Post by Pixie on Jun 15, 2020 13:55:13 GMT -5
I'm writing a thriller and I want thoughts on whether or not this drags people in. I tried to make it entertaining and I had fun writing it.
Chapter One
The brown-haired man sorted through old pictures of him and his daughter. He wished that he had been a better father and felt a tugging sort of regret. He sighed and put all of the photos back into the cardboard box. His paranoia had gotten the best of him and it drove his daughter away.
You failure, he thought before he sighed. He got up and headed into the kitchen to make himself some processed macaroni.
On the wooden table laid a diverse array of guns: shotguns, rifles, and handguns. He had stocked up over the years.
He remembered when his daughter was only seven and he took her to hunt. His house was surrounded by a dense thicket of woods and whitetail deer passed through on the daily. They had crept around in the woods before dawn and he carried just one shotgun. He had gotten her her own set of camouflage clothes, so she too blended in with her surroundings.
“What do we do now?” she had whispered.
“Shush, just wait.” he replied.
He gave her the gun when he saw a buck poking around. It’s ears flicked as frogs and crickets conversed in the area.
“Look through the scope and breathe deeply. Close one eye if you have to, but be patient. Don’t wait too long, though, because it may get startled off before you get the chance.”
“That’s a lot,” she complained. Her tiny arms were a bit shaky with the weight of the gun.
He decided it would do well to help her, so he stabilized her shaky arms by putting his under hers. He helped her take aim.
“Is he at the center of the scope?”
“Yes,” she breathed. Her voice barely more than a whisper.
Her small pointer finger sat on the trigger. Without a second thought, she pulled it and she winced as her ears started ringing even with the rubber plugs in. Before she could drop the gun, he got it out of her grasp and put it on safety and looked through the scope to see if she got it and his heart nearly lept out of his chest when he saw that she did. Meanwhile, her hands were rubbing her ears, wanting them to stop ringing and after a moment, they did.
He threw the shotgun in the holster on his back and the two navigated to the truck. He drove to the hollow the carcass was in and threw it in the back of the truck. It landed with a hard thud. Blood seeped out of the bullet wound. The pride he felt for his daughter at that time was immense.
And now, eleven years later, she barely came home and opted to spend her nights at a friend’s house. The thought was almost enough to make him cry. When did their relationship take a turn for the worse?
Maybe it was when he had her gut the buck and drain it of it’s blood. She had thrown up and asked him if she could leave, but he had forced her to continue. Or maybe it was when he punished her when she had accidentally broken one of his collectible plates by making her sleep outside in the cold with who knew what was out there.
He had wanted her to learn her lesson and even when she was out there, he kept watch over her. He wanted her to know tough love, but eventually she made friends who convinced her that wasn’t the way to live. Now, she only came home if it was absolutely necessary.
“I hate you,” she had told him when she was sixteen.
She barely acknowledged him whenever he was around and now all he had left was old photos of the few happy moments they had like when he took her fishing. They had both seemed content in their silence. He could still remember the sound of the stream.
He went back into the room and was going to sort through the photos again when he all of the sudden got slammed into the side of the hallway. The hallway was dimly lit and his attacker wore a hoodie and a black bandana that covered all but his eyes. However, the hallway was dimly lit, so he couldn’t see those eyes.
He pushed his attacker back and hurried back to the kitchen to get one of his many guns, but then he felt a searing pain as a knife tore through his back. The assailant took the knife out and he turned to face him, to punch him, to do something, but all that did was earn him a knife to the eye. Wet blood poured out as he let out a choking breath. His face wept warm red as he stumbled and grabbed the black hoodie of his attacker, but he fell to his knees and his grip was weak.
His attacker kicked him down and as he laid there bleeding out, his attacker pulled down the plain bandana.
“You!” he rasped before his assailant slammed his foot down into his head. There was a bunch of cracking and snapping as blood made its way through his eye socket, nose, and mouth. His body was as dead as the deer he had his daughter hunt down eleven years ago.
Chapter One
The brown-haired man sorted through old pictures of him and his daughter. He wished that he had been a better father and felt a tugging sort of regret. He sighed and put all of the photos back into the cardboard box. His paranoia had gotten the best of him and it drove his daughter away.
You failure, he thought before he sighed. He got up and headed into the kitchen to make himself some processed macaroni.
On the wooden table laid a diverse array of guns: shotguns, rifles, and handguns. He had stocked up over the years.
He remembered when his daughter was only seven and he took her to hunt. His house was surrounded by a dense thicket of woods and whitetail deer passed through on the daily. They had crept around in the woods before dawn and he carried just one shotgun. He had gotten her her own set of camouflage clothes, so she too blended in with her surroundings.
“What do we do now?” she had whispered.
“Shush, just wait.” he replied.
He gave her the gun when he saw a buck poking around. It’s ears flicked as frogs and crickets conversed in the area.
“Look through the scope and breathe deeply. Close one eye if you have to, but be patient. Don’t wait too long, though, because it may get startled off before you get the chance.”
“That’s a lot,” she complained. Her tiny arms were a bit shaky with the weight of the gun.
He decided it would do well to help her, so he stabilized her shaky arms by putting his under hers. He helped her take aim.
“Is he at the center of the scope?”
“Yes,” she breathed. Her voice barely more than a whisper.
Her small pointer finger sat on the trigger. Without a second thought, she pulled it and she winced as her ears started ringing even with the rubber plugs in. Before she could drop the gun, he got it out of her grasp and put it on safety and looked through the scope to see if she got it and his heart nearly lept out of his chest when he saw that she did. Meanwhile, her hands were rubbing her ears, wanting them to stop ringing and after a moment, they did.
He threw the shotgun in the holster on his back and the two navigated to the truck. He drove to the hollow the carcass was in and threw it in the back of the truck. It landed with a hard thud. Blood seeped out of the bullet wound. The pride he felt for his daughter at that time was immense.
And now, eleven years later, she barely came home and opted to spend her nights at a friend’s house. The thought was almost enough to make him cry. When did their relationship take a turn for the worse?
Maybe it was when he had her gut the buck and drain it of it’s blood. She had thrown up and asked him if she could leave, but he had forced her to continue. Or maybe it was when he punished her when she had accidentally broken one of his collectible plates by making her sleep outside in the cold with who knew what was out there.
He had wanted her to learn her lesson and even when she was out there, he kept watch over her. He wanted her to know tough love, but eventually she made friends who convinced her that wasn’t the way to live. Now, she only came home if it was absolutely necessary.
“I hate you,” she had told him when she was sixteen.
She barely acknowledged him whenever he was around and now all he had left was old photos of the few happy moments they had like when he took her fishing. They had both seemed content in their silence. He could still remember the sound of the stream.
He went back into the room and was going to sort through the photos again when he all of the sudden got slammed into the side of the hallway. The hallway was dimly lit and his attacker wore a hoodie and a black bandana that covered all but his eyes. However, the hallway was dimly lit, so he couldn’t see those eyes.
He pushed his attacker back and hurried back to the kitchen to get one of his many guns, but then he felt a searing pain as a knife tore through his back. The assailant took the knife out and he turned to face him, to punch him, to do something, but all that did was earn him a knife to the eye. Wet blood poured out as he let out a choking breath. His face wept warm red as he stumbled and grabbed the black hoodie of his attacker, but he fell to his knees and his grip was weak.
His attacker kicked him down and as he laid there bleeding out, his attacker pulled down the plain bandana.
“You!” he rasped before his assailant slammed his foot down into his head. There was a bunch of cracking and snapping as blood made its way through his eye socket, nose, and mouth. His body was as dead as the deer he had his daughter hunt down eleven years ago.