Since it's been a while since I posted my writings here, I figured it was about time again. This year, I'm going to write 52 short stories, one for every week in the year. I've found some prompts, and one of them was ' a story that starts with a gunshot'. So, here it is; enjoy.
Btw, I'm also going to read a 100 books (not sure if that's going to work out though, but I'll try), and today I'm starting on my fourth of this year. But more on that later. For now, enjoy this short piece.
Cheers
A loud bang echoed through the empty warehouse and the bright haired girl dove for cover, ignoring the impact on her body as she crashed on the ground. She quickly sat up, hiding behind a cart filled with boxes, her gun out, knowing she needed better cover. She looked around, saw a car, ran towards it while shooting at her attacker. She hadn’t been alone her, but everyone else seemed to have cleared out in the last few minutes before everything went to hell. She reached the car safely, her constant shots making her attacker unable to fire at her. She pulled more ammo from her backpack, easily accessing the pocket at the side, quickly reloading. She really, really needed to stop doing this. She was getting too old for this bullshit. She was twenty-five for fuck’s sake!
She fell on her stomach, eyeing the floor from underneath the car. There. Feet, moving rapidly but silently towards her. She aimed, pulled the trigger, hitting the foot. At the same time, she caught movement towards her right, but it didn’t worry her. She knew only one person here was aiming to kill her, the rest were just enjoying the show. She got up, straightened up, aimed and shot her attacker in his shoulder, and then, as he went down, in the other hand. She never killed anyone; but it wasn’t her fault if they weren’t able to get help soon enough. If he was smart, he’d stop the bleeding and call 911; maybe he even had some friends around to do that for him. If he couldn’t do any of that, well, too bad then, it wasn’t her fault. Well, not directly. And it wasn’t as if she’d shot him in cold blood; he’d been shooting at her too, the bastard.
She walked towards the man, kicking his cap off and meeting surprisingly dark eyes, filled with hate. She kicked his gun away, and then saw something grabbed tightly in his hand. A trigger. Her eyes widened and the man grinned, as he pushed the button. Nothing happened. Not yet. Delay. A few seconds maybe. She yelled: “BOMB”, nobody else needed to die because of this. Then she took off, counting the seconds, unsure of how many she had but sure it were too little. From her right, someone took off too and somewhere she realized that she had indeed not been alone. But she was mostly focused on running. She skidded through the hallway, and at nineteen seconds jumped at a window. The figure running behind her did so too, slightly earlier than she, as she heard class shatter at eighteen seconds. At nineteen, she jumped and more glass shattered. At twenty, before she even hit the ground, she could feel the air thrusting her further into the sky, she felt the warmth behind her, getting too hot to be comfortable. She kept counting as she curled into a ball in the sky, seeing the other figure already in a ball hiding behind a car. At twenty-two, she hit the ground. Hard.
At twenty-four she couldn’t see a hand before her eyes. She held her breath and didn’t dare to move as bricks, glass and all other sorts of stuff fell around her, sometimes on her.
At thirty-five she opened her eyes again, not realizing she’d closed them. It didn’t make a difference, the world was black with smoke around her. She could hear the fire, and knew she needed to get out of here. At forty, she stood again, falling down when a piece of wood or stone hit her in the back. At forty-two she put her arms over her head protectively as another bomb exploded, in another part of the building. At forty-nine, she felt something. Someone was tugging at her arm. She opened her eyes, saw a man standing there, pointing to something, his mouth moving. At fifty-one she realized she couldn’t hear a thing except a beep. At fifty-three, the man helped her up and she ignored the pain as she followed him through the smoke. At one minute and three seconds, they reached the parking lot and the smoke was slightly less. She breathed. The man pointed to a car and his mouth moved again. She just shook her head and pointed to her ears. He nodded, understandingly, and used his finger to write something in the dust that was now everywhere.
“Got a car. Let’s get out of here before the cops show.” She nodded and got into said car.
At two minutes and thirty-two seconds, they were out of the smoke, on the driveway, and slowly her hearing returned.
At three minutes exactly, the man spoke.
“Can you hear me now?”
She nodded. “Not great, but yeah. Thanks.”
He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “If you hadn’t called out I would have been in pieces now. So thank you.”
“Hadn’t expected that one. Was kinda surprising. I should have seen it though.”
He glanced at her quickly but waited for an explanation. She didn’t give one. Instead, she repeated herself. “I’m getting too old for this bullshit.”
The man beside her laughed. “Cheers to that, mate. Let me buy you a drink. To celebrate that we survived. After we get those nasty cuts cleaned up.”
She pulled a mirror from the battered backpack and realized that indeed, she had some nasty cuts. The throbbing in her back returned and she suddenly regretted that his car interior was now smeared with blood, apologizing to him.
“Don’t worry, it’s not the first time,” he said, as he parked at a small gas station and reached behind his chair to reveal two bottles of whiskey and a first aid box.
She accepted a bottle and took a big swig, and he copied her movements. “Time to get a real job, huh? Some desk work, settling down, leaving the gun behind. Not jumping from exploding buildings anymore.”
She laughed, and took another swig. “I’d never leave this behind.”
The man nodded in agreement. “Me neither. Cheers to gunshots and explosions.”
Btw, I'm also going to read a 100 books (not sure if that's going to work out though, but I'll try), and today I'm starting on my fourth of this year. But more on that later. For now, enjoy this short piece.
Cheers
A loud bang echoed through the empty warehouse and the bright haired girl dove for cover, ignoring the impact on her body as she crashed on the ground. She quickly sat up, hiding behind a cart filled with boxes, her gun out, knowing she needed better cover. She looked around, saw a car, ran towards it while shooting at her attacker. She hadn’t been alone her, but everyone else seemed to have cleared out in the last few minutes before everything went to hell. She reached the car safely, her constant shots making her attacker unable to fire at her. She pulled more ammo from her backpack, easily accessing the pocket at the side, quickly reloading. She really, really needed to stop doing this. She was getting too old for this bullshit. She was twenty-five for fuck’s sake!
She fell on her stomach, eyeing the floor from underneath the car. There. Feet, moving rapidly but silently towards her. She aimed, pulled the trigger, hitting the foot. At the same time, she caught movement towards her right, but it didn’t worry her. She knew only one person here was aiming to kill her, the rest were just enjoying the show. She got up, straightened up, aimed and shot her attacker in his shoulder, and then, as he went down, in the other hand. She never killed anyone; but it wasn’t her fault if they weren’t able to get help soon enough. If he was smart, he’d stop the bleeding and call 911; maybe he even had some friends around to do that for him. If he couldn’t do any of that, well, too bad then, it wasn’t her fault. Well, not directly. And it wasn’t as if she’d shot him in cold blood; he’d been shooting at her too, the bastard.
She walked towards the man, kicking his cap off and meeting surprisingly dark eyes, filled with hate. She kicked his gun away, and then saw something grabbed tightly in his hand. A trigger. Her eyes widened and the man grinned, as he pushed the button. Nothing happened. Not yet. Delay. A few seconds maybe. She yelled: “BOMB”, nobody else needed to die because of this. Then she took off, counting the seconds, unsure of how many she had but sure it were too little. From her right, someone took off too and somewhere she realized that she had indeed not been alone. But she was mostly focused on running. She skidded through the hallway, and at nineteen seconds jumped at a window. The figure running behind her did so too, slightly earlier than she, as she heard class shatter at eighteen seconds. At nineteen, she jumped and more glass shattered. At twenty, before she even hit the ground, she could feel the air thrusting her further into the sky, she felt the warmth behind her, getting too hot to be comfortable. She kept counting as she curled into a ball in the sky, seeing the other figure already in a ball hiding behind a car. At twenty-two, she hit the ground. Hard.
At twenty-four she couldn’t see a hand before her eyes. She held her breath and didn’t dare to move as bricks, glass and all other sorts of stuff fell around her, sometimes on her.
At thirty-five she opened her eyes again, not realizing she’d closed them. It didn’t make a difference, the world was black with smoke around her. She could hear the fire, and knew she needed to get out of here. At forty, she stood again, falling down when a piece of wood or stone hit her in the back. At forty-two she put her arms over her head protectively as another bomb exploded, in another part of the building. At forty-nine, she felt something. Someone was tugging at her arm. She opened her eyes, saw a man standing there, pointing to something, his mouth moving. At fifty-one she realized she couldn’t hear a thing except a beep. At fifty-three, the man helped her up and she ignored the pain as she followed him through the smoke. At one minute and three seconds, they reached the parking lot and the smoke was slightly less. She breathed. The man pointed to a car and his mouth moved again. She just shook her head and pointed to her ears. He nodded, understandingly, and used his finger to write something in the dust that was now everywhere.
“Got a car. Let’s get out of here before the cops show.” She nodded and got into said car.
At two minutes and thirty-two seconds, they were out of the smoke, on the driveway, and slowly her hearing returned.
At three minutes exactly, the man spoke.
“Can you hear me now?”
She nodded. “Not great, but yeah. Thanks.”
He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “If you hadn’t called out I would have been in pieces now. So thank you.”
“Hadn’t expected that one. Was kinda surprising. I should have seen it though.”
He glanced at her quickly but waited for an explanation. She didn’t give one. Instead, she repeated herself. “I’m getting too old for this bullshit.”
The man beside her laughed. “Cheers to that, mate. Let me buy you a drink. To celebrate that we survived. After we get those nasty cuts cleaned up.”
She pulled a mirror from the battered backpack and realized that indeed, she had some nasty cuts. The throbbing in her back returned and she suddenly regretted that his car interior was now smeared with blood, apologizing to him.
“Don’t worry, it’s not the first time,” he said, as he parked at a small gas station and reached behind his chair to reveal two bottles of whiskey and a first aid box.
She accepted a bottle and took a big swig, and he copied her movements. “Time to get a real job, huh? Some desk work, settling down, leaving the gun behind. Not jumping from exploding buildings anymore.”
She laughed, and took another swig. “I’d never leave this behind.”
The man nodded in agreement. “Me neither. Cheers to gunshots and explosions.”