Post by tweek on Dec 10, 2007 0:53:57 GMT -5
For those of you with the patince to read through this, it is a story I wrote for a creative writing class about a year ago. I really enjoyed writing it and would really enjoy playing it out. It is writin in three different parts from three different points of view. So, would any one like to help me making my writing reality?
BOOM! The primachord explosion blows the heavy wooden door to splinters. It's hot from the explosion. The dust that used to be the door and surrounding frame still hangs in the air, a veil that blocks all vision into the dark corridor behind what used to be the employee entrance to the modern day castle of a bank. My gun is at my shoulder. The drops of rain hold the dust to my mask. I can't stop to whip it clean. I hear the explosion at the front door. Bravo team. I hear the screams of people down stairs. Gun fire. A spray of red from mikes leg. He drops to the floor almost as fast as the barrel of my S.M.G. goes up. In the blink of an eye my sight finds the shooters head. His body drops and a cloud of red hangs in the air behind him. I hear the shouts of Bravo team, "CLEAR!", "Clear", as they pass through room after room. An AK-47 rattles off a three round burst. I catch a glimpse of my own blood splattered on the wall beside me. My finger puts pressure on the trigger of the gun strapped to my shoulder. The bullet that tore through my arm affects my aim and of the five rounds I squeezed off only two sink into flesh. It is enough. My assailant drops to form a pool of blood to stare up at me from as he desperately grabs for his rifle. I kick it away. He screams in agony. Incapacitated, not my problem any more. I move on alone, Mike slumped in a corner with his gun ready. I push forward. I move through a hallway of small offices. A door bursts open. I put my sight on the target. He's armed, I fire. The recoil in my gun causes immense pain in my wounded arm. I can feel the blood running down towards my fingertips. I kick the gun away from the corpse and move on. More shots from another room. MP-5 in origin, Bravo team. "CLEAR!". I move down a staircase. Muffled whimpers and groans fill the would be silence. I turn the corner at the base of the stairs. Three men with guns. The wooden desk I hide behind is thick enough to stop the bullets, but not for long. The flash bang goes off and open fire. Two men go down. The Kevlar is strong but not enough to stand up to a .50 caliber bullet. I feel it tear into my soft flesh. Two more shots find their mark just below my collarbone. My eyes close. A few seconds after my helmet strikes the floor my eyes reopen. The dirty facemask no longer blocks my vision. I'm not alone down here. Men and women in suits, all of them on their knees. Some whimper. Some don't. Many of the women have tear soaked sleeves. One man has wet himself. I feel the blood trickle across my chest. I hear distant voices. The blood reaches my shoulder. "Clear!". It flows over my neck. The door at the other end of the room flies in. The blood pools around my head. Three shots. My eyes close again. I hear a body hit the floor next to me. The sound is unmistakable. Noise grows distant. "CLEAR!". Too late.
The Clock strikes 4. It's been half an hour since I walked through the huge wooden doors. The painters have been here only about 5 minutes and done nothing but talked. One of them pulls a canister from a canvas bag and rolls it to my feet. The thick smoke burns my eyes. I can't see. I hit the ground hard. I can't hear or feel. I'm gone.
I don't know how long it's been since the smoke rendered me unconscious but the effects have yet to fully fade. My vision is fuzzy but clear enough for me to realize that I have been moved from where I fell. I start to get up but a hard hit to the back of my knees decides otherwise. A deep raspy voice tells me to stay on my knees and keep my head low. I do as I am told.
Smoke taints the air. The butt of a thick cigar lands in front of me and a large boot grinds it hard into the marble floor. I see the barrel of a rifle near the mans knee. This is the closest I have ever been to a gun. It sends chills down my spine. The voice and 2 others speak with one another. I hear talk on the phone, the police. This has gone terribly wrong.
Others are regaining conscience. The raspy voices tell them to stay at their knees. Here we are. Myself and 2 dozen others, trapped in the middle of this fiasco. Two Blasts in rapid succession from some where up above. The strong smell of pneumonia fills the air. I glance to my right. A man has wet his pants. The butt of a rifle straightens my head and puts it between my legs. All I can see is the dark marble floor. I hear gun fire above. At least ten shots. Screams of agony penetrate the thick brick walls. I find myself weeping. I am afraid. More gun fire. No screams this time. I cower in fear.
Voices from the other side of the room call out. They set a bomb. I hear foot steps coming down the stairs near by. I want to warn him. Warn him of the armed men. The bomb. I cower in fear. I hear the foot steps round the corner. The next few seconds are Armageddon. The bullets fly through the air and tear into the heavy wooden desks wooden shrapnel bounces through the room. A bright light and ear bursting sound fills the air. I feel dizzy and loose sight. 3 shots are fired. 3 more follow from a different gun. As my vision clears I see the man lying at my knees. The blood runs over his body as 2 more men charge in the door at the other side of the room. 3 shots are fired. The last of the assailants drops to the floor dead. One of the men yells CLEAR as the blood pools at my knees. It's too late. The bomb goes off.
Quarter after three o' clock. Fifteen minutes till we go on in. We sit in the back of the van. Prep our weapons and check the bomb. The zippers close and the doors open. Sunlight floods the small cargo area of the E-250 cargo van. We step out. Draped in the garments of painters we walk slowly across the street toward the mammoth bank. We're about to make a rather large withdrawal.
We step through the massive doors and the entirety of those within the bank turn to see us. My heart sinks. We are supposed to be entirely un-noticed until we make our move. Silence fills the air for what seems like an eternity. When the noise finally returns to the echoic lobby of the establishment ease flows through my mind. We set our bags on a table and pull the masks over our faces. We spend a good half an hour looking over the interior of the building. We've done it half a dozen times and have every angle figured out.
I pull the gas canister from my bag and roll it to the center of the floor. A thick yellow smoke billows through the air and occupants of the room all fall to the floor. We gather the unconscious men and women and bring them to the vault room in the basement. One of my colleagues begins pulling the metallic parts from the largest of our canvas bags and starts assembling the bomb. This will not fail. Our plan is full proof.
We sit in the room. There are three of us here and five more spread through out the immense structure. The cops are on the phone. This has gone terribly wrong. It was supposed to be a smash and grab. That obviously didn't work. Now with the building surrounded and no way out the bomb is our only alternative. Our only leverage over those outside.
BOOM! A blast from somewhere up above followed immediately by a second explosion. "They're there they're inside" a voice echoes from my com.
I grab my gun off the desk and stand guard at the door. My colleagues grab theirs and do the same at the other entrance. A shot from one of our AK-47s. It is reputed by a burst from a much smaller gun. I hear more AK-47 shots and more from the smaller gun. The screams of Andreas penetrate the thick walls. It makes my stomach turn and puts my heart in my throat. He screams louder. "My God what are they doing to him?" I hear from somewhere to my left. A man begins to look up towards me; I correct his line of sight with the butt of my rifle.
More shots, they are getting closer. The knots in my stomach get tighter, I am afraid. A man rounds the corner at the end of the stairs and for a moment that seems like an eternity there is nothing. No sound no movement. Nothing. He drops behind a desk and we open fire. After a few seconds of nothing but bullets a small canister flies over the top of the desk. A bang so loud I can't hear anything else and a light so bright my vision fades away.
The next thing I know the man is up again and he is shooting my friends. One drops then the other. My rifle jams. I pull the pistol from my back and fire a round into his chest. Again I pull the trigger and the bullet tears through his body. One more round before I even realize it. The man drops to the floor and his blood begins to pool. I have never killed any one before. It's actually rather therapeutic.
The door on the other side of the room blasts open and the end comes charging through. Two men with sub machine guns at their shoulder. I raise my gun and take aim but before I can pull the trigger a bullet rips through my chest. I see a puff of red from below my eyes and I look up again. This Is it. All of life slows down to a heartbeat and I see the gun fire and the bullet moving through the air. This one won't miss, it won't leave me wounded, it will leave me dead. I won't leave here in the van across the street with my friends and the money. I won't leave here alive. No one will. I press the button and the bomb goes off just as the bullet tears into my skull.
BOOM! The primachord explosion blows the heavy wooden door to splinters. It's hot from the explosion. The dust that used to be the door and surrounding frame still hangs in the air, a veil that blocks all vision into the dark corridor behind what used to be the employee entrance to the modern day castle of a bank. My gun is at my shoulder. The drops of rain hold the dust to my mask. I can't stop to whip it clean. I hear the explosion at the front door. Bravo team. I hear the screams of people down stairs. Gun fire. A spray of red from mikes leg. He drops to the floor almost as fast as the barrel of my S.M.G. goes up. In the blink of an eye my sight finds the shooters head. His body drops and a cloud of red hangs in the air behind him. I hear the shouts of Bravo team, "CLEAR!", "Clear", as they pass through room after room. An AK-47 rattles off a three round burst. I catch a glimpse of my own blood splattered on the wall beside me. My finger puts pressure on the trigger of the gun strapped to my shoulder. The bullet that tore through my arm affects my aim and of the five rounds I squeezed off only two sink into flesh. It is enough. My assailant drops to form a pool of blood to stare up at me from as he desperately grabs for his rifle. I kick it away. He screams in agony. Incapacitated, not my problem any more. I move on alone, Mike slumped in a corner with his gun ready. I push forward. I move through a hallway of small offices. A door bursts open. I put my sight on the target. He's armed, I fire. The recoil in my gun causes immense pain in my wounded arm. I can feel the blood running down towards my fingertips. I kick the gun away from the corpse and move on. More shots from another room. MP-5 in origin, Bravo team. "CLEAR!". I move down a staircase. Muffled whimpers and groans fill the would be silence. I turn the corner at the base of the stairs. Three men with guns. The wooden desk I hide behind is thick enough to stop the bullets, but not for long. The flash bang goes off and open fire. Two men go down. The Kevlar is strong but not enough to stand up to a .50 caliber bullet. I feel it tear into my soft flesh. Two more shots find their mark just below my collarbone. My eyes close. A few seconds after my helmet strikes the floor my eyes reopen. The dirty facemask no longer blocks my vision. I'm not alone down here. Men and women in suits, all of them on their knees. Some whimper. Some don't. Many of the women have tear soaked sleeves. One man has wet himself. I feel the blood trickle across my chest. I hear distant voices. The blood reaches my shoulder. "Clear!". It flows over my neck. The door at the other end of the room flies in. The blood pools around my head. Three shots. My eyes close again. I hear a body hit the floor next to me. The sound is unmistakable. Noise grows distant. "CLEAR!". Too late.
The Clock strikes 4. It's been half an hour since I walked through the huge wooden doors. The painters have been here only about 5 minutes and done nothing but talked. One of them pulls a canister from a canvas bag and rolls it to my feet. The thick smoke burns my eyes. I can't see. I hit the ground hard. I can't hear or feel. I'm gone.
I don't know how long it's been since the smoke rendered me unconscious but the effects have yet to fully fade. My vision is fuzzy but clear enough for me to realize that I have been moved from where I fell. I start to get up but a hard hit to the back of my knees decides otherwise. A deep raspy voice tells me to stay on my knees and keep my head low. I do as I am told.
Smoke taints the air. The butt of a thick cigar lands in front of me and a large boot grinds it hard into the marble floor. I see the barrel of a rifle near the mans knee. This is the closest I have ever been to a gun. It sends chills down my spine. The voice and 2 others speak with one another. I hear talk on the phone, the police. This has gone terribly wrong.
Others are regaining conscience. The raspy voices tell them to stay at their knees. Here we are. Myself and 2 dozen others, trapped in the middle of this fiasco. Two Blasts in rapid succession from some where up above. The strong smell of pneumonia fills the air. I glance to my right. A man has wet his pants. The butt of a rifle straightens my head and puts it between my legs. All I can see is the dark marble floor. I hear gun fire above. At least ten shots. Screams of agony penetrate the thick brick walls. I find myself weeping. I am afraid. More gun fire. No screams this time. I cower in fear.
Voices from the other side of the room call out. They set a bomb. I hear foot steps coming down the stairs near by. I want to warn him. Warn him of the armed men. The bomb. I cower in fear. I hear the foot steps round the corner. The next few seconds are Armageddon. The bullets fly through the air and tear into the heavy wooden desks wooden shrapnel bounces through the room. A bright light and ear bursting sound fills the air. I feel dizzy and loose sight. 3 shots are fired. 3 more follow from a different gun. As my vision clears I see the man lying at my knees. The blood runs over his body as 2 more men charge in the door at the other side of the room. 3 shots are fired. The last of the assailants drops to the floor dead. One of the men yells CLEAR as the blood pools at my knees. It's too late. The bomb goes off.
Quarter after three o' clock. Fifteen minutes till we go on in. We sit in the back of the van. Prep our weapons and check the bomb. The zippers close and the doors open. Sunlight floods the small cargo area of the E-250 cargo van. We step out. Draped in the garments of painters we walk slowly across the street toward the mammoth bank. We're about to make a rather large withdrawal.
We step through the massive doors and the entirety of those within the bank turn to see us. My heart sinks. We are supposed to be entirely un-noticed until we make our move. Silence fills the air for what seems like an eternity. When the noise finally returns to the echoic lobby of the establishment ease flows through my mind. We set our bags on a table and pull the masks over our faces. We spend a good half an hour looking over the interior of the building. We've done it half a dozen times and have every angle figured out.
I pull the gas canister from my bag and roll it to the center of the floor. A thick yellow smoke billows through the air and occupants of the room all fall to the floor. We gather the unconscious men and women and bring them to the vault room in the basement. One of my colleagues begins pulling the metallic parts from the largest of our canvas bags and starts assembling the bomb. This will not fail. Our plan is full proof.
We sit in the room. There are three of us here and five more spread through out the immense structure. The cops are on the phone. This has gone terribly wrong. It was supposed to be a smash and grab. That obviously didn't work. Now with the building surrounded and no way out the bomb is our only alternative. Our only leverage over those outside.
BOOM! A blast from somewhere up above followed immediately by a second explosion. "They're there they're inside" a voice echoes from my com.
I grab my gun off the desk and stand guard at the door. My colleagues grab theirs and do the same at the other entrance. A shot from one of our AK-47s. It is reputed by a burst from a much smaller gun. I hear more AK-47 shots and more from the smaller gun. The screams of Andreas penetrate the thick walls. It makes my stomach turn and puts my heart in my throat. He screams louder. "My God what are they doing to him?" I hear from somewhere to my left. A man begins to look up towards me; I correct his line of sight with the butt of my rifle.
More shots, they are getting closer. The knots in my stomach get tighter, I am afraid. A man rounds the corner at the end of the stairs and for a moment that seems like an eternity there is nothing. No sound no movement. Nothing. He drops behind a desk and we open fire. After a few seconds of nothing but bullets a small canister flies over the top of the desk. A bang so loud I can't hear anything else and a light so bright my vision fades away.
The next thing I know the man is up again and he is shooting my friends. One drops then the other. My rifle jams. I pull the pistol from my back and fire a round into his chest. Again I pull the trigger and the bullet tears through his body. One more round before I even realize it. The man drops to the floor and his blood begins to pool. I have never killed any one before. It's actually rather therapeutic.
The door on the other side of the room blasts open and the end comes charging through. Two men with sub machine guns at their shoulder. I raise my gun and take aim but before I can pull the trigger a bullet rips through my chest. I see a puff of red from below my eyes and I look up again. This Is it. All of life slows down to a heartbeat and I see the gun fire and the bullet moving through the air. This one won't miss, it won't leave me wounded, it will leave me dead. I won't leave here in the van across the street with my friends and the money. I won't leave here alive. No one will. I press the button and the bomb goes off just as the bullet tears into my skull.
