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I checked my watch. 4:45.Only a few precious minutes left. Months of planning, months of careful consideration for this simple action. Many millions of pieces of paper filed, re-filed and filed again. Weeks of meetings, debates and conversations. All for this. All for me. I slowly made my way past the place where the events that would shock the world in a few hours time. I gave a friendly nod to the doorman. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.
I stood around, pretending to be absorbed in the wonders of my newspaper. I looked around – the street was empty. I slid into the safety of darkness of a back alley. Scaling the mesh fence, I made it into the empty yard. This building had been derelict for years, and you could tell. Empty bottles and cans were scattered across the cracked cement of the floor. Graffiti by innocent teenagers, naïve to the working of the world. Naïve to the significance this abandoned building would have on the modern world.
Reaching the arranged room, my equipment was waiting. .50 calibre sniper. Extremely powerful – no man could withstand a bullet from one of these things. Most machines couldn’t either. Its intended purpose may have been as an anti-aircraft device; today it was going to bring down one of the most corrupt regimes the world has ever seen.
I had plenty of time to spare. It was still dark but yet people still hurried along, unaware. Uneducated. Caged. I took up target practice, picking people and following them down the street, perfectly. One movement and I could end any of these people’s lives. It’s something that every man should feel. A power that he was feeling and I scoured the high street for more people to play god with. For the briefest of moments, I felt I could at one with him. He could end it all at the touch of a button. I could end it for one of these pretty businessmen with the clench of a finger. For the first time since childhood, I felt truly alive.
I zoomed in on the doorman. He put on a brave face, but he couldn’t hide the truth behind that lying smile. They were written all over him, from his scuffed, worn down boot to the rips in his jacket. It’d all hit him hard, much like everyone else. Everyday, he watched the ruling classes pass him by, laughing as they flaunted their money, wasting it on extravagances. As hard as he worked, there was no way out of this rut. For him, for any of us. It was the way it worked. The way the regime said it should be. As his skeletal figure rose to greet another free-market, capitalist b*****d, I felt my pocket vibrate.
Message from 00013: He’s on his way. This was the final contact I’d have before it all took place. I switched my phone off – if they tracked down the signal, it’d all be over. Phones were banned. In fact, any kind of communication was, for all except them. Though the official line may have been different, we all knew the truth. They were censoring us from our own thoughts.
A Limousine pulled up. I aimed at the first passenger door, waiting for the moment. The moment that would change the world. The moment which would free our people, free them all from his oppression. The doors opened and, for what seemed like an eternity, no-one came out. Suddenly, movement. A leg. And arm. He pulled himself out from his cover of safety. My whole body on edge, I readied myself. Finally, the head. Clear shot through. He turned around, revealing himself. I’d be able to see his face as he died. My finger pulled on the trigger. Then stopped itself. It was a decoy, a typical tactic. This was not my man. I’d been warned about this. The Limo drove off, the suit strolled inside. I wiped my forehead and prepared for action once again.
It was nearing dawn now. The shop-keepers were opening their shutters, ready for another days business. People like this were living a lie. Employed by the man to create the illusion of a free market, by day they were simple shopkeepers, plying their modest trade but, by night, they bathed in champagne. They were worst than the rest of them. Pulling the wool over the masses eyes, the pretended to be one of us when, really, they were mocking everything we once stood for. The temptation to pull the trigger was too hard to resist. I braced for impact when, I became distracted by a rather modest car.
Black and clearly out of date, it stood out due to its conformity. On this road, you saw nothing but top of the line, straight from the factory machines . Anything else was turned away at the gates. I followed it down the street and focused on the license plate as it stopped outside the Hotel. It bore his standard. This was him. This was the moment. This was the end of the years of suffering, torment and humiliation we’d all faced at his hands. The doors burst open. It was now or never. Death or glory. Sweat trickled down my forehead, pure adrenaline flowing through my veins. The .50 suddenly weighed a tonne. A head popped out. Then another. The bodyguards made a quick check of the area before nodding to someone inside the car. Pulling him out, This was our moment. Our liberation. Our time. The devil that stood in front of my danced as the lead ended his domination. As crimson filled the pavement, I cried in excitement. This is something that everyone had waited for. This is what we were all dependant on. This was the end of his domination. This was the start of freedom. Another dead president.
I made my way out of the back exit. As I left the courtyard, entering the sparse street behind the building where dreams had been made. I blended in with the crowd. I looked at the people on the street. Blank faces, unaware. Although they may not know it now, they were free. I checked my watch. 6:10. The start of the people’s liberation.
I stood around, pretending to be absorbed in the wonders of my newspaper. I looked around – the street was empty. I slid into the safety of darkness of a back alley. Scaling the mesh fence, I made it into the empty yard. This building had been derelict for years, and you could tell. Empty bottles and cans were scattered across the cracked cement of the floor. Graffiti by innocent teenagers, naïve to the working of the world. Naïve to the significance this abandoned building would have on the modern world.
Reaching the arranged room, my equipment was waiting. .50 calibre sniper. Extremely powerful – no man could withstand a bullet from one of these things. Most machines couldn’t either. Its intended purpose may have been as an anti-aircraft device; today it was going to bring down one of the most corrupt regimes the world has ever seen.
I had plenty of time to spare. It was still dark but yet people still hurried along, unaware. Uneducated. Caged. I took up target practice, picking people and following them down the street, perfectly. One movement and I could end any of these people’s lives. It’s something that every man should feel. A power that he was feeling and I scoured the high street for more people to play god with. For the briefest of moments, I felt I could at one with him. He could end it all at the touch of a button. I could end it for one of these pretty businessmen with the clench of a finger. For the first time since childhood, I felt truly alive.
I zoomed in on the doorman. He put on a brave face, but he couldn’t hide the truth behind that lying smile. They were written all over him, from his scuffed, worn down boot to the rips in his jacket. It’d all hit him hard, much like everyone else. Everyday, he watched the ruling classes pass him by, laughing as they flaunted their money, wasting it on extravagances. As hard as he worked, there was no way out of this rut. For him, for any of us. It was the way it worked. The way the regime said it should be. As his skeletal figure rose to greet another free-market, capitalist b*****d, I felt my pocket vibrate.
Message from 00013: He’s on his way. This was the final contact I’d have before it all took place. I switched my phone off – if they tracked down the signal, it’d all be over. Phones were banned. In fact, any kind of communication was, for all except them. Though the official line may have been different, we all knew the truth. They were censoring us from our own thoughts.
A Limousine pulled up. I aimed at the first passenger door, waiting for the moment. The moment that would change the world. The moment which would free our people, free them all from his oppression. The doors opened and, for what seemed like an eternity, no-one came out. Suddenly, movement. A leg. And arm. He pulled himself out from his cover of safety. My whole body on edge, I readied myself. Finally, the head. Clear shot through. He turned around, revealing himself. I’d be able to see his face as he died. My finger pulled on the trigger. Then stopped itself. It was a decoy, a typical tactic. This was not my man. I’d been warned about this. The Limo drove off, the suit strolled inside. I wiped my forehead and prepared for action once again.
It was nearing dawn now. The shop-keepers were opening their shutters, ready for another days business. People like this were living a lie. Employed by the man to create the illusion of a free market, by day they were simple shopkeepers, plying their modest trade but, by night, they bathed in champagne. They were worst than the rest of them. Pulling the wool over the masses eyes, the pretended to be one of us when, really, they were mocking everything we once stood for. The temptation to pull the trigger was too hard to resist. I braced for impact when, I became distracted by a rather modest car.
Black and clearly out of date, it stood out due to its conformity. On this road, you saw nothing but top of the line, straight from the factory machines . Anything else was turned away at the gates. I followed it down the street and focused on the license plate as it stopped outside the Hotel. It bore his standard. This was him. This was the moment. This was the end of the years of suffering, torment and humiliation we’d all faced at his hands. The doors burst open. It was now or never. Death or glory. Sweat trickled down my forehead, pure adrenaline flowing through my veins. The .50 suddenly weighed a tonne. A head popped out. Then another. The bodyguards made a quick check of the area before nodding to someone inside the car. Pulling him out, This was our moment. Our liberation. Our time. The devil that stood in front of my danced as the lead ended his domination. As crimson filled the pavement, I cried in excitement. This is something that everyone had waited for. This is what we were all dependant on. This was the end of his domination. This was the start of freedom. Another dead president.
I made my way out of the back exit. As I left the courtyard, entering the sparse street behind the building where dreams had been made. I blended in with the crowd. I looked at the people on the street. Blank faces, unaware. Although they may not know it now, they were free. I checked my watch. 6:10. The start of the people’s liberation.
I checked my watch. 4:45.Only a few precious minutes left. Months of planning, months of careful consideration for this simple action. Many millions of pieces of paper filed, re-filed and filed again. Weeks of meetings, debates and conversations. All for this. All for me. I slowly made my way past the place where the events that would shock the world in a few hours time. I gave a friendly nod to the doorman. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.
I stood around, pretending to be absorbed in the wonders of my newspaper. I looked around – the street was empty. I slid into the safety of darkness of a back alley. Scaling the mesh fence, I made it into the empty yard. This building had been derelict for years, and you could tell. Empty bottles and cans were scattered across the cracked cement of the floor. Graffiti by innocent teenagers, naïve to the working of the world. Naïve to the significance this abandoned building would have on the modern world.
Reaching the arranged room, my equipment was waiting. .50 calibre sniper. Extremely powerful – no man could withstand a bullet from one of these things. Most machines couldn’t either. Its intended purpose may have been as an anti-aircraft device; today it was going to bring down one of the most corrupt regimes the world has ever seen.
I had plenty of time to spare. It was still dark but yet people still hurried along, unaware. Uneducated. Caged. I took up target practice, picking people and following them down the street, perfectly. One movement and I could end any of these people’s lives. It’s something that every man should feel. A power that he was feeling and I scoured the high street for more people to play god with. For the briefest of moments, I felt I could at one with him. He could end it all at the touch of a button. I could end it for one of these pretty businessmen with the clench of a finger. For the first time since childhood, I felt truly alive.
I zoomed in on the doorman. He put on a brave face, but he couldn’t hide the truth behind that lying smile. They were written all over him, from his scuffed, worn down boot to the rips in his jacket. It’d all hit him hard, much like everyone else. Everyday, he watched the ruling classes pass him by, laughing as they flaunted their money, wasting it on extravagances. As hard as he worked, there was no way out of this rut. For him, for any of us. It was the way it worked. The way the regime said it should be. As his skeletal figure rose to greet another free-market, capitalist b*****d, I felt my pocket vibrate.
Message from 00013: He’s on his way. This was the final contact I’d have before it all took place. I switched my phone off – if they tracked down the signal, it’d all be over. Phones were banned. In fact, any kind of communication was, for all except them. Though the official line may have been different, we all knew the truth. They were censoring us from our own thoughts.
A Limousine pulled up. I aimed at the first passenger door, waiting for the moment. The moment that would change the world. The moment which would free our people, free them all from his oppression. The doors opened and, for what seemed like an eternity, no-one came out. Suddenly, movement. A leg. And arm. He pulled himself out from his cover of safety. My whole body on edge, I readied myself. Finally, the head. Clear shot through. He turned around, revealing himself. I’d be able to see his face as he died. My finger pulled on the trigger. Then stopped itself. It was a decoy, a typical tactic. This was not my man. I’d been warned about this. The Limo drove off, the suit strolled inside. I wiped my forehead and prepared for action once again.
It was nearing dawn now. The shop-keepers were opening their shutters, ready for another days business. People like this were living a lie. Employed by the man to create the illusion of a free market, by day they were simple shopkeepers, plying their modest trade but, by night, they bathed in champagne. They were worst than the rest of them. Pulling the wool over the masses eyes, the pretended to be one of us when, really, they were mocking everything we once stood for. The temptation to pull the trigger was too hard to resist. I braced for impact when, I became distracted by a rather modest car.
Black and clearly out of date, it stood out due to its conformity. On this road, you saw nothing but top of the line, straight from the factory machines . Anything else was turned away at the gates. I followed it down the street and focused on the license plate as it stopped outside the Hotel. It bore his standard. This was him. This was the moment. This was the end of the years of suffering, torment and humiliation we’d all faced at his hands. The doors burst open. It was now or never. Death or glory. Sweat trickled down my forehead, pure adrenaline flowing through my veins. The .50 suddenly weighed a tonne. A head popped out. Then another. The bodyguards made a quick check of the area before nodding to someone inside the car. Pulling him out, This was our moment. Our liberation. Our time. The devil that stood in front of my danced as the lead ended his domination. As crimson filled the pavement, I cried in excitement. This is something that everyone had waited for. This is what we were all dependant on. This was the end of his domination. This was the start of freedom. Another dead president.
I made my way out of the back exit. As I left the courtyard, entering the sparse street behind the building where dreams had been made. I blended in with the crowd. I looked at the people on the street. Blank faces, unaware. Although they may not know it now, they were free. I checked my watch. 6:10. The start of the people’s liberation.
I stood around, pretending to be absorbed in the wonders of my newspaper. I looked around – the street was empty. I slid into the safety of darkness of a back alley. Scaling the mesh fence, I made it into the empty yard. This building had been derelict for years, and you could tell. Empty bottles and cans were scattered across the cracked cement of the floor. Graffiti by innocent teenagers, naïve to the working of the world. Naïve to the significance this abandoned building would have on the modern world.
Reaching the arranged room, my equipment was waiting. .50 calibre sniper. Extremely powerful – no man could withstand a bullet from one of these things. Most machines couldn’t either. Its intended purpose may have been as an anti-aircraft device; today it was going to bring down one of the most corrupt regimes the world has ever seen.
I had plenty of time to spare. It was still dark but yet people still hurried along, unaware. Uneducated. Caged. I took up target practice, picking people and following them down the street, perfectly. One movement and I could end any of these people’s lives. It’s something that every man should feel. A power that he was feeling and I scoured the high street for more people to play god with. For the briefest of moments, I felt I could at one with him. He could end it all at the touch of a button. I could end it for one of these pretty businessmen with the clench of a finger. For the first time since childhood, I felt truly alive.
I zoomed in on the doorman. He put on a brave face, but he couldn’t hide the truth behind that lying smile. They were written all over him, from his scuffed, worn down boot to the rips in his jacket. It’d all hit him hard, much like everyone else. Everyday, he watched the ruling classes pass him by, laughing as they flaunted their money, wasting it on extravagances. As hard as he worked, there was no way out of this rut. For him, for any of us. It was the way it worked. The way the regime said it should be. As his skeletal figure rose to greet another free-market, capitalist b*****d, I felt my pocket vibrate.
Message from 00013: He’s on his way. This was the final contact I’d have before it all took place. I switched my phone off – if they tracked down the signal, it’d all be over. Phones were banned. In fact, any kind of communication was, for all except them. Though the official line may have been different, we all knew the truth. They were censoring us from our own thoughts.
A Limousine pulled up. I aimed at the first passenger door, waiting for the moment. The moment that would change the world. The moment which would free our people, free them all from his oppression. The doors opened and, for what seemed like an eternity, no-one came out. Suddenly, movement. A leg. And arm. He pulled himself out from his cover of safety. My whole body on edge, I readied myself. Finally, the head. Clear shot through. He turned around, revealing himself. I’d be able to see his face as he died. My finger pulled on the trigger. Then stopped itself. It was a decoy, a typical tactic. This was not my man. I’d been warned about this. The Limo drove off, the suit strolled inside. I wiped my forehead and prepared for action once again.
It was nearing dawn now. The shop-keepers were opening their shutters, ready for another days business. People like this were living a lie. Employed by the man to create the illusion of a free market, by day they were simple shopkeepers, plying their modest trade but, by night, they bathed in champagne. They were worst than the rest of them. Pulling the wool over the masses eyes, the pretended to be one of us when, really, they were mocking everything we once stood for. The temptation to pull the trigger was too hard to resist. I braced for impact when, I became distracted by a rather modest car.
Black and clearly out of date, it stood out due to its conformity. On this road, you saw nothing but top of the line, straight from the factory machines . Anything else was turned away at the gates. I followed it down the street and focused on the license plate as it stopped outside the Hotel. It bore his standard. This was him. This was the moment. This was the end of the years of suffering, torment and humiliation we’d all faced at his hands. The doors burst open. It was now or never. Death or glory. Sweat trickled down my forehead, pure adrenaline flowing through my veins. The .50 suddenly weighed a tonne. A head popped out. Then another. The bodyguards made a quick check of the area before nodding to someone inside the car. Pulling him out, This was our moment. Our liberation. Our time. The devil that stood in front of my danced as the lead ended his domination. As crimson filled the pavement, I cried in excitement. This is something that everyone had waited for. This is what we were all dependant on. This was the end of his domination. This was the start of freedom. Another dead president.
I made my way out of the back exit. As I left the courtyard, entering the sparse street behind the building where dreams had been made. I blended in with the crowd. I looked at the people on the street. Blank faces, unaware. Although they may not know it now, they were free. I checked my watch. 6:10. The start of the people’s liberation.
Well, what can I say? The story is brilliant. The whole story is hidden behind a fog and is left upon the reader to reveal it unto himself. Even then, the use of the theme "Just Before Dawn" is pretty shoddy. It looks like you have been trying to write something about a revolution. But even then, it was worth the time taken to read it.
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mattribute wrote:
> Only a few precious minutes left.
> Months of planning, months of careful
> consideration for this simple action.
> All for this. All for me.
The beginning of the story is well written. It gave me the feeling that this is going to be some World War adventure; since it is mostly in ww stories where we find that one successful mission is able to change the lives of millions.
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mattribute wrote:
> ...picking people & following them down the street, perfectly.
> One movement and I could end any of these people’s lives.
> It’s something that every man should feel.
All I can say for this part is that you have been successful in expressing the state of mind of a person who has got something dangerous to toy with. Yes that is pretty much the same way I would have felt if I had a gun in my hands. But I would have shot something to stop the tickle itch in my fingers. Something, not some one.
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mattribute wrote:
> I zoomed in on the doorman. He put on a brave face,
> but he couldn’t hide the truth behind that lying smile.
I failed to understand at first the meaning of this line. I thought that the doorman suddenly came in the front of you, and he started thinking that you'll shoot him. It got cleared up when I read it again though.
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-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
mattribute wrote:
> Message from 00013: He’s on his way.
Pretty lame. . .
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-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
mattribute wrote:
> The devil that stood in front of my danced as
> the lead ended his domination. As crimson filled
> the pavement, I cried in excitement.
Hmmm. You shot him. OK. But these statements do not make it clear that you have shot Mr. President. It still feels as if you were describing something more. I read it in that mind set, so I didn't think that this formed a part of the story. You may consider editing this part of the story.
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-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
It was before dawn. So naturally, there must not have been enough illumination to guide you in shooting. Were you using an I/R vision scope with the gun?
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-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
mattribute wrote:
> Only a few precious minutes left.
> Months of planning, months of careful
> consideration for this simple action.
> All for this. All for me.
The beginning of the story is well written. It gave me the feeling that this is going to be some World War adventure; since it is mostly in ww stories where we find that one successful mission is able to change the lives of millions.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
mattribute wrote:
> ...picking people & following them down the street, perfectly.
> One movement and I could end any of these people’s lives.
> It’s something that every man should feel.
All I can say for this part is that you have been successful in expressing the state of mind of a person who has got something dangerous to toy with. Yes that is pretty much the same way I would have felt if I had a gun in my hands. But I would have shot something to stop the tickle itch in my fingers. Something, not some one.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
mattribute wrote:
> I zoomed in on the doorman. He put on a brave face,
> but he couldn’t hide the truth behind that lying smile.
I failed to understand at first the meaning of this line. I thought that the doorman suddenly came in the front of you, and he started thinking that you'll shoot him. It got cleared up when I read it again though.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
mattribute wrote:
> Message from 00013: He’s on his way.
Pretty lame. . .
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-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
mattribute wrote:
> The devil that stood in front of my danced as
> the lead ended his domination. As crimson filled
> the pavement, I cried in excitement.
Hmmm. You shot him. OK. But these statements do not make it clear that you have shot Mr. President. It still feels as if you were describing something more. I read it in that mind set, so I didn't think that this formed a part of the story. You may consider editing this part of the story.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
It was before dawn. So naturally, there must not have been enough illumination to guide you in shooting. Were you using an I/R vision scope with the gun?
Yeah, so I'm crap at climaxes.
Lurvely story. I liked the way you brought the character's feelings across.
Fight the machine, matteh.
rawk
rawk
Ooooh, class. I like. Nice one matteh.
Oh, and it kind of reminds me of the Matrix in parts. But the first one, so you're okay.
Nice one. Flowed well and easy to read.
I enjoyed this. It was pretty obvious what was coming, but you handled the build-up well.
Yeah, I wasn't going to try and attempt a twist and tuin anything which I'd built up. Just wanted to get back into the flow of things, really.