Atonement is a puzzle

Love this review- very well written and insightful. I think it neatly explores and summarises the more ambivalent feelings some of you have towards the narrative structure of Atonement. Have a read and comment if you'd like:

SOURCE: Winder, Robert. “Between the Acts.” New Statesman 130, no. 4555 (17 September 2001): 49.
In the following review, Winder offers a mixed assessment of Atonement, praising McEwan's literary skill but finding the novel's narrative leaps and omissions unsatisfying.
Ian McEwan's new novel [Atonement], launched smoothly into the slipstream of the autumn rush, presents us with a puzzle. On one level, it is manifestly high-calibre stuff: cool, perceptive, serious and vibrant with surprises. It will probably be on the Booker shortlist, and might even win. So it is probably silly to waste time pointing out that the most glaring aspects of the book are its weaknesses and omissions. As usual, McEwan has contrived a good story; but he seems weirdly reluctant to tell it. The title—thematic rather than dramatic—feels like the idea you have before you have an idea, and what follows also seems incomplete. There are fine episodes, but it feels, in the end, not so much a novel as a description of a novel, a selection of scenes from some much larger project. The best we can say is that it will be marvellous when it is finished.
McEwan has certainly mellowed, as the saying goes. His reputation was forged by a succession of stories written with a scalpel: icy, calculated, elegant and hair-raising. They had a subversive edge, and prickled with a sense of danger. But recently, in the Booker-winning Amsterdam and now in Atonement (whatever else, no one can say he is merely working his way through the alphabet), he has settled in milder country, in an antique, upper-class England more usually associated with the Iris Murdochs of this world. The Comfort of Strangers sent plain old Colin and Mary to Venice to be savaged; now he prefers people called Vernon and Cecilia, Leon and Briony. They are composers or diplomats with Firsts from Cambridge and priceless Ming vases, and live in stately homes. Their misadventures are subtle.
There's nothing wrong with that, and McEwan's senses are as alert as ever. A glug of warm wine, damp earth, a violent word, the hiss of breeze over water, a dismembered leg in the fork of a tree … the novel is alive with physical shocks. But he is an obstinate storyteller and plugs the flow of his ample saga by dividing (and condensing) it into three tidy set pieces. In a languid pre-war country pile, a precocious 13-year-old girl, Briony, utterly misreads the nature of the goings-on between her older sister and the boy next door, Robbie. Driven by a bravura compulsion to star as the heroine in her own melodrama, she falsely accuses him of raping a guest, and sends her sister's one true love off to prison.
It is rather terrific. There's a frisson of class conflict (the boy in question is the son of the cleaner—a ruffian, in other words) and all sorts of interesting things seem about to happen. So it's more than a little disappointing when—cut!—we jump forward and rejoin Robbie in the retreat to Dunkirk. It is as if the author flinched at the thought of describing Robbie in prison, or the vain efforts of his lover to save him. So a couple of years have passed, and now we're in the middle of a new tableau, as Robbie trudges across France with Stukas shrieking overhead. Not surprisingly, he is still obsessed by the injustice done him in those halcyon days before the war, but for now he has more immediate worries. Somehow he makes it to the famous beach, and joins the swarm of dejected troops waiting to be rescued.
Again, it's pretty exciting. Will he make it? What kind of revenge (or atonement) will he be able to exact when he returns? Will his love be able to withstand the shock of war and separation? Once again, we begin to tilt towards the edge of our seats.
So it's more than a little disappointing when—cut!—we jump forward again, and find ourselves back with Briony, in a hospital in London, lugging bedpans to and fro and trembling before the matron. She is grown-up now, and wrestling with her conscience at last. She wants to make amends. For a few pages, all of the book's plates are spinning on the same pole. The protagonists revolve towards a showdown and—oh no, not again, cut!—we jump to Briony in old age. She is now a feted author, brooding on the nature of fiction in a way intended to suggest that nothing we have read so far is quite what it seems.
It's clever. But so are people who can solve crosswords in five minutes. McEwan has taken the classic ingredients of the bodice-ripper—a quivering love story set against a backdrop of war—and, striving for ingenuity, declined to make the most of them. This is not really a criticism. McEwan is sufficiently modern to renounce “character in action” in favour of “character lost in thought”. He wants, as he says of Briony, to free himself from “the cumbrous battle between good and evil, heroes and villains”, and simply present, without judging, the friction between different minds, fogged as they are with apprehension and conceit. He even invents a letter written by Cyril Connolly, the editor of Horizon, to Briony. It's an admiring rejection of her first effort, urging her to have more respect for the “childlike desire to be told a story, to be held in suspense, to know what happens”.
McEwan tries to heed this advice, and offers plenty of suspense. But it is suspense of a thin sort, since it relies not on our ignorance of what might happen next, but simply on our not being told what is happening right now. McEwan deals out information cautiously, as if it were common to say too soon that the girl at the beginning of the book is 13, or that the year is 1938, or that many years divide some new chapter from its predecessor. McEwan carries on narrating in his shrewd and natural way, and it's up to us to figure out what he has neglected to mention. This is certainly a cunning way to keep us guessing, but the result is not mystery: it just feels blurred and out of focus.
None of this would matter if the author wasn't so obviously top-flight. And I might have got it completely wrong: perhaps the problem is not that McEwan is too tight-fisted with his booming emotional plot, but that he has leaned too far towards the love-war formula in the first place. Perhaps there is a fictional Gresham's Law, by which trashy ideas drive out good; maybe the fireworks of the underlying saga simply squelch his more delicate effects. McEwan once wrote a lovely children's book, The Daydreamer, which captured the gulfs between children and grown-ups more vividly than he does here. So perhaps there are not too many gaps, but too few. It's a terrible confession, because I know that reviewers are supposed to be thoroughly adept at snap judgements, but … I'm baffled. As I said, it's a puzzle.

This game was too easy

roll the credits

http://greatgatsbygame.com/

How is the lyrics of the song "A woman of the world" related to Daisy Buchanan

"When she was just a girl she was a woman of the world". In this line, this presents the transition of moving up into the upper classes. This was helped by marrying Tom Buchanan. Hence Tom is an old rich, therefore his popularity is very high.

"Small talked her way round just the sort". This presents that Daisy uses her power and money to get her out of trouble such as when she kills Myrtle, she blames Gatsby for killing and everyone trust her due to her power and status with Tom.

"Of playboy's playground she'd once dream about"
The lyrics link to how Daisy chose to ignore Gatsby and married Tom Buchanan instead. Tom Buchanan is, in a way, a playboy who prefers to mess around in life and making love someone else other than his wife. Daisy married Tom not for love but for his materialistic possessions.

"Maybe I loved her but I'm jealous of her". In this case, "I" is Gatsby and "her" is Daisy. Gatsby is jealous of not having her because she wants old money, not money made from bootlegging

"She's a fake. Sure but she's a real fake"
I think this implies Daisy has conspicuous consumption to show her class and wealth, but in reality, she is really that wealth and that high in status.

"Maybe I'll be suffer, just to be her lover"
"Just to be part of her world"
Gatsby has worked hard as a bootlegger, to achieve the wealth would eventually catch Daisy 's attention and win her over. Gatsby went through so much trouble to win Daisy back that he had to join illegal dealing of alcohol.

"Maybe I'll kill her, just trying to thrill her if she don't kill me first"

Daisy is overwhelmed by Gatsby's riches and she thinks it's impossible to have all the money. In the end , Daisy killed Myrtle, blaming Gatsby's leading to George, Myrtle's husband, killing Gatsby

Cherly and Emma are great

Wow- some incredible comments- I'd like to give feedback to you two individually if possible please.
I think both Cheryl and Emma have made some superb analyses of the songs lyrics and their possible links to Gatsby/ Daisy. Hopefully you both found it useful. It's interesting to me that these two students have made such an effort and they're the first two to comment. And they get really good gades in English. Hmmmm....!

Some prompts for other students: consider the tone of the song- is it playful, bitter etc- how is it? Does it link to the novel? Who else could the 'rats' be? Is Daisy a 'real fake'(whatever that is) in a way that Gatsby isn't? How do you interpret the call and response structure e to the poem ("She's a fake! Sure, but she's a real fake")Who would be saying this from the novel? Is it the same voice throughout?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZv8wZE3azs

Go to this site, listen and think- how do specific lyrics of this song link to Daisy Buchanan as a character? For example, how is she a 'fake, but a real fake?'

Comment below.

By the way, this is an awesome band. Much better than Aerosmith.

Crossing The Red Sea For Family

They were there. They were always there. Through the 4cm thick shiny silver metal door, they could be seen everywhere. Their omnipresence was inevitable part of this building. Those people with fine blue police suits, revolvers, and long metal batons were always watching those with black and white striped clothes who were inside the cells. Their hatred was evident in their eyes, but that didn’t matter.

My name is Lechecin. I am in room 413. Twelve years have passed since I came into this jail. I’ve been here for a long time, but I still cannot detach my feeling toward my wife and my children. I still miss them and think about them everyday. My family photo is the only thing that makes me able to sustain this horrible life. Without my photo, I think I might go crazy. Other prisoners said that was just stupid, but it is not my fault that I cannot control my emotion, and that was my usual life.

Desire to escape from this jail is already gone. The ubiquitous policemen have already driven out these desires. Also, the prison is a terrible labyrinth that no one has ever achieved to escape. Other prisoners all agreed on that. Maybe that is why other people call this prison horrible. All the prisoners just live in here like a robot. No hope and no feeling. They just work in the field enthusiastically. Maybe I was the only person who hasn’t given up hope and has feeling toward my family. I wanted to forget about them since I came here, but that is not easy.

I worked very hard today. I don’t understand why, but just worked hard. At first others looked at me curiously, but soon they ignored me. One day, I was having lunch with a prisoner next to my cell as usual. His name was Compano. I was very close with him because he was not like other prisoners. He was like me. He also had a family outside the prison. He told me that I was quite abnormal today. I just ignored him.

I worked very hard all week. While working hard, I felt bleakness in my mind. But that didn’t matter. That felt better. After finishing today’s morning work, I ate lunch with Compano. Today’s lunch included pork which had some blood, but I just ate it. Abruptly, Compano told me that he misses his family, and told me his memories with his family and how happy he was. He stopped talking when the lunch was over. Then he suddenly left me. I couldn’t understand why he was behaving like that, but as usual, I just ignored him.

That night I couldn’t sleep well. I couldn’t understand why. Nothing aggravated me and I had the usual same day, but I couldn’t sleep that night. Then I stood up and looked at my family photo. At that moment, I found that I had completely forgotten about my family for a week, or maybe two weeks. Then I thought about things that Compano told me today. Then I realized how happy I was when I was with my family. I promised myself that I will escape from this prison and meet my family.

Compano died. I didn’t see his body, but the guards told me that he was shot while trying to escape. I imagined about his family. Tons of tears would be flooding in his house. Then I promised myself that I will never make my family sad. But since his death, loneliness from my deep mind started aggrandizing. Maybe this was due to similarity between me and him, and because he was the only person similar to me. All the other prisoners felt like antisocial people and made me feel isolated from others. But I didn’t care. I was only thinking about a way to escape from this hell.

From the distance, I heard the loud announcement, “Prisoner in the cell 413 is missing. All the guards need to search him as soon as possible……” I felt relieved. I was already about four kilometers away from the jail. While going to my home, I kidnapped one man to steal his car, clothes and money. I shaved my beard and mustache, and cut all my hair. My face was less hairy and less scary. I looked like a normal person. I looked different.

After a few hours of driving, I reached my house. I was so happy. The house didn’t change at all. It was the same house. Wooden door and red tiles were the same. The garden was still green. I couldn’t stop smiling. I ran. I ran toward the house. I opened the door quickly. I shouted my wife and children’s names. But something was not right. It was too quiet. The house was messy. No one answered me. No one was there. But Television was turned on, and I heard,
“One woman and her two children suicided yesterday due to the loneliness from the lack of her husband, and the police found that the husband, a prisoner in the jail, has escaped today….”
Then I heard two shoots. I saw blood on the floor, but I was not shot. It was Compano. He was shot to save me.

This is the second draft of my short story.

The Peoples' Guardian

Under a hood and cloak was a man ready to kill, a natural leader and a presence that you would tremble in or commend to. His eyes, sharp like an animal’s and bright in a soulful shade of brown. On his eyebrow and lip, he wielded scars from deep cuts suffered from former battles. And even escapes. Over the years he’s developed an ability to hone his senses. He was no ordinary person. He could scale walls, leap from remarkable heights, had lightning reflexes. But most of all his sight and hearing was impeccable. He was trained since childhood, selected by an secreted guild. He is Ezio Auditore, an Assassin. Pledged to serve Rome keep its balance.

Now having been one of the last Assassins alive. They were what trained Ezio to be what he was. But now, hunted down and wanted, they are on the run. Separated and alone they were a once powerful, influential but secretive guild have been overpowered by corrupted administrative powers in the early 15th century.

Ezio observed the Roman courtyard as he perched from his vantage point on a ledge overhanging from a towering house. His black cloak shrouded him from peoples’ vision down below as the dark clouds in the night sky obscured any moonlight that may have disrupted his camouflage. He was perfectly concealed.

Suddenly, Ezio heard a scream. It wasn’t far. He drew himself upwards. He felt his pulse rose, his senses sharpened, reflexes sharpened and muscles tensed. Ezio bolted from the rooftop on to another in sensational bounds, dived onto a rope hanging from a house without a single moment of apprehension then veered towards an aqueduct. But the rope wasn’t long enough. Sure enough, he let go of it and plunged onto an aqueduct’s second level. In those split seconds he had little time to think. He collided onto the structure almost shattering his head against one of the granite pillars and splashing water over his battle attire. He suffered some mild bruises but didn’t have time to dry off.

The scream wasn’t far now. Although freezing wet he endeavored. He strived to run quickly whisking around the pillars as leather and silk he wore weighed heavy with water. There, he spots it. Backed up against the aqueduct and a gang of armed thugs was a small boy. He must have been exploring in the ruins nearby when he lost his way. It was easy money for the thugs, as well as a lucky break. Although, they weren’t as luck as they though.

“Ey you, scum, leave the boy alone. You may leave now. Or die.” Ezio wasn’t willing to give a second chance.

“What are you going to do from up there? Ha! You can’t even get down!.” The thug leader shouted in assurance.

“Don’t worry bambino, I will get you back to your parents”

Strapped yet concealed under his metal wrist guards were mechanized hidden blades. A remnant weapon that Assassins would always carry. Ezio took aim, his concentration heightened then he took a deep breath and as the thugs closed in on the boy, they saw a dark figure descend upon them. Like an eagle diving headfirst to snatch its prey. Ezio leaped from the aqueduct and triggered his hidden blade. It was superhuman. He pounced onto one of them from an unbelievable height landing on his back. Pinning him down from where he was standing, breaking several bones and delivered a final blow. A jab to the neck with the lethaly sharp blades.

“Assassin…” whispered one of them in trepidation. “You are all gone!...” Without uttering another sound they flee into the distance.

The boy approached Ezio and resides near him for safety.

“Where do you live boy?”

“Past the ruins down the hill. I got lost there.” He said, struggling to talk as he sniveled.

Ezio took the boy’s hands and guided him through the ruins. He knew every part of Rome. Especially the dangerous ones. They crept along the sides of the run down walls, trying not to be spotted. The area was known for disappearances. Guided by the yellow glowing light of the moon the route was easily visible.

“There it is! There it is! My house!” The boy runs to a small brick house. Flickering candle lights were seen through the window. Especially this late at night the whole city should have been asleep. All but one. In the orange backdrop were two silhouettes of a man and woman that moved in an aggressive, jerky manner. Pointing neurotically and thoughtlessly, posturing aggressive stances, making hasty and prompt speech. But, as the boy entered it all stopped. They turned. And the murmuring from the house was replaced by a tranquil silence. A family was reunited.

Moments later the boy prepared for bed. As he laid down he pondered about his mysterious hooded savior. He heard the night time breeze. The window was open. Noises of agile footsteps became louder and louder. Then the boy saw a hooded figure.

“Sleep well bambino, you are safe now.”

The abandoned mission, No.2 draft

The corridor darkened, the light started to fade away. The echo of his footsteps broke the silence; he slowly approached through the corridor. As the man spotted something strange, he stopped. There was nothing but the increasing rhythm of his heart and the shaky legs of his. He quickly threw a glance around his surroundings.

“Why are you doing this?”

There was no one there, he turned around, he looked up, gazed on his sides, and it was all darkness. He finally realized that there were no one there, but just himself, and his conscience.

“You know that I would do everything to save her.” He sighed, whipping tears of his face.

He advanced through the corridor with no hesitation. He try to seized every opportunity to wake himself up from this nightmare, a nightmare that he refused to ever dream about. After all those years of dedicating his life to the peace of his beloved country, he finally found someone that could accompany him to the end of his life. However he knew that he would regret the choice of spying up on other countries. He made enemies, very dangerous enemies indeed. From a perspective of being a spy, he’s now the one that is being spied at. And their act of kidnapping Jess right in front of his eyes, was indeed very predictable.

Finding a spot where he could firmly placed his sniper rifle without no-one noticing, the man set up the gun pointing straight to the Parliament House. Any moment now, a gentleman will walk out, holding the peace agreement treaty paper. He had to slay him down and whilst everyone was panicking, his next target would be the barrels just to make sure no evidence of this treaty would never be found. This event will result in another world war between Europe and USSR.

He started to acknowledge a scent of pressure floating in the air. If he doesn’t succeed, God knows what would happen. The treaty will be signed, a full stop to the ongoing Cold War. Apparently to some individuals out there, peace was not an option. Peace means no benefit, no money, and no life. Jay knew that it was completely rubbish, that billionaires were making money by interrupting the peace between countries, promoting war. This is indeed another war after WW2, a war without guns and shells, but a war with the involvement of money and power.

“Why?” he whispered to himself

That sort of question, if the answers and the correct solutions could be given, there’ll be no war, no conflict or any kind of brutal violence anymore. The grim of the old man appeared on his face, he was day dreaming he guessed. That’s the place he knew he’d live happily with all his dreams fulfilled.

All of the sudden, he realized what his real intention of going here, quickly grabbed the rifle and there was the target, the treaty paper and the barrels.

He aimed at the prime minister, right at his head, his fingers are shaking, and it’s barely touching the trigger, it never wanted to. With a minute of hesitation, he knew there was no other choice.

BANG.

The prime minister collapses down the stage. It was never an easy decision to made, but he did it. Now, only the barrels remained. Every part of his body is forcing him to do it, everything except for him common sense. He knew he had every intention of killing the prime minister, but getting rid of everyone in the area? That’s not him.

The weather was freezing that night, but that didn’t stop his tears from falling. His fiancé was kidnapped in front of his eyes, and there was nothing he could do. He was useless, he felt useless. Days later, he received this mission if he wants his fiancé back. There was no choice.

Too concentrated in his mission, he never watched his back. The cops were following his trace back from his apartment, and without any notice, he lead the cops here. He decided to abandoned mission and head back home.

Suddenly, in a fraction of a second, he felt numb on his neck, at first, he ignored as he thought he was just a small insect. He continued to pack his belongings but soon noticed the increasing numbness spreading in his body. He couldn’t move his head anymore, soon his hands, and now his whole body.

He knew it was over.

There was a dim of light in the corner; everything was darkness, it was impossible to move. He tried to open his eyes; a ray of light prevented him.

He was caught, he knew it was over.

Suddenly, he felt the warmth on the freezing cold hand of his.

“Jay, it’s me. I came back.”

My life story? My mom’s an alcoholic. My dad thought we were useless so he left us. After that, mom had to support me and Samantha. I remember when I was 8, I used to sit in the big armchair in our living room waiting for him to come home, but he never did. He left when Samantha and I were 7 and 5. To this day, I haven’t forgiven him for doing that.

Mom used to work two jobs after dad left. When I was 13, she gave up. She quit her night job and spent her nights drinking.

Today, I’m 16 and my little sister is 14. When mom is too drunk to do anything, we look out for each other. Think it’s bad? Well, it gets worse.

I woke up to my alarm. After I shut it off, I crawled out of bed and got dressed. As I was making breakfast, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Caleb?”

“Yes? Who’s speaking?”

Silence.

“You don’t recognise my voice?”

“No?”

“It’s your dad.”

The bowl of pancake mix that I was holding fell onto the floor. I could feel the squishy pancake mix under my feet. I couldn’t believe that after all these years he finally made his existence known to us. I paused for a while to think about what I was going to say.

“What do you want with us?”

Again, silence.

“Is there any way we can meet up to talk about this? As a family?”

I could feel my face getting hot. The hand holding the phone was shaking with anger. I could think of a million ways to insult him. But I didn’t.

“If you wanted to see us you wouldn’t have left.”

That was when I slammed the phone. I leaned against the kitchen counter with my fingers pressed against my eyebrows. I decided not to tell mom. I grabbed my backpack off the kitchen counter and headed to school.

The call haunted every lesson I had and I couldn’t concentrate. During the lesson after lunch, the school secretary called me downstairs because mom wanted me home. When I got downstairs, I saw Sammy and mom waiting in the car. Mom looked happier than usual. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her smile. A really long time. We climbed into the car as mom told us she has a surprise at home for us. All of a sudden, I couldn’t wait to go back to that dreaded home.

We burst inside the house and looked around for the ‘big surprise’. Nothing. Behind me, I could hear Sammy asking where it was.

“Just wait. He’ll be here.”

He? Who’s he? But the answer appeared in front of me before my mom could answer.

In front of me, stood the man who had been missing for more than half my life. I felt 9 years of anger and pain surge through my body. Just standing here staring at him, I wanted to leave and never come back.

“What the hell are you doing here? I told you not to come back! How can you have the balls to come back!”

I could hear my mom clear her throat.

“Mom! You mean this is our ‘big surprise’? I don’t believe you! After all the crap that he’s put us through, how can you just let him come into this house!?”

“Caleb, just calm down...”

I didn’t want to hear anymore. I could feel my face getting red. Sammy touched my arm lightly trying to calm me down but I shook her hand off. I can’t stand another minute standing in the same room, breathing the same air as this guy. Without thinking, I went to my mom’s bedroom and took out the gun kept in her bedside drawer. I held it loosely in my hand as I walked back into the living room.

I could see the horror and disbelief on her face as she saw the gun. I couldn’t even look at Sammy ‘cos I knew looking at her would change my mind. I looked down at my dad. All the memories of seeing mom crying. All the memories of Sammy asking where dad was. All the countless nights I waited for him to come home.

My dad just looked at the gun. I knew he was scared. I lifted my arm and pointed the gun at him.

“You are no longer part of this family. You were the one who chose to leave and you want us to forgive you?”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. Your mom and your sister are willing to give it a shot...”

I stared at Sammy, but she wouldn’t look at me only the floor. She wants him back... I just couldn’t believe it...

“Fine. Since everyone is happy with this decision,” I lowered the gun and everyone relaxed.

“This is going to be great. We can be to-”

“No mom. I can’t stand being in the same family as this man. If he won’t go, then I will.”

I lifted the gun to my head. I felt Sammy put her arms around me to hug me.

“No Caleb... Who’s gonna look after me if you go?”

With my other hand, I ruffled her hair.

“You’ll be okay.”

I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.

When I opened my eyes everything was white.

The Man From Paris

Philippe Rosay was a man from Paris. He was the perfect example of exactly what you'd expect of a Parisian Man. He dressed with class, boasting an extravagant air, and above all he spoke with the signature nonchalance of a Frenchmen. He handled everything with an uncomprihenceable passion which made him a well studied man in various topics, many of promiscuous nature. His city was alive around them: waiters performing their job as if it were an art, tourists absorbing the unique atmosphere and Parisians radiating their passionate perspective on life. Infront of him stood a small espresso accompanied by a glass of sparkling water. He lifted the espresso off of its plate, treating it like a delicacy as the French could enjoy quality. Montmartre was his favorite place in paris, the endless amounts of cafes with their amazing cofees. The agitating ringtone of the digital toy that consumed modern socity's lives broke his friutful ponderings. A quick glance at the display confirmed his suspicions. “Not now.” he let out the words in a sigh and dropped his phone on the table again,

...

He left the money on the table, directed a quick glance at the waiter and joined the crowd. His step was alert,but his air ambient. He looked up at the clear blue sky, slid on his vintage Ray-Ban shades and enjoyed the stroll.
...
Gerard was pissed. He was tiered of getting played with. “Putain!” he uttered the word softly under his breath as he kicked the tyre of the car grunting as his boot hit the wheel’s rim. Some people looked at him as they walked by confused by his rage. Montmartre was littered with his agents. Now he would have to call the all back, Because a little funny frensh man behind a desk decided, out oof the blue that "his man" was no longer dangerous. Defeated he let groaned letting out a long breath and picked up his handheld radio that allowed him to communicate to the team that was in position to jump on their man if the saw him. 15 years he thought. Putain. “This is west calling all eyes, close. Repeat close eyes. Headquarters has blinded the operation.”He said the words in complete monotone in an almost robotic nature. He slumped against the car. Stuck his hand through the window and reached for his sunglasses. He wiped the smudges of the pair of aviator's glasses and slid them in front of his eyes, looked up amongst the afternoon crowd in the little picturesque streets of Montmartre and there he was.
...
The weather seemed to have attracted double the usual amount of people too this part of paris. He enjoyed being surrounded by so many people it added to the ambient atmosphere.
...
He threw himself into the crowd, and tried to tail his man. It was difficult with so many people around. He swore under his breath and forced himself to think as he squeezed into every gap, and seized every opportunity to advance between the mass of people. They were approaching Le Place du Tetre. fear consumed his body at this realization. The Place du Tertre would be packed. It was a weekend and the weather hadn’t been this good since anyone could remember. Adrenaline took over. Focus. he forced himself to keep his head up and re-set himself. The man was still visible but further now. Montmartre was litterd with tin allyways and shops in which one could hide, this also made it an impossible labyrinth so running was no option. His thoughts were racing through his head trying to generate some kind of plan. Music interrupted his focus. His man was still there approximately a hundred meters from the Place du Tetre. He searched for the origin of the music. This could not be happening. At the periphery of his vision he spotted the marching band. A crowd had gathered round them and it was heading straight for the courtyard. He darted forward looking helplessly for the tall figure. Music now filled the air. A woman was shouting for people to join in. It was chaos. He found himself standing right at the edge of the courtyard his man nowhere to be seen. Chaos was all he saw. Not giving up he ran into the centre of the square and scanning it for a sign of his man. A sound caught his attention. He jolted around and frantically searched for the source. There. He just caught a door closing and a tall silhouette disappearing behind it. He charged for the door.
...
Philippe chose to enjoy the last of the day’s sun on his balcony. It hosted a unique view of the Sacre Coeur and at this time of year the sun would settle behind the monumental building creating a magical effect. It was why he lived here. The location offered him his true inspiration. Some man into the darted middle of the Place du Tetre as he opened his door, strange.
...
Gerard crashed into an artists stall as he ran for the door throwing the man's artworks in mid air. The artist shot up cursing him as he thew himself in the direction of the door. He threw it open almost ripping it of its hinges and bolted straight for the staircase tilting his head up frantically searching. Taking three steps at a time he leaped up the flights of wooden stairs which, contained he'd noticed, very decorative baroque carvings.. The tall silhouette appeared in sight. He was standing in front of a door at the top floor. “Freeze!” He shouted the words with so much pleasure. finally He thought. “Put your hands up in the air and turn around. Now!” The man faced him. “Who, in gods name are you?” The man who was clearly as confused as him only said one thing with a strange lucidity and a tone of calm so out of place, yet obvious. With a quizzical expression amd a slight hesitation he simply said,."I am a man from Paris.”

Tawbi the Hot Air Ballon Rider

Hot Air Balloon Riders have always impressed me. I was never bored of watching those big balloons flying over me with some persons which I had never met before and had a bizarre skin colour. One day as a Balloon Rider came to me and asked me a question, but the question was in a language that I couldn’t understand at that time. Well I was only 5 years old and I was called Tawbi. Yes, Tawbi that was my name.

Now I am 9 and I go to school 1 hour a day and 3 days a week just like all of my friends. As usuaI after school I went to see the ballons take off. I didn’t care about my friends laughing at me because my curiosity for those balloons was greater than anything. However today was different. As I arrived there was nobody in the bucket bellow the balloon and I thought that it was Buddha that had given me a sign and I grabbed the only hope I might ever have of going inside a hot air balloon.

As I climbed in the bucket I noticed that the sky’s eyes were closing and that the bright holy light of the sun was slowly getting more and more dimmed. I didn’t care as I was so impressed by all the valves and containers that made the fire start that I didn’t notice the Devils Cloak being put around me. As I fiddled around with the control I accidently turned on the burner and a roaring yellow flame blasted out of the burner and went flying into the balloon. As I tried to stop it, the balloon took off and rose to height of 1000 meters. I was in the sky, I was leaving the greatest experience of my life. I could see my house and all the tiny people below me vociferating me orders in the same language that I couldn’t understand. Just as the flame shot up in the ballon so did my the excitement I fell when I took off. However this was short lived as the dagger of the devil sliced through the closed eyes of the sky and landed a few meters in front of me. I was scared to death. The burner was still roaring. The people were still shouting orders which I couldn’t understand, but more importantly I was in the devil’s hands.

When I woke up the next day I couldn’t distinguish my home town of Bagan anymore. I could only see white powder on the ground. I felt cold. The burner had gone silent and the only sound I could hear was my own breath and, the wind. This wind that was driving me further away from my home. This wind that was taking the last drops of energy that I had out of me. This wind was, Death’s breath coming to me before he took me to his home. I was starving. I felt my head go numb. I slowly drifted away and though of my mother one last time.

Without realizing I h d fallen asleep I woke up in a strange environment. The trees were grey, hard and cold. The noise was like the sound waves had turned into sharp razors. They were cutting throw your temples as if it was butter. The smell was revolting. I was indeed in Hell. As I went off the Balloon. As I walked down the road I saw a lot of people who had grey faces and didn’t talk to each other. Everything was wrong in here all the surfaces were grey: the roads, the trees and even the people! Suddenly fear crept in as I thought that I was going to stay here forever I fell to the ground, my eyes started to water an became blurry and I cried. I cried like never before. I cried and cried but people just went around me without even looking. Until this person came. This person was dressed in bright colours he had a smile on his face and had the same clothes as mine. Not the same black clothes that people wear around me. He came to me and said:

-Why are you crying young boy? Where are your parents?

I was shocked I understood him. I said:

-You speak my language?

The man laughed loudly and said:

-Of course I do I come from the same country as you. You even wear the costume of my home town of Bagan.

- But we are in Hell

-No, he said laughing, we are just in Shanghai. It is very different form our country.

I cried again. He took me in his arms and comforted me:

-It is over you are safe now I will take you home.

At the end of this trip to Shangaii I finally understood that Buddha putted us in an environment that we should stay in. Even thought you always want to know what is beyond the mountain you only realize how precious your home is, when you put a mountain range between you too.

Sense

The clock struck one. It was time. I walked out, using the darkness as my protection. The streetlights were out, as planned. I smiled gently. Just then, the streetlight opposite of me blinked, and then cast a dim light for a few seconds. I hid at the doorframe, so that the light would not fall on me. I frowned. This wasn’t looking good. I waited more for a few more minutes, not daring to move, listening for any movement. I slowly came out. I looked around, my senses alert. No movement reached my eyes. I carefully walked to the mansion, keeping alert. Still no movement. I think there just was a technical problem, but it is never useless to be careful.

The mansion reminded me of my last mission. It had also taken place in the mansion. Last time, I nearly got caught. I let my guard down. I got away, just narrowly. In the past times, that wouldn’t have been any trouble at all. However, that time, it was challenging. I could see my age coming. I drove the thoughts out of my mind as I disabled the alarm system. That, I could do without even looking. Technology develops, yet I have not seen a single system that I cannot break. It may take some time, but in the end, I will be the victor.

I entered, and revised once more time where my target would be. I stepped into the house. The great hall greeted me. In the dark, it meant nothing. I walked up the stairs, to my target. I felt adrenalin rush, the feeling I always get when I’m doing this. The silent echo of my footsteps could be heard. I closed my hand on my gun, ready to strike if any movement was noticed. I listened at my target’s door. Only the target’s steady breath filled the room. Making as little noise as possible, I went in.

The target was fast asleep. It surprised me that the target was a seemingly harmless woman. When I get assigned a mission in this urgency, it usually is someone with masses of power. I didn’t know why she was destined to be killed, but I knew better than to ask questions. As I readied my gun towards the woman, to be more exact, the silhouette of the woman, I thought of the numerous victims that I killed. They varied from lawyers, to policemen, even to CEOs of the very best companies. Compared to them, this was easy.

At the moment when I was about the fire, the woman opened her eyes. Our eyes met. She seemed surprised. So surprised that she couldn’t even think of screaming. I laughed at her. At how vulnerable she was. She didn’t move. She just stared at me. I fired.

When I came back to the building where I started my mission, I was surprised to see Leo there. Leo, who is the person who gives me all the assignments, usually didn’t turn up in my missions. He looked unusually tense, and the nervousness showed up in his face.

‘”Did you succeed?” he asked.

I grinned. “It was an easy piece of work,” I replied.

At that, he seemed to relax a little, now with a mysterious smile on his face.

“I heard about the last mission. That didn’t go so well, did it?”

“Still, I succeeded overall”

“Yes,” he paused, “yes you did. But just remember that that the more evidence you leave behind–”

“The higher the chance of getting caught. Yes, I know that.”

“Always bear that in mind. The money would be paid by tomorrow morning. Now, I will take you back to your hideout. I came to take you there.”

Then I remembered that it had been the same when I came here as well. Leo had taken me to this building, so that I don’t know the address. It was strange, especially considering that the mission itself was very undemanding as well, but again, I knew better than to ask questions.

I reached my house, which was a ten minute drive from the hideout Leo dropped me. I went into my room. I lit up the room, only to find shock. A gun was aimed at my face, and that was the very gun I used to kill my last victim. More importantly, the person holding the gun was no other person than Leo himself.

I frantically searched my pocket, but the gun was already gone. Leo laughed, and came a step closer to me.

“Interested in knowing why I am doing this?” he asked.

I just stared at him, startled.

Leo didn’t wait for a reply. “You may not remember, but years ago, you made a young, innocent man kill his own father without knowing it. The man felt suicidal when he found out. Ever since, he has been seeking for revenge. And as you may have guessed, the young man is me. I have waited for years for your senses to come down. You are getting old. You are not as sharp as you had been before. You are even dull enough to not realise what you have done.”

He stepped aside. On the bed, a woman lied dead on a bed full of blood. The woman’s eyes were wide open; her expression told that she could not believe what she was seeing. The woman, was my wife.

The Avenue

It all started with a bottle of sake. Everything changed.
---
As I walked down the avenue, I could feel with every part of my body the warm breeze of spring. I could feel the floral scent gently stroking me with a tingling feeling that I have never felt before. The scent entered my bones so softly, so gently, as if it was hardly there. I was mesmerized by the leaves glowing in the sunshine. It was truly beautiful. The sun was just about to set. Step by step, I was experiencing early spring.

Until I spotted my ex-husband. 5m away.

My brain froze for 3 seconds. And it was back.

I quickly fished through my handbag and hurriedly wore my sunglasses. I kept my head as low as possible. I was sure it was him.

As usual, he had his ‘trusty’ guards by his sides, like a tyrannical master to his obsequious minions. As usual, he was wearing a black suit with a white shirt 3 buttons undone, along with a white handkerchief hanging loose on his suit pocket. As usual, he disgraced me. Ugh, the way he dressed always suffocated me. It’s killing me now. Thank God he didn’t see me yet. Why was he walking along this avenue anyways? The fact that we were standing on the same avenue disgusts me. Although I kept my head low, I could tell by the scent of his cologne, by the voice of his guards and by the sound of his shoes. It was him. The clinking sound they always made as their shoes made contact with the pavement. All of his shoes were specially designed for him. They were also specially designed by my uncle. His footsteps were getting closer every second. My heart started to beat faster. Then I realized. Why was I avoiding him? Did I do something wrong? Although his face made me nauseate, although I would rather kill myself than see his face, I decided to encounter it. I knew he was coming this way. He was extremely close. And he recognized me.

‘Oh HEY, it’s Amy! How’s it going?’

Ahh, did he have to stop and talk to me? His guards gave me a weird look. Hmm, so he fired the old ones.

‘Oh...uh. H-hey, Daniel! Long time no see... It’s really nice to see you!..’

Ha! Its SOOO nice to see you Daniel!..... URGGH. Please don’t speak anymore. Was he that cool to start a casual chat?

He was not even 30cm away from me. It was more like 1mm.

‘Let’s go grab a cup of coffee. I’ve got some extra time.’

Oh No.

‘I’m So Sorry Daniel… I’ve got a meeting I have to attend. It was a nice bumping in to you today!’

Ha. Sure. I waved at Daniel with the most angelic smile. My face was twitching in pain. I ran to the bus stop with my stilettos. Pain rose up to my head. At that point, one of Daniel’s guards came running towards me. He handed me a box. It had Daniel’s initials carved on to it. I was very tempted to throw the box in the bin. I took a deep breath and showed my gratitude. Without giving the guard a chance to reply, I ran to the taxi station and dived on to the seats. It was finally over. The gray leaden sky personified my emotion.

I opened the box as soon as I got home. It was a bottle of sake. His affection towards sake was equal to my disgust towards sushi. Unlike other days, my body urged me to have some. Since I had such a down day, I did not refuse. I opened the bottle. The scent of the liquor escaped. I tipped some down my throat. Time passed by. I slipped into oblivion.
---
On the other side of the city, Daniel simultaneously opened a different sake bottle. He did not understand why Amy had to avoid him. Why couldn’t they stay as close friends? Was that impossible? Who cared if they had divorced? He poured his sake down his throat. The burning sensation speeded up the beating of his heart. The more he poured, the pleasure doubled. Adrenaline was released. He felt his consciousness ebbing away. All his thoughts ended.
---
Something wasn’t right. My hair felt weird. It was unusually short and silky.

Arghh, the sun hurt my eyes. As I was getting ready to wash my face, I looked in to the mirror. Then I realized what was wrong. I stood in disbelief. I rubbed my eyes. I was scared to death. I gripped my face with fright. I touched my chest. Nothing was there. I continued to grasp my body. I looked at the mirror. I folded my arms across my chest and shrieked.

I was Daniel.



*this is my short story. i personally think its bad. i edited it 6 times because it was too long. please be nice. it might be very strange and complex :S

Zenomite - Dai Champion

Long ago, there was a group called the Knight of the Light. These knights' uniform had the emblem of trust the Holy Knights were. They were there to prevent and halt any chaos against the Kings and Gods. However, one of the most trusted generals of the King, Sir Devildom was plotting against the King to overpower him. On the night of the 13 Stars, The King held his grand feast. Devildom crashed the King's royal dine and challenged his power. The enfeebled King stood no chance against the Devildom’s Dark Forces and had his life taken away along with all the Knights of Light.

After that day, the world fell into chaos. There was nobody to stand up against Devildom. Many have tried but all have fail until the Gods dealt with Devildom and sealed up him and his army of Darkness. Yet the hero who will protect the civilians will break the seal and challenge the wicked General. The gods give the dwarves an enchanted sword for the hero in his battle.

In the human village of Lithero, there was the chosen one Erard. He was athletic, strong and very good looking and there is his half brother Zeno, the loser, the zero, the person no one likes. They were chosen to go and fight. The villagers were unsure why Zeno went…

On the way to the Dwarves’ mountain, the two young men came along some difficult of Shadow Elves pursuing them. Since Erard was the stronger out of the two, he knocked out the Shadow Elves. Zeno had located the dungeon, which led to the village of Dwarves.

The dwarves, who misread the situation, thought that the boys were intruders that want to take the sword as a treasure of their personal use. Erard got arrogant and boasted that he is the chosen one and he will challenge anyone for the sword. The biggest of the Dwarves, Colon who stood 7-feet height, had the hands the size in which can crush skulls. Colon challenged both the boys in a weapon battle.

Erard, who was so full of him self, gladly accepted the task whereas Zeno was a coward of himself and turned it down but was forced to fight because of his brother. Erard shown first blood and strike viciously at Colon. Colon parried the attack like he was a fly trying to bite him but failing each and every time. Colon’s defensive skills were overwhelming against Erard’s aggressiveness. Colon attacked Zeno, while just evading the swift sword swing. Zeno’s shirt was ripped and cut. Zeno fainted; lying on the floor, a dwarf noticed on his arm was his birthmark. It was the shape of a sword but it wasn’t any sword it was the God’s sword. He was the chosen one.

After Zeno’s awakening, he saw Erard infuriated claiming there is a mistake. As strong and handsome was Erard might be Zeno had the heart and the respect for others. The Dwarves knew the legend, if the sword can be lifted that person is the chosen one whether they are criminals, dark elves or dwarves for their case.

The two warriors climbed to the top of the mountain. Erard wanting to prove he is the right choice, rushed to the top. He attempted to lift the sword, as hard as he tried, the sword didn’t budge. When Zeno got to the peak. He lifted the sword as if it was a feather. Suddenly, an aura appeared around Zeno. Erard didn’t believe his eyes and burst into anger and tears. Erard challenged Zeno. Zeno had to fight him or Erard kill everyone. Before Erard struck his sword broken. In full of shame, Erard fled out of the village.

Zeno is confused whether he should ask his brother to calm down. But there is no turning back now; he must fight the Traitor of the Knights of Light. On his way to the Tombs of Sealed Ones, the General was already released and resurrected, but who could of revived Devildom?

Zeno rushed to the graveyard, saw his brother sacrificed his body for the spirit of Devildom to overtake and absorb his flesh and bones.

Devildom is there, stand high and tall in Zeno’s brother’s corpse. His Dark Amour vanquishes every ray of light but the ray of Zeno’s sword.

Devildom looks at Zeno, aiming him as the first victim of darkness. In everyway Devildom was like Erard. They fight alike, their tempers. Could it be a conscience or Devildom is his father?

Devildom shrieking at his mortal enemy; “You must be the child of my Former King”

Zeno stood there and said nothing. Deep inside filled with fury and anger until the sword drags Zeno striking the Corrupted General. Their blades converged making the sound of grating steel. The battle went on for hours until Devildom slipped. Zeno took advantage of his situation struck Devildom’s decided fate. Devildom is gone.

Using all of the hero’s adrenaline causing a heart attack giving the young man a happy death. He fulfilled his destiny. Afterwards the sword was named Zenomite, reflecting on the hero’s name and strength.

My Story

Under a hood and cloak was a man ready to kill, a natural leader and a presence that you would tremble in or commend to. Wielding scars above his lips exposing wounded skin where his thin beard couldn’t grow over anymore, while across the left eyebrow a deeper, gut much shorter scar and below, the eyes, the bright brown eyes to a guided, wise and strong individual destined to change history.

Perching from his vantage point on a ledge overhanging a tall house he crouched down carefully in a ready position before analyzing the setting of the roman courtyard marking out possible escape routes after assassinating a Borgia Captain. The best way seemed to be climbing up and fleeing through the rooftops.

Minutes later a small patrol of guards approaches, in front the captain. With a deep breath he leaps from the ledge, triggers his hidden blade, lands on the captain pinning him down and swiftly jabbing the sharp blade into his neck while the accompanying guards watched in shock and amazement giving the hooded man a brief window of time to get up on his feet. Before they could react he fleed through the rooftops

“Assassin…” whispered the guard in trepidation.

Moments later in a wealthy yet small, high class area of Rome he fleed to a large building designed with shined and polished marble etched with intricate designs. This was home to the Leader of the Assassins a strong, confident and knowledgeable man, Ezio Auditore.

And as for the Assassins themselves they are a guild following Ezio in his cause against the Borgia, an evil monarchy feeding off of Rome looking out for only themselves, raising taxes, murdering innocent civilians who stood against them slowly taking the power of Rome away from its people. The Assassins one mission in the city is to fight their corruption and treachery eliminating vital individuals restoring peace and giving the power back to Rome's and its people.

Leading this evil monarchy was a former captain general but now a ruthless tyrant, Cesare Borgia.

Over the last few years the hold on the Borgia have been loosened due to the Assassins and the city had become more free to open businesses, shops and many other services. Blacksmiths, doctors, merchants were setting up more and more driving Rome’s economy and blossoming it.

At the Assassins’ headquarters Ezio summons a meeting. It was the hour of reckoning. “Assassins, it is now that we must strike the Borgia The last of their captains are dead. The final blow must be struck. ” Mere whispering is heard from then.

Their plan commenced and after days of being disguised as civilians they executed the first step of the plan. Met up back at headquarters then changed into their battle attire, long, white silk hooded cloaks, overplayed with metal chest armor flourished with elegant patterns and steel, wrist worn, mechanized hidden blades. The trademark attire for an Assassin accompanied by any other clothing the wielder chose. Their next move was to infiltrate the Borgia castle where Cesare was.

Upon arriving at the castle they split up and climbed the walls by bare hand being taught upon initiation long ago as well as studying the enemy, the raid was excellently weak planned by Ezio. They all knew what their roles, positions and routes where. The Borgia thought they had the Assassins running.


Once finished climbing the walls they sat on towers where they watched patrol routes. Spotting a passing squad of six, six out of the ten Assassins of the took their positions, signaled by Ezio’s hand commands. Running down the separated towers they flanked the guards pulling out their hidden blades and in swift jabs in the neck, the guards fall. The rest of the Assassins follow. Later a wondering guard finds six dead Assassins. Six guards soon accompanied four Assassins to Cesare Borgia.

“My ruler we have four prisoners” says the guard

“At least, did you think you get away, you scum? I would have found you sooner or later” With a proud smirk he commands “Hang them in the town square, let the people see what they think of these so called Assassins. After they hang.”

After being dragged to the town square is was suspicious why the guards who captured the Assassins still lingered for this long. The look on they peoples faces. They looked in anguish. It seemed as if the citizens routed for the Assassins. Cesare had no second thought, he wanted them dead.

The noose was tied around Ezio and four others, then, he spoke. “People of Rome it is now! To liberate ourselves! To cleanse this city of the Borgia. The Assassins are here now! Reunite and take back your city!” The crowd cheered, the plan was had succeeded. Spread rumor of the Assassin liberation, step one, in desperate times people will believe in any savior, positive rumors about Assassins and foul words about the Borgia were the first step. Then the guards cut the rope around the prisoners’ necks. They were Assassins in disguise. It was step two. Lure Cesare out and catch the Borgia off guard. Then the third plan. Cleanse the city.

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill Him!” chanted the citizens. But Ezio was merciful.

“Cesare, you, by the people have been banished from Roma. Leave!” The chanting faded. The peoples faces looked as if they accepted his punishment.

Then, accompanied by Ezio and the Assassins, they drove his carriage away into the sunset, both sides were never seems again. Besides for the dispatching groups of Borgia, leaving Rome to start over.

If you read through ALL of this, nice! I kind of wrote a bit too much but trust me i did try to make it shorter.

Death's Embrace

A soft ballad wafted through the house - but something wasn’t the same. Nessa woke up in a storm of rage, and ran downstairs. 

“Declán!” she screamed.

The song abruptly stopped as his last note reverberated. 

“Yes Ness?” 

“I’ve had enough! This is the last straw!” 

Declán sighed. It had been weeks since they had lost everything. The only things that remained were their house and piano. 

“How can you wake up every morning and just accept your fate? Was it OUR fault that this happened? No! I refuse to stand idly as everything i’ve ever worked for crumbles in front of me.”

He had heard it all before, and he knew Nessa was right. Ireland’s crisis had brought their seemingly endless happiness shuddering to a halt. 

“Ok, so what do you propose we do? What CAN we do?”

“Take Cowen Down.”

“You can’t possibly think this is his fault!”

“Then whose fault is it, dear brother?”

“Nobody’s.”

“Ugh!”. Nessa swore under her breath. 

She knew that something had to be done, they couldn’t just let their country fall into ruin. Everywhere you looked, people were unemployed. She knew that they couldn’t live on savings forever, most didn’t even have any. Those who did would see their life’s work slip out of their fingers, and then what? It was time to act. 

She knew that Government was a dirty business, and she couldn’t let Ireland’s Taoiseach run it any longer. But what was she to do? She didn’t even know herself. Finally, after days of rage, she decided. She was going to freeze hell.

The streets were dotted with color as Dublin’s very fabric ripped apart. Thousands were chanting in Gaelic and hurling rocks. Nessa stood on a plinth and watched. In her mind, she was admiring the power of people. How Tunisia changed the world she thought. First Africa, now Europe. She though that she could change the world, one country at a time.

Then, the seemingly peaceful protest turned into a frenzy of violence. Water jets shot sky-high and smoke rose from the streets. In the distance she could hear gunshots - and then they ran. The wave of people surged through the streets, and it wasn’t long before she was caught up in it.

“Declán!” she screamed.

All she could hear was noise.

“Declán!” she shouted again. 

But there was no answer. Just noise. Time seemed to slow down as dublin whirled around her. Faces. Hands. Shoes. Her vision was a blur. And then she went under.

The solemn beeps of the medical instruments were the only sounds audible. Declán’s cold, hard face looked upon his dying sister. She had been dragged under the stampede and crushed by the rampage. They were lucky to find her alive. 

“How is she doctor?” he asked.

“She’s still in a coma, and only time will tell now”.

The doctor rushed off with his coat swinging round him. There were more people here than Nessa. It turns out civil war broke out that fateful day, as groups of pro and anti government protesters clashed. It seemed that revolution is a carbon copy. Russia, Egypt, all paid in blood. The few hospitals that weren’t closed were full, with patients treated in the hallways - the doctors had to prioritize. 

Declán’s attention returned to his sister. The life support system was beeping away, but it seemed as if she was gone already. A tear fell to the floor, and Declán clenched his fist. This was personal now.

The veil of rage had clouded his vision. He was ready to do anything to get revenge. 

The streets were still chaotic, with trucks flying by twice the speed limit and people running everywhere. He didn’t care. He kept his Glock in his pocket, to obscure it from view, and ran toward the parliament building. When he got there, it was already packed. A wall of police was dousing the protesters with foam, and a clear line around the building was formed. A few molotovs were hurled, but they never had a chance of hitting their marks. Declán waded through the crowds and got to the police tape. 

Two shots were fired, and two policemen fell. The tape split, and he walked up the marble stairs. Shouts. Anger. Two more rounds went off and the door fell open. “NESSA!” he screamed, was enveloped by death’s embrace.