In this Discussion
- dollarflame6 May 2007
- giggleguy May 2007
- veinleo09 May 2007
A story
A story I wrote for English. I had to finish it quickly for an English assignment, though out of school a friend and I are going to make a longer, better story.
Feedback?
~
The security guard working his first night shift wasn't sure what to do when he saw the two men on the small surveillance screen. He knew he was supposed to alert the other guards when he saw unauthorised personnel, but these men didn't seem to pose much of a threat, as they were just sitting at a table, talking. He noticed the gentle flickering of candlelight on the table where the two men were sitting, which was the only source of light in the room apart from the soft moonlight beaming through a few cracks in the curtains. He thought he saw another silhouette on the cramped, lined screen, but he realised that it was just a trick of the light.
My name is Mike Watt. And this is my story. We started this a bit late in the story, so let's back up a bit.
The first time I experienced pain was my first birthday, when I decided to put my hand in the mess of candles covering my Bananas in Pyjamas birthday cake. It hurt a lot.
This is too far back. How about we go to, let's say, eight months prior to where we started the story. That should be right.
My name is Mike Watt. And this is my story. I woke up today with a bitter taste in my mouth and the ache of a hard-nights drinking on my mind.
I hate hangovers.
I rested for a bit before deciding to make something out of the day. I got up to make some breakfast. Waffles. I leapt on to the couch and turned on the television. They were doing a report about some vandalism group. It took a few minutes for me to realise that the group they were talking about were actually me and my friends Tim and Brian.
The news reporter said that although this is a similar incident to the one that happened a few weeks ago, there is no chance of the two being linked.
Great. Just great.
The first media coverage we've had for three weeks and now we have to start over again, just because of one small sentence.
Ring.
Ring-ring.
The phone. I raise myself off the couch, and walk over to the telephone. Even before I pick it up I know who's calling. I lift the phone to my ear.
"Hey Mike, it's Brian."
Hi Brian. I'm guessing you're watching?
"Yeah, I was just calling to see if you were."
Well, yes, I am.
"Oh cool, it's pretty mad them showing it, eh?"
I guess so, did you notice that they said that it isn't linked to the last one?
"Yeah, I was wondering what we should do about that."
I'll think of something. I'll call Tim and tell him what's going on.
"Alright, see you tonight."
Yeah. See you.
I hang up. I dial Tim's number. The numbers are all pretty worn out, you can hardly read them. I press the small piece of plastic that says "Call". The printing on this button is wearing off too, but I can still feel the smooth indentations as I press it down to call Tim.
Ring.
Ring-ring.
No answer.
The phone rings at least another five times before I am put through to his answering machine.
I hate answering machines.
Especially Tim's answering machine. Because Tim is one of those people who have answering machine messages that try to make you laugh by making terrible jokes with a horrible innuendo behind it. I hang up immediately. I press the button that says "Redial".
Ring.
Ring-ring.
Three rings later I hear the familiar sound of the phone being connected.
"Hello?"
Tim, it's Mike.
"I thought so, you're the only person I know that hates answering machines."
You obviously don't know many people then.
"Well most of the people I meet are generally women, and they don't call me back, or at least I don't think so. I give them the wrong number anyway."
Okay, that's enough. I guess you're not watching the news?
"No, why? Is there something exciting happening?"
Switch to Channel Four and see for yourself.
I hear Tim pressing down the number four on his remote. I know that it is the number four because that button on his remote is busted, every time you press it it makes a loud clicking noise.
"Hey, they're doing a report about us! Have they said anything about last time we did it?"
Yeah, they said that there is no chance of the two incidents being linked to each other.
"What? You can't be serious. We spent weeks planning this out!"
I know, Tim. It's all right, we have the time to start it over again. We just need to pick up the pace a bit. I'll explain it all tonight.
"Okay then. Well, I'll see you tonight then."
Yeah, see you.
I hang up.
That night we met. We weren't to meet at any of our small rented apartments, even near them. That was one of the rules. I wouldn't have minded meeting at one of our places, but Brian is a very cautious person, and refuses to be caught out on such a small matter. His maxim on this subject was, "Al Capone was caught because he didn't pay his taxes. I'm not getting caught for something as stupid as that."
Thing about Brian is, he was one of those people in school who wasn't overly popular, though I guess you couldn't really say any of us were really that cool either. Now that I think about it, we were all pretty much on the same scale of popularity, though Tim was always slightly more well known with the ladies than we were, though mine and Brian's popularity did have a short boost after we did an act at the "Red Faces Talent Quest", where we pretty much sat down and had a conversation with each other, which was, according to many sources, "The funniest thing that's ever happened to our school."
We did that a few more times, but we lost our popularity when we declined to do it for a fourth time. Apparently somebody bootlegged them and was selling CDs for a while.
The popularity difference never stopped us being friends, though. I think while at school I developed a sort of "Take it or leave it" style about myself, as I didn't care to change my attitude for anyone. I think I grabbed this attitude from Brian's, which is probably the thing I respect about him most, along with his snappy dressing.
Brian was always kind of weird though. His lack of human contact at school gave him time to think. Some thought he was advanced, but he was the only person who took anything seriously, as opposed to the other testosterone fuelled boys.
Let me give you an example by telling you how I met Brian.
Year Eight camp. Middle of the week, around ten in the night.
Tim managed to organise a snogging session for pretty much all the guys and girls. All of them went down to the table tennis room, and they pretty much stayed there all night getting up to all kinds of "business".
I was feeling ill but didn't want to disappoint Tim by not going, so as soon as I got in there, I left.
When I got back to my cabin I was surprised to see someone in there. The new guy, weird old Brian. Just lying there in bed, thinking to himself in silence.
I sat down next to him and sparked conversation. He seemed slightly afraid at first, I think I might have been the first student to talk to him since he came to our school, but we ended up having one of the greatest conversations of my life.
The end.
You see now what I mean? When given the chance to have it away with any girl he'd ever want, he'd prefer to lie in bed and read. But the only reason he didn't go was because he was afraid of being caught.
Brian's smart. He's most of the brains behind the operation, though he doesn't do all the work. Our first attempt was completely my idea, a nice, clean cut operation. He was the guy who thought of the second act, but that, as we all know, failed.
So much for a great mind.
Tim, he's different, a joker. But he also has a hell of a temper. He has a tendency to not think about things all the way through and so he never takes anything seriously. Never thinks about the consequences of any of his actions.
Anyone gets onto a subject he doesn't like, he flies into a rage. When we were in year ten at school, a classmate called him stupid. He took no notice of it. Though at the party after graduation he managed to cut off the guy's ear with a plastic knife. He always did like Quentin Tarantino's work.
I reckon Brian thinks that Tim's not being able to comprehend consequences after actions makes him perfect for the role of the dumb muscle in this operation.
I guess I'm the glue that holds this friendship together.
Let me tell you something about our most frequented meeting place. It's an abandoned warehouse where they used to keep stock for some camera company. They company went bankrupt a few months back so we started meeting there more often. The place is a hell hole, so we've got no worries of people buying it again. I don't even think the demolitions companies want to touch it.
Anyway, we met at the warehouse, and we've freshened up the main office a bit. It's pretty clean now, I like it there. I wouldn't have minded it being dirty, but it was really Brian who begged us to fix it up.
When we got there we made our usual greetings, made our way to the top of the building, and talked business. I pitched our new plan.
"Alright then, what are we gonna do now, huh?"
Calm down, Tim, I've got it all figured out.
"Well tell us your brilliant new plan then."
I tell them the plan. It isn't much of a plan, more of an idea. It goes a little something like this: Enough of this screwing around, messing up schools and parks and that. We're going to move on to theft and protection. We start by extorting the small shops, and a few we'll just rob from. I've written down some ideas for ways to smack them up a bit without worrying about things like fingerprints and the like. My personal favourite is the wallet slap. The other guys seemed to like it to. Essentially, you fill up a wallet with coins, then while reaching in to seemingly pay the shop owner, slap. Right on the temple should be a clean cut knock out. They won't know what hit them.
After we decide we've had enough with the petty theft, we're gonna move up to grand theft. Bank robberies, stuff like that. But then, after we're done with that, we're gonna buy out all the franchises we can, until we're the richest people in the world. Pretty nifty, eh?
Brian, as usual, was questioning whether to believe that my plan is rock solid, or to believe that I'm a madman.
"What if one of us gets caught?"
We won't.
"What if the shop owners retaliate?"
We do what we must to get the job done.
"What if –"
It won't happen, Brian, I've got it all thought out.
It was a few minutes later that we figured out the rules.
Rule 1. If a shop owner/civilian calls the police, we silence them however possible.
Rule 2. If they don't have any money, we come back in a week and if they still have no money, we kill them.
Rule 3. If one of us screws something up, they don't get their share of the profits for that job.
The three golden rules.
Let's skip a bit in this story. To about three weeks later, maybe? Around this time my new plan was well and truly underway, and we'd extorted a few places. My wallet has quite a few stains of blood on it, and I've only had to use my gun once.
I don't like using my gun.
Maybe you're wondering why I chose to skip to this point in my story. The reason I did this was because it was around this time we got our first real scare.
We went in to the warehouse as usual for one of our regular twice a week meets. Halfway through the meeting we were rudely interrupted by a group of policemen shooting at us. This was the second time I used my gun.
It turned out the police had the place bugged for a while, for security reasons. This includes audio recorders and cameras.
We ran out the back and sped off in Tim's car without a second thought about the fact that we'd shot down three policemen. You could say that what we did was wrong, but they started it.
We had no idea where to go, then I wondered if Tyres would be at his flat.
Tyres. That's not his real name, by the way. His real name's Krinkle. Henry Krinkle. He was a shop owner. Well, not really a shop owner, but he worked there. He had been on speed since long before I'd met him, and I've been good friends with him since I was about six. I never saw him with his eyes closed. He didn't even blink.
Anyway, we stayed at Tyres' house for a while after that, he was fine with it. He didn't really like our business though, with him working at a shop and all. Actually, him working at a shop was the main reason I chose for us to stay with him, because I needed to tell him that at some point we would probably have to rob his shop. He got a bit upset about the idea, but I told him exactly what to do and what he couldn't do. He seemed to understand. I told him that Brian and Tim, especially Tim, wouldn't even wait a heartbeat to think about killing him if he screwed something up.
Two weeks later. We were still staying with Tyres, and everything was running smoothly. The plan was in motion, and we were wondering how long until we'd move up to the next step. Until that night. That night made me feel sick.
We had robbed about three places when we got to this shop. We decided to go with one of our very first thieving scenarios. We walked in at different times, looked around a bit, then I grabbed a bar of gum. I placed it on the counter. The shop owner served me. Warren. His name tag said his name was Warren.
"Hello, how are you today?"
Cheerful.
Hi Warren. Yeah, I'm not too bad, yourself?
"That's good to hear, sir. That will be ninety cents please."
Alright then.
I pull out my coin-filled wallet.
Ninety cents? Here you go, Warren.
Slap.
He's out cold.
"Wow, you hit him pretty hard there, Mike."
I know, Brian. He should learn some manners, he didn't say how he was when I asked him.
We started taking the money out of the till when the shop assistant walked in through the back door. He took one look at us then ran back. I yelled at Tim to shut the assistant up. Tim did. Tim liked his gun.
This would have been a pretty nice robbery if the building wasn't right next to the police station. A man walked in to the shop, then ran over next door yelling that there was a theft taking place. We ran out the back way where the car was. We got away.
We wanted to do a few more shops before the night ended, and one half of the suburb was filled with police looking for us so we went to the little shop on the other side of town.
Tyres' shop.
He was working late that night so he was there when we walked in. When he saw us he ran to the other side of the room, grabbed the phone and called the police. I grabbed the phone off him and put it back on the hook. I yelled at Brian and Tim to start taking money out of the register while I deal with Tyres.
I didn't know what to do. I asked Tim and Brian.
Just shoot him, they yelled at me. I thought about it for a few seconds, then decided against it. When I turned to Tyres I caught a fist in my face. I didn't hesitate and pushed the gun barrel between his eyes.
Bang.
His eyes were closed.
I felt sick for the next eight days. I didn't understand why Tyres would betray me like that. He knew that if he stayed to what I told him then nobody would get hurt. I stayed at the flat the next two weeks afterwards. I didn't dare walk outside. I told Brian and Tim that they wouldn't get any money if they didn't keep doing the jobs. I felt a new power come over me. When Tim and Brian didn't bring home enough money I'd take it all myself and tell them it's not enough.
Then it happened. It had been eight months, and I was the leader.
One night when we weren't working, Tim said that he wanted to surprise me by taking me somewhere special. I thought he meant because I was such a fantastic boss for him. I didn't know where Brian was.
We got in the car and he drove me to a familiar place in the neighborhood. We were driving around for about half an hour before we got to our destination.
The warehouse.
He'd freshened up the place even more, just for our little party. It was great. Just great. We were just drinking and listening to music. It was great fun. Then He sat me down and started talking to me.
The security guard working his first night shift wasn't sure what to do when he saw the two men on the small surveillance screen. He knew he was supposed to alert the other guards when he saw unauthorised personnel, but these men didn't seem to pose much of a threat, as they were just sitting at a table, talking. He noticed the gentle flickering of candlelight on the table where the two men were sitting, which was the only source of light in the room apart from the soft moonlight beaming through a few cracks in the curtains. He thought he saw another silhouette on the cramped, lined screen, but he realised that it was just a trick of the light.
The security guard working his first night shift noticed the camera trying to focus as a new object entered the screen.
A gun.
A shining, silver gun.
Right behind one of the men's head.
The table had a fresh coat of blood painted over it before the security guard knew what was happening. Even before he dialed the three digit number for the police station he knew he was too late. He stared in horror as the men put the gun in the dead man's hand, then put a pillow under his head before walking out.
And that's the story of my greed and rise to power, which ended in my demise at the hands of my friends Brian and Tim.
My name is Mike Watt. And this is my story.
Feedback?
~
The security guard working his first night shift wasn't sure what to do when he saw the two men on the small surveillance screen. He knew he was supposed to alert the other guards when he saw unauthorised personnel, but these men didn't seem to pose much of a threat, as they were just sitting at a table, talking. He noticed the gentle flickering of candlelight on the table where the two men were sitting, which was the only source of light in the room apart from the soft moonlight beaming through a few cracks in the curtains. He thought he saw another silhouette on the cramped, lined screen, but he realised that it was just a trick of the light.
My name is Mike Watt. And this is my story. We started this a bit late in the story, so let's back up a bit.
The first time I experienced pain was my first birthday, when I decided to put my hand in the mess of candles covering my Bananas in Pyjamas birthday cake. It hurt a lot.
This is too far back. How about we go to, let's say, eight months prior to where we started the story. That should be right.
My name is Mike Watt. And this is my story. I woke up today with a bitter taste in my mouth and the ache of a hard-nights drinking on my mind.
I hate hangovers.
I rested for a bit before deciding to make something out of the day. I got up to make some breakfast. Waffles. I leapt on to the couch and turned on the television. They were doing a report about some vandalism group. It took a few minutes for me to realise that the group they were talking about were actually me and my friends Tim and Brian.
The news reporter said that although this is a similar incident to the one that happened a few weeks ago, there is no chance of the two being linked.
Great. Just great.
The first media coverage we've had for three weeks and now we have to start over again, just because of one small sentence.
Ring.
Ring-ring.
The phone. I raise myself off the couch, and walk over to the telephone. Even before I pick it up I know who's calling. I lift the phone to my ear.
"Hey Mike, it's Brian."
Hi Brian. I'm guessing you're watching?
"Yeah, I was just calling to see if you were."
Well, yes, I am.
"Oh cool, it's pretty mad them showing it, eh?"
I guess so, did you notice that they said that it isn't linked to the last one?
"Yeah, I was wondering what we should do about that."
I'll think of something. I'll call Tim and tell him what's going on.
"Alright, see you tonight."
Yeah. See you.
I hang up. I dial Tim's number. The numbers are all pretty worn out, you can hardly read them. I press the small piece of plastic that says "Call". The printing on this button is wearing off too, but I can still feel the smooth indentations as I press it down to call Tim.
Ring.
Ring-ring.
No answer.
The phone rings at least another five times before I am put through to his answering machine.
I hate answering machines.
Especially Tim's answering machine. Because Tim is one of those people who have answering machine messages that try to make you laugh by making terrible jokes with a horrible innuendo behind it. I hang up immediately. I press the button that says "Redial".
Ring.
Ring-ring.
Three rings later I hear the familiar sound of the phone being connected.
"Hello?"
Tim, it's Mike.
"I thought so, you're the only person I know that hates answering machines."
You obviously don't know many people then.
"Well most of the people I meet are generally women, and they don't call me back, or at least I don't think so. I give them the wrong number anyway."
Okay, that's enough. I guess you're not watching the news?
"No, why? Is there something exciting happening?"
Switch to Channel Four and see for yourself.
I hear Tim pressing down the number four on his remote. I know that it is the number four because that button on his remote is busted, every time you press it it makes a loud clicking noise.
"Hey, they're doing a report about us! Have they said anything about last time we did it?"
Yeah, they said that there is no chance of the two incidents being linked to each other.
"What? You can't be serious. We spent weeks planning this out!"
I know, Tim. It's all right, we have the time to start it over again. We just need to pick up the pace a bit. I'll explain it all tonight.
"Okay then. Well, I'll see you tonight then."
Yeah, see you.
I hang up.
That night we met. We weren't to meet at any of our small rented apartments, even near them. That was one of the rules. I wouldn't have minded meeting at one of our places, but Brian is a very cautious person, and refuses to be caught out on such a small matter. His maxim on this subject was, "Al Capone was caught because he didn't pay his taxes. I'm not getting caught for something as stupid as that."
Thing about Brian is, he was one of those people in school who wasn't overly popular, though I guess you couldn't really say any of us were really that cool either. Now that I think about it, we were all pretty much on the same scale of popularity, though Tim was always slightly more well known with the ladies than we were, though mine and Brian's popularity did have a short boost after we did an act at the "Red Faces Talent Quest", where we pretty much sat down and had a conversation with each other, which was, according to many sources, "The funniest thing that's ever happened to our school."
We did that a few more times, but we lost our popularity when we declined to do it for a fourth time. Apparently somebody bootlegged them and was selling CDs for a while.
The popularity difference never stopped us being friends, though. I think while at school I developed a sort of "Take it or leave it" style about myself, as I didn't care to change my attitude for anyone. I think I grabbed this attitude from Brian's, which is probably the thing I respect about him most, along with his snappy dressing.
Brian was always kind of weird though. His lack of human contact at school gave him time to think. Some thought he was advanced, but he was the only person who took anything seriously, as opposed to the other testosterone fuelled boys.
Let me give you an example by telling you how I met Brian.
Year Eight camp. Middle of the week, around ten in the night.
Tim managed to organise a snogging session for pretty much all the guys and girls. All of them went down to the table tennis room, and they pretty much stayed there all night getting up to all kinds of "business".
I was feeling ill but didn't want to disappoint Tim by not going, so as soon as I got in there, I left.
When I got back to my cabin I was surprised to see someone in there. The new guy, weird old Brian. Just lying there in bed, thinking to himself in silence.
I sat down next to him and sparked conversation. He seemed slightly afraid at first, I think I might have been the first student to talk to him since he came to our school, but we ended up having one of the greatest conversations of my life.
The end.
You see now what I mean? When given the chance to have it away with any girl he'd ever want, he'd prefer to lie in bed and read. But the only reason he didn't go was because he was afraid of being caught.
Brian's smart. He's most of the brains behind the operation, though he doesn't do all the work. Our first attempt was completely my idea, a nice, clean cut operation. He was the guy who thought of the second act, but that, as we all know, failed.
So much for a great mind.
Tim, he's different, a joker. But he also has a hell of a temper. He has a tendency to not think about things all the way through and so he never takes anything seriously. Never thinks about the consequences of any of his actions.
Anyone gets onto a subject he doesn't like, he flies into a rage. When we were in year ten at school, a classmate called him stupid. He took no notice of it. Though at the party after graduation he managed to cut off the guy's ear with a plastic knife. He always did like Quentin Tarantino's work.
I reckon Brian thinks that Tim's not being able to comprehend consequences after actions makes him perfect for the role of the dumb muscle in this operation.
I guess I'm the glue that holds this friendship together.
Let me tell you something about our most frequented meeting place. It's an abandoned warehouse where they used to keep stock for some camera company. They company went bankrupt a few months back so we started meeting there more often. The place is a hell hole, so we've got no worries of people buying it again. I don't even think the demolitions companies want to touch it.
Anyway, we met at the warehouse, and we've freshened up the main office a bit. It's pretty clean now, I like it there. I wouldn't have minded it being dirty, but it was really Brian who begged us to fix it up.
When we got there we made our usual greetings, made our way to the top of the building, and talked business. I pitched our new plan.
"Alright then, what are we gonna do now, huh?"
Calm down, Tim, I've got it all figured out.
"Well tell us your brilliant new plan then."
I tell them the plan. It isn't much of a plan, more of an idea. It goes a little something like this: Enough of this screwing around, messing up schools and parks and that. We're going to move on to theft and protection. We start by extorting the small shops, and a few we'll just rob from. I've written down some ideas for ways to smack them up a bit without worrying about things like fingerprints and the like. My personal favourite is the wallet slap. The other guys seemed to like it to. Essentially, you fill up a wallet with coins, then while reaching in to seemingly pay the shop owner, slap. Right on the temple should be a clean cut knock out. They won't know what hit them.
After we decide we've had enough with the petty theft, we're gonna move up to grand theft. Bank robberies, stuff like that. But then, after we're done with that, we're gonna buy out all the franchises we can, until we're the richest people in the world. Pretty nifty, eh?
Brian, as usual, was questioning whether to believe that my plan is rock solid, or to believe that I'm a madman.
"What if one of us gets caught?"
We won't.
"What if the shop owners retaliate?"
We do what we must to get the job done.
"What if –"
It won't happen, Brian, I've got it all thought out.
It was a few minutes later that we figured out the rules.
Rule 1. If a shop owner/civilian calls the police, we silence them however possible.
Rule 2. If they don't have any money, we come back in a week and if they still have no money, we kill them.
Rule 3. If one of us screws something up, they don't get their share of the profits for that job.
The three golden rules.
Let's skip a bit in this story. To about three weeks later, maybe? Around this time my new plan was well and truly underway, and we'd extorted a few places. My wallet has quite a few stains of blood on it, and I've only had to use my gun once.
I don't like using my gun.
Maybe you're wondering why I chose to skip to this point in my story. The reason I did this was because it was around this time we got our first real scare.
We went in to the warehouse as usual for one of our regular twice a week meets. Halfway through the meeting we were rudely interrupted by a group of policemen shooting at us. This was the second time I used my gun.
It turned out the police had the place bugged for a while, for security reasons. This includes audio recorders and cameras.
We ran out the back and sped off in Tim's car without a second thought about the fact that we'd shot down three policemen. You could say that what we did was wrong, but they started it.
We had no idea where to go, then I wondered if Tyres would be at his flat.
Tyres. That's not his real name, by the way. His real name's Krinkle. Henry Krinkle. He was a shop owner. Well, not really a shop owner, but he worked there. He had been on speed since long before I'd met him, and I've been good friends with him since I was about six. I never saw him with his eyes closed. He didn't even blink.
Anyway, we stayed at Tyres' house for a while after that, he was fine with it. He didn't really like our business though, with him working at a shop and all. Actually, him working at a shop was the main reason I chose for us to stay with him, because I needed to tell him that at some point we would probably have to rob his shop. He got a bit upset about the idea, but I told him exactly what to do and what he couldn't do. He seemed to understand. I told him that Brian and Tim, especially Tim, wouldn't even wait a heartbeat to think about killing him if he screwed something up.
Two weeks later. We were still staying with Tyres, and everything was running smoothly. The plan was in motion, and we were wondering how long until we'd move up to the next step. Until that night. That night made me feel sick.
We had robbed about three places when we got to this shop. We decided to go with one of our very first thieving scenarios. We walked in at different times, looked around a bit, then I grabbed a bar of gum. I placed it on the counter. The shop owner served me. Warren. His name tag said his name was Warren.
"Hello, how are you today?"
Cheerful.
Hi Warren. Yeah, I'm not too bad, yourself?
"That's good to hear, sir. That will be ninety cents please."
Alright then.
I pull out my coin-filled wallet.
Ninety cents? Here you go, Warren.
Slap.
He's out cold.
"Wow, you hit him pretty hard there, Mike."
I know, Brian. He should learn some manners, he didn't say how he was when I asked him.
We started taking the money out of the till when the shop assistant walked in through the back door. He took one look at us then ran back. I yelled at Tim to shut the assistant up. Tim did. Tim liked his gun.
This would have been a pretty nice robbery if the building wasn't right next to the police station. A man walked in to the shop, then ran over next door yelling that there was a theft taking place. We ran out the back way where the car was. We got away.
We wanted to do a few more shops before the night ended, and one half of the suburb was filled with police looking for us so we went to the little shop on the other side of town.
Tyres' shop.
He was working late that night so he was there when we walked in. When he saw us he ran to the other side of the room, grabbed the phone and called the police. I grabbed the phone off him and put it back on the hook. I yelled at Brian and Tim to start taking money out of the register while I deal with Tyres.
I didn't know what to do. I asked Tim and Brian.
Just shoot him, they yelled at me. I thought about it for a few seconds, then decided against it. When I turned to Tyres I caught a fist in my face. I didn't hesitate and pushed the gun barrel between his eyes.
Bang.
His eyes were closed.
I felt sick for the next eight days. I didn't understand why Tyres would betray me like that. He knew that if he stayed to what I told him then nobody would get hurt. I stayed at the flat the next two weeks afterwards. I didn't dare walk outside. I told Brian and Tim that they wouldn't get any money if they didn't keep doing the jobs. I felt a new power come over me. When Tim and Brian didn't bring home enough money I'd take it all myself and tell them it's not enough.
Then it happened. It had been eight months, and I was the leader.
One night when we weren't working, Tim said that he wanted to surprise me by taking me somewhere special. I thought he meant because I was such a fantastic boss for him. I didn't know where Brian was.
We got in the car and he drove me to a familiar place in the neighborhood. We were driving around for about half an hour before we got to our destination.
The warehouse.
He'd freshened up the place even more, just for our little party. It was great. Just great. We were just drinking and listening to music. It was great fun. Then He sat me down and started talking to me.
The security guard working his first night shift wasn't sure what to do when he saw the two men on the small surveillance screen. He knew he was supposed to alert the other guards when he saw unauthorised personnel, but these men didn't seem to pose much of a threat, as they were just sitting at a table, talking. He noticed the gentle flickering of candlelight on the table where the two men were sitting, which was the only source of light in the room apart from the soft moonlight beaming through a few cracks in the curtains. He thought he saw another silhouette on the cramped, lined screen, but he realised that it was just a trick of the light.
The security guard working his first night shift noticed the camera trying to focus as a new object entered the screen.
A gun.
A shining, silver gun.
Right behind one of the men's head.
The table had a fresh coat of blood painted over it before the security guard knew what was happening. Even before he dialed the three digit number for the police station he knew he was too late. He stared in horror as the men put the gun in the dead man's hand, then put a pillow under his head before walking out.
And that's the story of my greed and rise to power, which ended in my demise at the hands of my friends Brian and Tim.
My name is Mike Watt. And this is my story.
Comments
i like your use of imagery and stuff without going overboard and boring the reader (like dickens).
very nice job emmet! (i think thats your name..)
Thanks! It was originally an idea for a film script and then I had to write a story about crime in English so I made it a story instead. It is eventually going to be made into a short film but yeah, thanks!
i like your use of imagery and stuff without going overboard and boring the reader (like dickens).
very nice job emmett! (i think thats your name..)
Thanks! I'm so proud of this story now!
P.S I fixed my name, you were just missing one of the t's.