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Mr. Misting

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I just finished up a short story, and as I think it's fairly good, I guess I'll put it up here for anyone who wants to read it. I'd be very curious what people think, and if anyone has an possible edits, or ways to improve the story, please do tell me.

Anyway:

Spoiler

Practiced Killing

The man in sunglasses raised his gun. With a practiced hand, the restaurant’s customers started dropping. Bang. Bang.

A woman screamed. Bang. She knocked over a table as she fell.

A boy sporting a wispy mustache raised his pistol, eyes wide.

Bang. Bang.

The boy’s gun slipped from his hand as he fell, and the window behind the boy shattered.

The staff was running. Bang. Click. Click. He missed, and the two ducked behind the kitchen door. In one motion he stepped, vaulted over the counter, and kicked open the door. He dropped his empty gun and pulled a loaded one. Bang. Bang. The staff’s footsteps stopped in two thumps.

There was a crackle in his ear, and a husky voice spoke. “Targets eliminated. Countdown started.”

The man moved towards the exit, stepping over the young man’s body. He pushed past the swinging door, the bell tinkling. The air was fresh and sharp, contrasting the restaurant’s plastic warmth. The man touched his ear, moving with calm strides. “Clear.” “Confirmed.” The voice said.

The restaurant exploded in a deep crash of fire. The man didn’t look back.

The man walked to line of cars outside the restaurant and jumped in a dingy blue pick-up truck. He took off his suit jacket and sunglasses, stored the gun in the glove box, the earpiece next to it. He rolled onto the road, leaving the rest of the abandoned cars behind. The restaurant roared hollowly.

He drove absently, taking the road and cars by rote. He fiddled with the radio, until classical music began playing. He turned it off.

He took a right at the intersection and began driving into a residential area. Cookie cutter houses blurred past.

And then in front of his truck sprinted a tan object. The man’s eyes went wide. “Holy--“

Bump. Bump.

There was a visceral thump, and another, as his tires plowed over the thing. The curse died on his lips. He looked into his rearview mirror and saw something squirming in the road. It looked like a dog.

He drove silently for a moment, staring at nothing.

Then he blinked and looked at his wheel as if it was new. Realizing what had happened, he pulled over and ran out of truck.

He could see it laying in the middle of the road, cars swerving past. It looked like a half-made rug, tan fur stretched across the ground. No one stopped.

The man could still feel the sharp thump echoing in his bones. He bounced on his toes, waiting for a gap in the cars so he could run and grab the dog. Not a dog. He could see it was a cat now.

There. A car whizzed past, and the next one was two blocks away. He sprinted onto the road, and grabbed the cat, feeling something shift and crack. Cradling it to his chest, he ran back to the sidewalk. The car honked shrilly as it narrowly missed him.

The man lay the cat on the grass, its chest caved in. It was a poor grave. The man looked around, searching for anyone looking for the cat. There was no one. The neighborhood was silent: empty sidewalks, faceless cars, and no one cared. This cat had died, and it seemed only the man knew it.

He knelt there in the thin grass sidewalk strip, blankly watching the cat, the sky, and his shaking hands. Waiting to see if there was a way to fill this hollow moment.

 

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  • 2 weeks later...
On 2/15/2024 at 12:50 PM, Mr. Misting said:

I just finished up a short story, and as I think it's fairly good, I guess I'll put it up here for anyone who wants to read it. I'd be very curious what people think, and if anyone has an possible edits, or ways to improve the story, please do tell me.

Anyway:

  Reveal hidden contents

Practiced Killing

The man in sunglasses raised his gun. With a practiced hand, the restaurant’s customers started dropping. Bang. Bang.

A woman screamed. Bang. She knocked over a table as she fell.

A boy sporting a wispy mustache raised his pistol, eyes wide.

Bang. Bang.

The boy’s gun slipped from his hand as he fell, and the window behind the boy shattered.

The staff was running. Bang. Click. Click. He missed, and the two ducked behind the kitchen door. In one motion he stepped, vaulted over the counter, and kicked open the door. He dropped his empty gun and pulled a loaded one. Bang. Bang. The staff’s footsteps stopped in two thumps.

There was a crackle in his ear, and a husky voice spoke. “Targets eliminated. Countdown started.”

The man moved towards the exit, stepping over the young man’s body. He pushed past the swinging door, the bell tinkling. The air was fresh and sharp, contrasting the restaurant’s plastic warmth. The man touched his ear, moving with calm strides. “Clear.” “Confirmed.” The voice said.

The restaurant exploded in a deep crash of fire. The man didn’t look back.

The man walked to line of cars outside the restaurant and jumped in a dingy blue pick-up truck. He took off his suit jacket and sunglasses, stored the gun in the glove box, the earpiece next to it. He rolled onto the road, leaving the rest of the abandoned cars behind. The restaurant roared hollowly.

He drove absently, taking the road and cars by rote. He fiddled with the radio, until classical music began playing. He turned it off.

He took a right at the intersection and began driving into a residential area. Cookie cutter houses blurred past.

And then in front of his truck sprinted a tan object. The man’s eyes went wide. “Holy--“

Bump. Bump.

There was a visceral thump, and another, as his tires plowed over the thing. The curse died on his lips. He looked into his rearview mirror and saw something squirming in the road. It looked like a dog.

He drove silently for a moment, staring at nothing.

Then he blinked and looked at his wheel as if it was new. Realizing what had happened, he pulled over and ran out of truck.

He could see it laying in the middle of the road, cars swerving past. It looked like a half-made rug, tan fur stretched across the ground. No one stopped.

The man could still feel the sharp thump echoing in his bones. He bounced on his toes, waiting for a gap in the cars so he could run and grab the dog. Not a dog. He could see it was a cat now.

There. A car whizzed past, and the next one was two blocks away. He sprinted onto the road, and grabbed the cat, feeling something shift and crack. Cradling it to his chest, he ran back to the sidewalk. The car honked shrilly as it narrowly missed him.

The man lay the cat on the grass, its chest caved in. It was a poor grave. The man looked around, searching for anyone looking for the cat. There was no one. The neighborhood was silent: empty sidewalks, faceless cars, and no one cared. This cat had died, and it seemed only the man knew it.

He knelt there in the thin grass sidewalk strip, blankly watching the cat, the sky, and his shaking hands. Waiting to see if there was a way to fill this hollow moment.

 

Ooo wait I can’t believe I missed this, I love that!! It paints a really cool picture, and I love the way he gets emotional over the cat but not the people :) 

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