Young Writers Society

Well I did not think I would be standing in the same position ever again.
Not like this.
But there I stood, five feet from my father.
Pull the trigger, I thought to myself. But how could I? Another family member. Not now, not again.

The most dreaded day of my life was the one when they figured out how talented I was. It was a normal day at first, standing in line at McDonald's for one of their burgers for breakfast.

I breathed in the fresh grease from the rotten, rusty grill the store has had for the past twenty years. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of a punk teenager, smiling crookedly at me, under his long, badly cut, black hair.

"Just an ordinary burger, please," I muttered grinning wildly back. He just shrugged and scowled at the complaining little kid stomping her feet behind me.

I stared at her childish features, the round face, the enthusiastic look in her eyes. Something I wish I still had, something I want back. But my days were gone, they were gone before I got into the mess of my life normal people call college.

Then some shady looking thugs stepped in the door. They flashed shiny smiles at my face, and I thought I could actually feel pain as they did. The kid with black hair shoved the bag into my chest, and I glanced back to take my bag.

Sometimes I forgot the effect I had on people, my warm smile and perfectly cut hair.

I rushed hopelessly towards my car, only to notice the thugs following me.

One was a large and muscular man, standing by a beautiful woman. The woman swung her long brunette hair into the face of the short kid standing next to her. I now found my self sprinting to the door of my old blue, rusty truck.

The short kid held up a pistol and aimed it straight toward me, "Stop!" he cried. Unthinking, I came to a halt at the hood of my truck. The boy waved his long, white hair away from his eyes. His eyes were golden brown, and shined gracefully in the dawn sun.

I put my hands up, in an effort to avoid trouble.

This time the woman spoke,"We were wondering if you're Samuel Savage," she murmured. I just nodded my head, slowly and carefully, in case the trigger from the boy's hand might slip.

"Then we understand your brother died," the muscular man said, in a British, deep accent. That is not exactly what happened, I thought to myself, without saying it aloud. "Yes..." I whispered, as if I were about to die anyway. "He died last month."

"No!" the big man cried. "No. He was murdered."

The woman just sat down, moving her lips, whispering to herself. Then she opened her lips more and spat out words. "He was murdered! And the person who murdered your brother, is the one most scared right now."

My face froze up, and then it felt like it was burning. I felt tears bubble up in my eyes. This was no time to cry, I whimpered to myself.

"Yes," is what I managed to breath out.

Then the boy with long white hair grabbed me by the arm and shoved me in his own car, a new corvette. Black, shiny, and exactly like the one I saw at the store, and hoped I would someday get. It was that moment I noticed the words on each of the persons' backs. Across each black leather coat had the death-filled letters, A-S-S-A-S-S-I-N-S.

I felt more tears crawl down my throat... Where am I?

The next thing I noticed was that I was not home. I was not in my own car. I was not anywhere near Seattle.

I was in New York. But how? I stretched my back up to see the person in the front seat. It was the young boy, probably about fifteen, driving the car. That's how. We're in a corvette, anything is possible now.

I nodded my head back on the soft seat, and drifted on back to my nightmares.

I jolted awake in an instant. The car had slammed to a stop, and I felt myself up for the challenge of trying to outrun a bunch of bandits.

When the car door on my side opened, I hopped out swiftly and stepped off to sprint in any direction, any where away from this place.

Dried prunes was all I could smell, and I was constricted in the big man's grip around my neck. I looked up at the sky, and could make out the woman talking to someone, and then I heard the response that sounded like the light, warm voice from the cartoon haired kid.

Then steps were crunching the cold sidewalk behind me. Then the woman laid her hand on my cheek and I flinched. She hesitated at my response, and she spoke softly, in a bubbly girl voice.

"Nice work, Big Hook. Looks like you got the catch of the day," she murmured. "Sam, do you know what you're capable of?"

I just flicked my eyes to connect with her glare. "No, what am I capable of?" I choked out. I tried, unsuccessfully, to struggle free and run away.

I could hear the young boy getting nearer, as the grass was loudly being stomped on.

She smiled lightly, then pressed hardy to my cheek, and politely said," You can kill anyone you set your mind on murdering, Sam." I just puffed my cheeks up, so she quickly clicked her hand away from my face.

"What do you want with me?" I asked, coldly. I never got to eat my burger, and I could feel my stomach getting ready to roar. She grinned a half smile, and set her hand back on my cheek. "We need you to kill Jacob Savage," she muttered, disheartened.

"My dad," I said frozen, only loud enough for me to hear it.

"He has been hanging innocent people, Sam. We need you to put an end to it!" the white haired boy griped, now stepping on the sidewalk.

"And we will give you anything you desire," the muscular man muttered, dropping me to the ground.

I rubbed my neck roughly, and stared down at the kid,"If I don't?"

"We'll kill you ourselves."

"Not much of a negotiator, are you now?" I spat out.

His red eyes just flared up at my scowl. He enjoyed my pain, it seemed.

"Where is he?" I said, already walking toward the front door of the shiny car that brought me here. "Two cities over," the woman murmured. "New York City."

I jumped in the car and pushed the gas. I was already out of the parking lot, when the muscular man yelled at me, "The biggest hotel there!"

I knew they did not trust me, because of the tracker on my GPS. If I got off track, they would most likely hop in some Lamborghini to come shoot me down.

I sped by everything, it was all a flash of white and green. The people stared horrified at my speed, and awed by the shine glowing from my car.

Before I knew it I was at the parking lot of the hugest hotel I have ever seen. Neat, I muttered to myself.

I walked past the people at the desk, questioning me where I was going. I just ignored them and paced on by. Once more tears fled down my rosy cheeks.

I knocked on the door of the room in which my dad was working at, and I couldn't help glaring at my reflection in the glistering photo above the flowers in the hall. In a few seconds I was there, in front of my father. I pointed up the gun, and muttered, "hi," flooding down all my fears and thoughts.

Well I did not think I would be standing in the same position ever again.
Not like this.
But there I stood, five feet from my father.
Pull the trigger, I thought to myself. But how could I? Another family member. Not now, not again.

I curved the gun and thought to myself. If I do this what would happen to the family? What would my father think of me after this? What am I saying? He wouldn't be able to think about me at all after this. I let my last tear dribble down, and I squeezed the trigger.

What a horrible thing I had to do. What a dark Odyssey. Dad would be mad at me. But he'll get over it. Besides, one day he will know why I did this. Maybe one day we'll be able to see each other again, in heaven. For now, he can only glance at me under the ground, next to my tombstone. At least he knows it's not his.

Om my God!!!!!!! So thrilling! So many questions unanswered! I love these type of stories! You are a real master of story telling.

Oh my goodness! What a story. I loved the ending. Faboo. That line about a negotiator made me laugh. I don't know if you have, but you should try writing a full blown mystery novel. That would be a bestseller. ^^

thanks ill try writing a whole novel

It was that moment I noticed the words on each of the persons' backs. Across each black leather coat had the death-filled letters, A-S-S-A-S-S-I-N-S.

I think that is a tad strange, I mean, if you were an assasin, you wouldn't walk around with the word 'assasin' on your leather jacket. You'd be more stealth and inconspicuous...

Another thing that doesnt really seem right to me, is your use of tense... it's like a mix between past and present tense...

Sorry to nit-pick so much, but this was pretty cool.

Olli

ur "nit-picking" is helping me understand what i could fix. I probably shouldve put in the story, tho, that they werent real assassins they were a poser gang

Very good work man. Captivating from the first sentence and kept my attention throughout. I enjoyed the immediate conflict from the being. I think its always good to suck in th reader at the being possibly the most important part of writing getting your readers attention. Anyways I really enjoyed this and once again good job and keep it up!

thanx

Well you managed to capture my attention...keep me realed in...there were a few times where I had to let go...then there were times where my mother couldn't peel me away from the computer. I will take liberty in saying a few things need to be edited, like word sense and all that jazz, but other than that I will save you the liberty of reading the same thing over and over and over and over again...to make my point just listen to what the others have said because i agree with them one-hundred and ten percent (especailly about writing the full blown novel!)
Kudos to u!
~Skittles

I like it and I guess that the mc shot themselves instead of the dad.
I like the jackets and the way that the mc is a bit rude to the negotiator.

Good story

One thing I noticed is that the way your main character described himself seemed a little egotistical. He described himself as ‘having a warm smile and perfectly cut hair’ and then later ‘rosy cheeks’.

The situation seemed a little unbelievable. Taken from mcd’s? wouldn’t someone have seen? And wasn’t there another way out of this besides killing yourself? And killing yourself IN FRONT of your father. Wouldn’t that be a little unbearable for him? I would’ve gone out fighting, personally. Or if I would kill myself, do it alone, and not blow my brains out in front of someone else.

I liked your dialogue though, and it had a very nice ending. Good job!
~black sheep~

Wow. That was very interesting, in a great way. It all flowed together so nicely.

Hello there!

I love your work! It got me thrilled from the beginning until the end.
You have some talent you know. You described well the atmosphere and the feelings of the main character. It was funny part when the boy got hungry when he was taken out and kidnapped.

Keep it up!

-Peace out!

This was great. I enjoyed it for the most part, but I feel it kind of fell apart after they told him that he had to kill his father. He seemed all to eager to do it, speeding off fast like that, and heading straight to the hotel without any real thinking. Up until then the character development was good and real (little things like having macca's for breakfast can go along way), but I think he came to grips with what he had to do much too fast. Sure he killed himself in the end, but I get the idea that was a decision he made on the spot. So up until then he was going to do it and didn't really show much sign of regret.

Since it's a short story it's best to keep characters to a minimum, and I think you could cut own on the number of thugs without hurting the story.

The plot was awesome, and the writing smooth enough to keep me reading the whole way through, which is becoming increasingly rare because I'm getting a bit jaded with a lot of the stuff on YWS. I don't see any need to wish you luck, because you clearly have talent.

aye at the end i was trying real hard to hurry because i like really had to leave for school but next time ill try and do it on the weekend or something but its all good