This topic contains 6 replies, has 4 voices, and was last updated by  David Kaneshiro 4 years, 2 months ago.

First story I've finished

  • Jack

    The wind whipped at my coattails, kicking up snow behind me. My revolver sat heavy in my waist holster, three shots left, who knows how many I’ll need tonight. I turned down an alley and almost lost my hat to the wind, my quick hands keeping it clasped to my head. The wind blew open my coat and showed to anyone who cared to see the knives strapped to my sides, looking more like rib bones than weapons. I ducked my head as I trudged down the alley and pulled out one of my knives. My free hand slipped around to her mouth and I plunged my knife into her throat. If my hand didn’t muffle her the knife would silence her for good.
    I pulled her clutch away from her and pulled out the wad of money that every whore like her carried. On one of the twenty dollar bills I wiped her blood and stuffed it into her mouth, the rest of the bills I let blow in the wind. No one would care for this harlot’s death save for her pimp. I climbed up a fire escape and disappeared to the roofs of the city.
    Some say I’m slaughtering innocent women, whoring themselves out against their will. I know these women are just scum, just like the rest of society. These women are just practice for me; my true targets are the “high society.” Once I clear the slums of its scum I can move up to the apartments in the sky.
    I replaced my gun to its spot upon the wall and began to pull and return the knives to their homes around my collection of guns. Spanning ten feet of the wall and eight feet tall, the peg board held five pairs of revolvers of varying caliber, .22 to .45, and about 50 knives, all of which were spotless even though each has tasted blood. I took off my vest and holster and hung them on a coat rack that already had my hat and coat. Finally the last thing I did was take off my gloves. I slipped my hands out ever so slowly careful to not touch the outside; these gloves were the only thing separating me and the police.
    I left my armory, sliding the bookshelf back in place, and found my way to the radio and tuned in to the news. They haven’t reported on my most recent three kills, no one does care for whores, that or they were keeping it quite. They could be much closer than I know. I may have to escalate faster than I wanted, even though the streets still run rampant with the scum of the earth. I turned the radio to static and turned the volume down, but not off. That’ll keep them away, they don’t like that static. I walked through my house and turned all the lights off and found my pillow with my head. The only thing I could hear as I drifted into sleep was the static of the radio.
    I bolted up in a cold sweat, and my eyes found the clock, 8 o’clock. Fuck. I only slept for four hours. The sun pouring in through the window played off the pointed hands of the clock making them jump out at me, seeming to threaten my life. I covered the clock with a blanket and stumbled to the kitchen. The last two eggs from the ice box went into a skillet with fat from God knows when, two slices of toast went into the pop-up. When the toast popped up, I put the eggs on a plate. I ate in silence, except for the radio static from the other room.
    Three raps at the door. I looked at the door as an envelope slipped underneath it. I rose and walked to pick it up. I opened the envelope and slid the single piece of paper from it. Written in immaculate handwriting was a single sentence, “I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”
    I ran to the toaster and put the note and envelope into and turned it on. Smoke rose from it, followed by small flames peeking out of the top. I donned my precious gloves and opened my armory. I ran out the door with a .45 in each hand and swept the hallway, no one in sight. Looks like I’m starting my work early tonight. I grab my vest and holsters, two shoulder holsters, two hip holsters and two leg holsters, .45’s in shoulder, .357 in hip, and .22 in leg holsters. Into the vest went twelve knives. Over the top my trench coat. I hailed a cab into the city’s uptown; a banquet was being held in a fancy loft of some rich fool, that’s where I would start.
    I paid the cabby and turned down an alley and climbed a fire escape. The roof was only twelve stories up; it only took a few minutes to climb. From my rooftop perch I could slip into any window at any time. I waited for the clatter of plates and cups could be heard from below. I dropped to the fire escape and drew my .22’s and fired into the corners of the window shattering it. I jumped through and rolled, training my guns at the two nearest people and squeezed the triggers. They fell into a crumpled heap, they weren’t dead – but would soon be. I fired the guns into the air and go the room’s attention.
    “You are all guilty of one thing or another,” I said loudly to the room, “I am your swift justice.” To punctuate the sentence I put two more of these scum down. They writhed and I emptied the guns into them until they stopped moving. My guns hit the floor as I pulled out the .357’s and leveled them at the crowd.
    “Your crimes will be paid for with your lives.”
    “What have we done to deserve this,” the voice of reason stated.
    I leveled the pistol at the woman. “So are you going to be the hero today whore?”
    A sharp stabbing pain erupted in my leg, and I looked down to see blood pouring down my leg from a shard of glass. One of the men I had shot but not killed had just stabbed me. I leveled the gun at his head and shot him dead where he lay.
    “Any more heroes?” I shouted.
    A small pop sounded from within the crowd. I felt the hot oozing coming from my chest before I saw the gunshot wound. I fell to my knees as a woman walked forward in red heels, in a red dress, clearly a whore.
    She knelt and as I bleed out onto the carpet she said, “I’ve finally got you.”
    She pulled out a badge from her clutch and showed it to my eyes as I lost consciousness.

    I wonder if i can edit this to make it fit into a universe. What universe should i fit this into?

    I think I’m at that point where I’m critical of myself and needs others approval. gotta love being artistic.

    the first story i ever finished was Madeline in 1st grade i thought i was the shit lol

    I might not be able to sleep tonight. x

    Is this one of the posts that was lost in the transition to the new site? I remember reading this story before…


    The sunlight poured into the window and bathed the room in a deep purple hue. Calvin walked to the window and closed the blinds. Goddamn these luxury planets obnoxious lighting. The room Calvin had been living in was no more than a closet with a window, enough room for a bed a table with a lamp on it. The window showed the sprawling streets of the city, all the urchins crawling the streets. One of them wanted me dead. This bloody room didn’t even have a kitchen; he had to risk his skin every time he needed to eat.

    Calvin poked his head into the hall way, the smells of the hall way assaulted his nose. Even luxury planets had slums and Calvin had found one. Trash littered the hall way, piled next to doors and blocking many of the doorways. Calvin stepped into the hall and turned left down the hall way high stepping over trash and even a dead body. He had taken the pulse on this body two days ago, long dead, starting to smell even, but no threat. Calvin turned right out the front door and stepped onto the street grabbing a fallen branch from a nearby tree. He pulled the sticks and leaves of until he had a club. Traffic in the street was moving along normally as Calvin hefted the club into the skull of a man. Blood splashed onto the street as traffic slowed, pooling in the gutter. Calvin dragged the now dead body into the door of the apartments leaving a bloody streak on the carpet. No one would care at all. The door shut behind Calvin after he had already started tearing into the flesh.

    Calvin always finished his food; he loved being a member of the “Clean Plate Club.” The bones just go out with the trash; he made sure not to pile them in the hall, taking them all the way to the dumpsters near the streets. However, as Calvin brought today’s haul to the dumpsters he smelled something different in the air, something wrong. Something scary. He turned to see a man in yellow spandex burst from the apartment. Was this fruit the one who was after me? This is the guy putting off that scent? The man reached behind his back to pull out a crowbar. Calvin dropped his bag of bones and leapt to the wall trying to become as flat as it. The man in yellow ran towards Calvin crowbar held high glinting in the purple light. Calvin braced a foot on the wall and jumped at the man’s waist as the crowbar connected with his back. The two bodies tumbled to the floor in an awkward roll. The crowbar skittered along until it came to a stop under the dumpster. As the bodies halted, the man in yellow had managed to straddle Calvin and had started to pry his jaw apart. Calvin bit down as hard as he could with so many fingers in his mouth. SNAP. Fingers came away from the hand in bloody sprays and the man in yellow howled in pain. Calvin reached up and brought the man’s neck to his mouth and chomped deep into the neck.

    A man arose from a bus stop across the street, wearing a long trench coat and a large top hat. He crossed the street as he pulled a very large .45 revolver from a shoulder holster. The pressed the tip of the barrel to Calvin’s blood soaked head and pulled the trigger. Blood splashed on the man, however, torrents of blood and what was left of Calvin’s brains splattered into the pavement and joined and man in yellow’s blood. The remains of Calvin’s destroyed head flopped to the street with a splat. The man reached down to confirm the kill, plunging his hand into the exit wound and pulled out a small micro-chip. He placed the chip in his breast pocket, holstered his weapon and returned to his bench across the street.

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