Young Writers Society

I was either 2 minutes away from being a dead man or 2 minutes away from freedom being a free man (This I do for the purpose of parallel syntax and whatnot) . But death or freedom didn’t matter to me now. It was too late to turn back and soon there would be nothing to turn back to.
My legs were moving as fast as they could through the hi-tech lab corridors. A few highly trained killers chasing you with m4s could turn anyone into an instant track star. this sentence doesn't quite fit. Maybe if you said he was flying through the halls? Something that expresses great speed. Because even when I run as fast as I can, I am slow...
Three more steps to freedom.
Two more steps.
One more step.
A bullet whizzed past my neck as I slammed into the door, pushing it open and falling on the concrete ground outside.
My watched started to beep slowly. I was running out of time. This place would be blown to a pile of rubble in a minute.
I got up quickly and glanced around, to checking out my surroundings. I was in a biodome-511, one of Nexus’s many enclosed ecosystems, and man-made rain was falling on top of me. I was surrounded by new plants and trees they were trying to create.Okay, I have two problems with this: How could he have landed on concrete in a biodome? unless there were sidewalks of some sort... Second, if he is surrounded by these plants, then they ARE created, not "trying to be".
A group of armored Humvees circled the exit, cutting off my escape route. This is wonderfully intense. I would just like some mention of huge scary men. With guns. But that might just be my unhealthy love of action movies...These idiots had no idea their lab was about to self-destruct. I needed another plan for escape.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The pace of my watch had quickened. I didn’t have time for another plan. I’d just have to try to outsmart the Humvees.
10 seconds.
With no plan at all in my head you keep repeating "plan" so it would be peachy keen if you could find another way to say the same idea. something like "Without really thinking" would do, I took off at full speed toward the exit. I was still hidden by the underbrush and the Nexus’s now they're "the Nexus"? I don't know if it matters... hired guns couldn’t see me yet.
Beep. Beep. 1 second. Beep. I was out of time. Something like "I braced myself for the explosion" would be really keep-you-on-the-edge-of-your-seat dramatic. Then you could say "but it never came" or something of that nature. Silence.
“Good Morning New York City. You are listening to k-409 ‘the beatz’. I'm Ron Wexter and I’ll be bringing you the hottest tunes in the countdown until New Years,” My radio screeched at full volume.
I grabbed my head and felt my shoulders. I was alive and in one piece. Great dream. I sat up in my bed. I knew it was more than a dream and probably a link to the past. But For now, I need to just forget about it.
“Oh look the psycho kid is up,” Winston said, sitting on his bed looking into a magazine. “Of course, you would pick the radio station that plays terrible music to wake you up Consider using a simpler phrase. Something like "crap music". He may be rich but he still uses slang words like psycho, so i would keep that character trait. Adds some depth. was a lanky guy with messy blonde hair that he never combed. His chin was stuck in the air and his face read I’m-smarter-than-you. His face fit his attitude.
Needs some transition. Something like "I scoffed" or some eye-rolling. Just something...The radio station was fine. Winston hated any music that had a good beat or rhythm. Since I didn’t live my life to please Winston, I played my music loud and clear.
“Ryan, don’t you have some psychologist to see today?” Winston said, looking annoyed.
“What’s it you?” I asked.
“Just wanted to make sure you remembered,” he said before laughing obnoxiously to himself.
Ignoring his comment, I threw on some jeans, a hoodie and my favorite snapback hat. I couldn't never stay in a room too long with Winston. I figured I would meet my psychologist and then grab some grub.
I stepped into a regal hallway, one of many I lived in Stadere Academy, a boarding school for rich kids, but I wasn’t rich. I wasn't even close nowhere close to being rich either. Because I had no parents and good grades, I was accepted into this program. What program? Explain a bit more please. it was better than foster care.

I was either 2 minutes away from being a dead man or 2 minutes away from being a free man. But death or freedom didn’t matter to me now. It was too late to turn back and soon there would be nothing to turn back to.
My legs were moving as fast as they could through the hi-tech lab corridors. A few highly trained killers chasing you with m4s could turn anyone into an instant track star.
Three more steps to freedom.
Two more.
One more.
A bullet whizzed past my neck as I slammed into the door, pushing it open and falling on the concrete ground outside.
My watch started to beep slowly. I was running out of time. This place would be blown into a pile of rubble in a minute.
I got up quickly and glanced around, checking out my surroundings. I was in a biodome-511, one of Nexus’s many enclosed ecosystems, and artificial rain was falling on me. I was surrounded by new species of plants and trees Nexus had created.
A group of armored Humvees circled the exit, cutting off my escape route. These idiots had no idea their lab was about to self-destruct. I needed another plan for escape.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The pace of my watch had quickened. I didn’t have time for another plan. I’d just have to try to outsmart the Humvees.
10 seconds.
Without really thinking, I took off at full speed toward the exit. I was still hidden by the underbrush and the Nexus’s hired guns couldn’t see me yet.
Beep. Beep. 1 second. Beep. I was out of time. Silence.

“Good Morning New York City. You are listening to k-409 ‘the beatz’. I‘m Ron Wexter and I’ll be bringing you the hottest tunes in the countdown until New Years,” My radio screeched at full volume.
I grabbed my head and felt my shoulders. I was alive and in one piece. Great dream. I sat up in my bed. I knew it was more than a dream and probably a link to the past. But for now, I need to just forget about it.
“Oh look the psycho kid is up,” Winston said, sitting on his bed looking into a magazine. “Of course, you would pick the worst radio station in New York to wake yourself up. Turn it off before I go deaf.”
I rolled my eyes. Winston was my dorm mate. He was a lanky guy with messy blonde hair that he never combed. His chin was stuck in the air and his face read I’m smarter than you. His face fit his attitude.
The radio station was fine. Winston hated any music that had a good beat or rhythm. Since I didn’t live my life to please Winston, I played my music loud and clear.
“Ryan, don’t you have some psychologist to see, today?” Winston said, looking annoyed.
“What’s it with you?” I asked.
“Just wanted to make sure you remembered,” he said before laughing obnoxiously to himself.
Ignoring his comment, I threw on some jeans, a hoodie and my favorite snapback hat. I couldn't ever stay in a room too long with Winston. I figured I would meet my psychologist and then grab some breakfast.
I stepped into a regal hallway, one of many in Stadere Academy, a boarding school for rich kids, but I wasn’t rich. I was nowhere close to being rich either. Because I had no parents and good grades, I was accepted into this program. It was better than foster care.