrorists' is a book series I wrote when I was 9. I'm rewriting it to make it better.

I'll fix the prologue and I'll post chapter one.

Chapter One

Kevin Kuff, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, sat at his desk typing into his laptop. It was seven o’clock and Kevin was absolutely shattered. He picked up his black corded phone and dialled ’131321’.
“Hello?” said a female voice.
“Hi, Jessica, could you make me a cup of coffee…Thanks. Bye!”

Kevin then put the phone down and got back on with typing into his laptop. The phone rang and Kevin quickly picked it up.
“Hello Microsoft UK, how can I help you?” said the Prime Minister. He always used that answer when someone phoned his telephone in his office.
“I’m watching you,” said a voice. It was a dark and creepy voice which sent a shiver down Kevin’s spine.
“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve dialled the wrong number,” said Kevin and went to put the phone down.
“If you put that phone down, your head will be lying on the desk!” shouted the voice, but with a tone of anger in the voice. It was defiantly a man speaking.

Kevin froze, still keeping the phone to his ear. “Who are you?” asked Kevin, shaking with fear.
“Your worst nightmare!” And at that moment, there was a gunshot, the sound of glass breaking and Kevin’s head hit his desk. Kevin Kuff, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, had just been the second Prime Minister to be assassinated.

*
Over the past three weeks, two hundred civilians who had lived in the village where Mrs Price was killed and four members of the economy and one member of the military. John Pearson, Chancellor of Exchequer, had been stabbed when eating his breakfast, Kevin Kuff, the Prime Minister, had been shot in the head in his office. David Surrey, Deputy Prime Minister, had been poisoned and Andrew Petrie, the Home Secretary, had been bitten by a snake when he was visiting a wild life centre in Glasgow. Field Marshall Connor Sydney had been found dead at the bottom of Ben Nevis in the Scottish Mountains. It looked like he’d fallen off a cliff. The Police had classified the killings as murder. But there was no use in making an investigation. Britain was wide open for an attack.

“Bastards!” shouted Jack at his mates. They sat around a table in a café. “Bastards! They’ve killed everyone that runs the country and we’re wide open to attack. What will happen next? The Chief of Police is found dead in a wardrobe. He then got a text message. It was from BBC News 24. He got updates when new headlines came in.
“Shit,” groaned Jack, looking at the message.
“What?” said one of his mates.
“Lee Stuart, Chief of Police, was shot by a sniper when entering the Metropolitan Police Station,” Jack explained.
Jack Muldoon was a fifteen year old teenager and had no family at all. Jack was the Tae Kwon Do Junior European Champion three years running. He was strong, well-built and as girls called him, cute. Jack had been taught by General Choi Hong Hi, the founder of Tae Kwon Do. Jack had blue eyes, soft blond hair and a curved scar in the left corner of his forehead.

Jack’s most precious secret was that he was in the SPS. The Special Protection Service was a military regiment that helped the government when he had a problem with teenagers and young adults. The SPS soldiers were aged between eleven and twenty. The SPS was a secret part of the army and who ever found out who wasn’t supposed to, would disappear off the face of the Earth.

Jack’s mobile started to ring ‘My Happy Ending’ and the number that came up was classified as Private. “Excuse me, lads,” he said and got up out of his chair and walked outside.
“Hello,” said Jack.
“Jack,” answered a voice. “We need you just now at HQ. Something’s come up.”
“Is it something big?”
“Yip. This is serious. Lives are at risk if we don’t take action. The head of MI5, who is now in charge of the country just now, has handed the situation to us.”
“This must be serious then. He only does that when he’s shitting himself.”
“Yeah. I’ve sent a BMW X5 to come and pick you up.”
“Thanks. Here it is now. I’ll see you at HQ. See ya.”
“Cheero, Jack.”

Jack snapped his mobile shut and slipped it into his pocket. A black BMW X5 stopped in front of him and Jack opened the unscratched black door and stepped into the car.
“Alright, Chris,” said Jack, putting on his seatbelt.
“Yeah,” answered Chris and started to drive. He was wearing black trousers, a black T-shirt and a black jacket. His hair was gelled, wore black sunglasses and had an earpiece with a wire running down into his jacket in his ear. Chris looked about twenty four but was only nineteen
“Do you know what has happened that the SPS needs to come in?” asked Jack.
“Yeah. Remember our friends the SS?” said Chris, turning right.
“Yeah. They tried to blow up the Dutch Embassy in Manchester,” said Jack, curious.
“Well, they’re the bastards that have been causing all this mess. Since most of their terrorist group are kid, teens and young adults, the situation has been handed to us.” Chris then turned left up an alleyway that was very tight. Only one car would fit.

Chris then started to speed faster at about fifty miles per hour. Jack held onto himself.
“Jesus Chris! Slow down! A car could come out at the other end of the alley!” exclaimed Jack.
“Orders,” said Chris. He pressed his foot further down on the accelerator and the speedometer went up to seventy miles per hour.
“Orders my arse! Slow down!” shouted Jack. He really was close to shitting himself.
Suddenly, Chris took a violent left turn into a garage. He then stopped, proving that his breaks were working. “Happy?” said Chris, looking at Jack.
“Yeah.” said Jack and looked out of the window.
“HQ, this is Chris picking up Jack. Can you please deploy the ramp?” said Chris, into his microphone. Suddenly, a piece of the ground in front of them gave way, turning into a ramp and Chris drove down in it and into the ground.

Chris had to switch his headlights on full blast to see where he was going. Chris and Jack were driving along a long tunnel with a bulkhead at the end. There was only space for one car to move along. The ground was as smooth as could be and was made out of hard concrete.

Finally, they reached the bulk head. It slowly opened when the car stopped. It eventually opened and the car moved forward to the other side of the bulkhead.

At the other side of the bulkhead, was a large indoor car park. Chris parked the BMW next to a black Mercedes.
“You go on ahead,” said Chris. Jack got out of the car and ran over to the lift. It came quickly and he disappeared into it.

Chris turned off the car engine and sat there. He was bored with his life because he never got any of the action.

Suddenly, Chris heard the bulkhead opened. He heard footsteps then the bulkhead closed. There was then a silence. Chris sat still, not daring to reach for his gun in his holster. The footsteps then started again. They were getting louder and louder. Chris realized that the footsteps were coming towards him. Then they stopped. The silence was to quiet, just like it was when Mrs Price was murdered. Chris looked out his window.

Then there was a ’Pss’ sound and Chris’s body tilled to the left and lay there. Blood leaked out of his forehead.