S
shacka t
Guest
This is this story I just started a little while ago, but I am trying to finished the first draft of the first chapter. So i was wondering if you answerers could help me out 
Wrath
I smiled down at the little girl.
Though I was looking at her through a mask; within myself I could feel my insides twist with pity.
I could tell my friends were feeling the same, though they giggled and pointed at the pathetic girl covered with mud, the little girl who held her mangled arm gingerly. I had done this to her. I had picked her up and pushed her down like a dog. The bone wasn’t broken, but the skin was shredded in some places and blood leaked from the cracks.
The small child stared right back up at me as though I was a demon.
I mulled over this; maybe I really was a demon.
Her lips showed blood seeping out from the corners of her mouth, but the girl didn't seem to care. Through her eyes all I could see was fear, fear of me. I could sense that she feared for her life.
Part of me wanted to crouch down and hug her, try to make her feel like a person again.
But that would be weak. I was not weak.
I would not humble myself. I wanted her to feel my wrath. As cliché as it sounds, I needed her to absorb my pain and hatred. I was giving this girl a gift that would keep on giving, or taking, however you normal people look at it.
The girl started to get up, but I glared and she sat back down. I advanced, listening to her whimper. She moved her arm the wrong way and I could see her eyes well with pain. Sometimes I amaze myself with the kind of power I can have over the people around me.
I figured she was about to beg for mercy, and I felt revolted with myself. What was I doing?
"Laura! Laura?" Another child cried, a boy this time. He pushed his way through the crowd.
He was looking at the blonde sixth-grader and I realized I hadn't before known the name of the girl I had been traumatizing. Laura.
Nice name.
He looked from the girl, Laura I guess now, to me and back again. I could see him begin to shake when he saw Laura’s arm, Laura’s blood.
"Laura, wha--" The boy stared up at me, the black haired 8th grader he didn’t know. His stare was challenging. I could tell that Laura was his friend and he wanted to save her. Maybe they were even the sixth grade equivalent to boyfriend and girlfriend. I didn’t know, and I could’ve cared less.
All I knew was that his arrogance was making me sick.
He was still advancing towards me, as though he thought he could hold his own against me. As me neared Laura and I, an unexpected slap across the face landed him, quite shaken, next to Laura.
Watching him hit the black top next to her with a thud I could almost taste Laura’s scream. Suddenly she realized that she had just made an awful mistake.
Kicking her sharply in the ribs, Laura rolled over and curled up, and started whispering.
Minutes passed with out the boy making a move, but Laura’s incessant mumbling was getting unbearable, the mish-mash of words, the jumble in my head, the incoherent gabber, that was all that was needed to break the last of my common sense.
Just then, as I started to lose my mind, I glanced over at my friends. They looked almost bored.
"Bye, Natalie. We're leaving,” the tall slender girl with cornrows tossed a wave my way, but then glanced at the boy. I could almost see the hint of remorse behind her corneas, but maybe that was just the glare from the sun.
Kicking her sharply in the ribs, Laura rolled over and curled up, and started whispering.
Minutes passed with out the boy making a move, but Laura’s incessant mumbling was getting unbearable, the mish-mash of words, the jumble in my head, the incoherent gabber, that was all that was needed to break the last of my common sense.
Just then, as I started to lose my mind, I glanced over at my friends. They looked almost bored.
Stopping on the boy’s arm I heard a crack. This crack was deep and gave me power, the deep, sick kind of power that I would never admit that I siphoned off of the people around me.
Everyone in the school should know that I was empty to the core, so I did not loosen my intense glare. Yet I knew the cornrow girl and all of my other friends were still watching from behind the fence. Maybe they were still enjoying my show too much to go to the Lake, or maybe they were worried sick. Worried that I cause more lasting damage to the children, than a shattered bone and a bleeding mouth.
I grabbed the boy’s arm, he struggled and his fist flung into my stomach. I don't know how I managed not to double over; I was still standing tall, but only on the outside.
I slammed my own fist into his chest, wincing when I heard a crack.
The boy went down onto the tar, going into spasms.
Inside my head I begged that I had not done too much damage.
Although I was no angel I was also not a murderer, or hadn't been.
Laura's face was contorted with horror. She slowly moved over to the boy, whispering something barely coherent to herself, or maybe me.
Who knows?
Trying to find movement in him I shuddered, fear’s clutch releasing me. I could see movement in his chest, and I knew he had not died.
But I also knew that he could die.
I remained where I was, my face as stony as it ever was. This had happened before. Only not exactly.
I blinked twice, staring at the scene before me, once again, I felt sickened.
What was the little girl doing? She had uncurled her self and was staring directly into my eyes. I stared back at her, and I saw hatred in her eyes.
I reflected quickly on how open these emotions were, pathetic really.
But she felt hatred. A girl shouldn't know of hatred at her age. But I had caused that as well, I had caused her hate.
I lunged at her, grasping her wrist, twisting it sharply, and squeezing it tight, "Don't move." I told her, my eyes only a few inches from hers.
I could feel her shaking, I could feel her breath become choppy. I rose up, turned, and let fly a well-aimed kick to little Laura’s stomach; her startled gasp was all I needed to know I was finished.
For now.
I walked down the alley, and onto the streets of New York City. I wondered whether I should join my friends at the lake, but I knew that that shouldn't be any options for a person like me.
I deserved nothing, for what I did was evil.
I was evil.
I walked slowly along towards my house, though there was no blood on my hands, I could feel the liquid, my hands warm and sticky.
I listened to my footsteps echoing off of the walls, and through the vacant streets. Cars rushed by me, the noise of the city assaulted me almost as bad as that boy had. Well, not really the same thing, but it was loud, I think you get my point. I approached the door of my house solemnly, wondering whether God would ever forgive me for what I'd done.
Then again, I wasn't so sure why I even cared.
I grasped the handle of the paint chipped door, humming softly to myself, I song I had never heard before.
As soon as I opened the door, I saw my dad, staring at me with icy cool eyes.
No cars hurried by, and the world felt as though some one had turned down the volume on me.
I heaved a painful sigh; my breathing shuddered from the multiple crack ribs I ingeniously concealed under my baggy clothes.
I knew for thing for sure, I could feel this pain, and that meant I was alive.
Or was I really?
I couldn't tell if I wanted to be alive, I just… was.
I wasn't going to kill myself that would be for the weak to do.
Only those of little character gave up so easily.
Okay, I know that was kinda long, and probably scary [kinda, it depends]. But if you could help me that would be amazing!
Please and Thank You
I realize the fourth and 5th posts are the same, sorry bout that
Wrath
I smiled down at the little girl.
Though I was looking at her through a mask; within myself I could feel my insides twist with pity.
I could tell my friends were feeling the same, though they giggled and pointed at the pathetic girl covered with mud, the little girl who held her mangled arm gingerly. I had done this to her. I had picked her up and pushed her down like a dog. The bone wasn’t broken, but the skin was shredded in some places and blood leaked from the cracks.
The small child stared right back up at me as though I was a demon.
I mulled over this; maybe I really was a demon.
Her lips showed blood seeping out from the corners of her mouth, but the girl didn't seem to care. Through her eyes all I could see was fear, fear of me. I could sense that she feared for her life.
Part of me wanted to crouch down and hug her, try to make her feel like a person again.
But that would be weak. I was not weak.
I would not humble myself. I wanted her to feel my wrath. As cliché as it sounds, I needed her to absorb my pain and hatred. I was giving this girl a gift that would keep on giving, or taking, however you normal people look at it.
The girl started to get up, but I glared and she sat back down. I advanced, listening to her whimper. She moved her arm the wrong way and I could see her eyes well with pain. Sometimes I amaze myself with the kind of power I can have over the people around me.
I figured she was about to beg for mercy, and I felt revolted with myself. What was I doing?
"Laura! Laura?" Another child cried, a boy this time. He pushed his way through the crowd.
He was looking at the blonde sixth-grader and I realized I hadn't before known the name of the girl I had been traumatizing. Laura.
Nice name.
He looked from the girl, Laura I guess now, to me and back again. I could see him begin to shake when he saw Laura’s arm, Laura’s blood.
"Laura, wha--" The boy stared up at me, the black haired 8th grader he didn’t know. His stare was challenging. I could tell that Laura was his friend and he wanted to save her. Maybe they were even the sixth grade equivalent to boyfriend and girlfriend. I didn’t know, and I could’ve cared less.
All I knew was that his arrogance was making me sick.
He was still advancing towards me, as though he thought he could hold his own against me. As me neared Laura and I, an unexpected slap across the face landed him, quite shaken, next to Laura.
Watching him hit the black top next to her with a thud I could almost taste Laura’s scream. Suddenly she realized that she had just made an awful mistake.
Kicking her sharply in the ribs, Laura rolled over and curled up, and started whispering.
Minutes passed with out the boy making a move, but Laura’s incessant mumbling was getting unbearable, the mish-mash of words, the jumble in my head, the incoherent gabber, that was all that was needed to break the last of my common sense.
Just then, as I started to lose my mind, I glanced over at my friends. They looked almost bored.
"Bye, Natalie. We're leaving,” the tall slender girl with cornrows tossed a wave my way, but then glanced at the boy. I could almost see the hint of remorse behind her corneas, but maybe that was just the glare from the sun.
Kicking her sharply in the ribs, Laura rolled over and curled up, and started whispering.
Minutes passed with out the boy making a move, but Laura’s incessant mumbling was getting unbearable, the mish-mash of words, the jumble in my head, the incoherent gabber, that was all that was needed to break the last of my common sense.
Just then, as I started to lose my mind, I glanced over at my friends. They looked almost bored.
Stopping on the boy’s arm I heard a crack. This crack was deep and gave me power, the deep, sick kind of power that I would never admit that I siphoned off of the people around me.
Everyone in the school should know that I was empty to the core, so I did not loosen my intense glare. Yet I knew the cornrow girl and all of my other friends were still watching from behind the fence. Maybe they were still enjoying my show too much to go to the Lake, or maybe they were worried sick. Worried that I cause more lasting damage to the children, than a shattered bone and a bleeding mouth.
I grabbed the boy’s arm, he struggled and his fist flung into my stomach. I don't know how I managed not to double over; I was still standing tall, but only on the outside.
I slammed my own fist into his chest, wincing when I heard a crack.
The boy went down onto the tar, going into spasms.
Inside my head I begged that I had not done too much damage.
Although I was no angel I was also not a murderer, or hadn't been.
Laura's face was contorted with horror. She slowly moved over to the boy, whispering something barely coherent to herself, or maybe me.
Who knows?
Trying to find movement in him I shuddered, fear’s clutch releasing me. I could see movement in his chest, and I knew he had not died.
But I also knew that he could die.
I remained where I was, my face as stony as it ever was. This had happened before. Only not exactly.
I blinked twice, staring at the scene before me, once again, I felt sickened.
What was the little girl doing? She had uncurled her self and was staring directly into my eyes. I stared back at her, and I saw hatred in her eyes.
I reflected quickly on how open these emotions were, pathetic really.
But she felt hatred. A girl shouldn't know of hatred at her age. But I had caused that as well, I had caused her hate.
I lunged at her, grasping her wrist, twisting it sharply, and squeezing it tight, "Don't move." I told her, my eyes only a few inches from hers.
I could feel her shaking, I could feel her breath become choppy. I rose up, turned, and let fly a well-aimed kick to little Laura’s stomach; her startled gasp was all I needed to know I was finished.
For now.
I walked down the alley, and onto the streets of New York City. I wondered whether I should join my friends at the lake, but I knew that that shouldn't be any options for a person like me.
I deserved nothing, for what I did was evil.
I was evil.
I walked slowly along towards my house, though there was no blood on my hands, I could feel the liquid, my hands warm and sticky.
I listened to my footsteps echoing off of the walls, and through the vacant streets. Cars rushed by me, the noise of the city assaulted me almost as bad as that boy had. Well, not really the same thing, but it was loud, I think you get my point. I approached the door of my house solemnly, wondering whether God would ever forgive me for what I'd done.
Then again, I wasn't so sure why I even cared.
I grasped the handle of the paint chipped door, humming softly to myself, I song I had never heard before.
As soon as I opened the door, I saw my dad, staring at me with icy cool eyes.
No cars hurried by, and the world felt as though some one had turned down the volume on me.
I heaved a painful sigh; my breathing shuddered from the multiple crack ribs I ingeniously concealed under my baggy clothes.
I knew for thing for sure, I could feel this pain, and that meant I was alive.
Or was I really?
I couldn't tell if I wanted to be alive, I just… was.
I wasn't going to kill myself that would be for the weak to do.
Only those of little character gave up so easily.
Okay, I know that was kinda long, and probably scary [kinda, it depends]. But if you could help me that would be amazing!
Please and Thank You
I realize the fourth and 5th posts are the same, sorry bout that