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Violence - A short story


.AshRemains

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.AshRemains

The cold, rusted barrel of a ageing Colt 45 was placed against my temple. My whole body shivered with it's cold touch, sending quakes down my spine. "Where is he?" Asked the man who was holding the gun to my head. "I don't know" I said, half pleading-half screaming. Another hard blow to the gut winded me painfully. I wanted to collapse on all-fours, but the strong restraints that bound me to the wooden, rotting chair held me firmly in place. The same question, "Where is he?", was always responded with an "I don't know!", which resulted in injuries beyond belief. It was like adding two and three, but getting minus five.

 

After two hours of brutal intimidation, they left me, walking out of the dark, musty room, but securely locking the door. I examined myself: One of my limbs felt broken, blood had evidently been gushing from a gunshot wound in my thigh, and my whole mouth was numb. I could barely see, my vision was blurred and my head was spinning.

 

Suddenly, the door burst open with such force that the chair tilted up on two legs, and resumed to its usual position. I heard muffled grunts, and screams of agont, very familiar screams. I couldn't believe it, i turned round slowly, and turned to face my wife. She was heavily battered and bruised, making her dark hair fade in with her soft skin. I almost fainted. One of the armed men nudged my wife in the back with his gun, signalling for her to take the seat infront of me. She nervously sat down. I realised with a gut-wrenching pang, one of her eyes had been gouged out. I violently vomited onto the floor. I was in agony, I wanted the pain to end. As this thought crossed my mind, the bonds holding me drooped to the floor, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Gingerly, I stood up, feeling blood rushing through my legs, supporting me.

 

One of the men stepped forwards, and pointed to my vomit. "Clean it up" he snarled. I obeyed, against my will. Then I realized I had no maintainance to do it with. Then I understood: I had to suck my own vomit from the floor. I must surely be infected, by the time i had finished. My tounge was jet black with dust, and each time I spoke, I could feel it floating down my throat. "Now" said the man, "WHERE THE F**K IS HE!", he shouted louder than I thought possible. My eardrums popped, and i clutched them in pain. "I swear, I don't know" I sobbed. "You asked for it", breathed the man. He placed the gun to my wifes chest, and pulled back the trigger. She screamed, as the bullet pierced her fragile, delicate body. The bullet tore through her, lodging itself in her heart. She violently dropped to the floor, blood spurting from her chest, and gushing from her mouth. After what seemed the longest five seconds of my life, she shivered, and rolled over onto her side, dead. "KATE!" I screamed, not believing what had just happened. Then, the sound of a gun being cocked filled the room, and I knew i was about to suffer the same fate as my wife. There was a click, a drawn out scream, a muffled crash, and then i lay there, in this room that had become me and my wifes tombstone.

Edited by .AshRemains

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It's decent for a short story, but could definitely use some work.

 

 

The cold, rusted barrel of a ageing Colt 45 was placed against my temple.

Besides the fact that "ageing" should be "aging", you've used "a" instead of "an" before it. In the future, to know which to use, simply look at the second word: aging. Does it begin with a consonant or a vowel? A vowel. Therefore, use "an" instead of "a". Like so:

 

 

The cold, rusted barrel of an aging Colt 45 was placed against my temple.

I'll let the other critics nitpick at some of the other mistakes more thoroughly, but since this was the first sentence, it bothered me. Looking at this piece as a whole, I'd have to say that it is a bit drenched with detail. Try to tone it down just a bit, and be more straight-to-the point. No need to waste the reader's time with unimportant details that do not contribute to the story, or using a simile or metaphor for every description in the story.

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This is just a personal opinion, and one I assume a lot of other WD regulars will not share, but I dislike the act of writing the speech in capitals when a character is shouting.

 

I've always preferred italics in situations like that, as it still shows how the character is placing more stress (stress? You know what I mean) on those particular words.

 

Like I said, though, that's just me, so don't let it put you off. Overall I quite liked it.

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