hey folks, i wrote this one morning in a hotel room while everyone else was passed out drunk (it was back when i was in the navy and a bunch of us would get a hotel room on the weekend and party). i posted it on myspace back then, but that isn't exactly the best place to put out random writings, so i thought i'd throw it on here.
its just a short segment that would take place in the middle of a story, if there was more to it that is.

let me know what you think!


Nick

The sound the ejected casing made as it bounced off the wall should have paled in comparison to the thunderous explosion the pistol had made in the small room not two seconds before, but it still rang in my ears nonetheless. By the time the .45 caliber bullet shell had finally stopped bouncing off of the cheep, dirty hardwood floor, the previously living form of a man who had rolled on my boss to the cops, had slid down the wall and slumped over on the floor amid a growing pool of liquid crimson.

     My ears finally stopped ringing just in time to hear my phone ringing in my jacket pocket. I take it out and see that Eddie was waiting for the connection to be made. I hit the green button and listen to him prattle on for a minute about me taking so long to answer my phone. It’s nine in the morning and it sounds like he already has a pretty decent drunk on. I halt his ramblings long enough to tell the little unwelcome guest phone that I am on a job before shutting said phone, disconnecting the one way conversation before Eddie could get another word out.

     I look back over to the body in front of me, taking notice of the large red stain it left down the door as it slid to the floor. The face was ruined by my Colt 1911, but everyone knows this guy anyway, even though he had no friends because no one wanted to get close to this slug of a man due to his job of snitching absolutely every wrongdoing to the cops. And in a town like this, the only doing anyone has, is wrongdoing. This time he had reached his limit. He had found out about a job my employer was pulling, a job that was botched because of this stoolie's information. A job that would have meant hundreds of thousands of dollars to my employer. Thus, this man's reason for execution. I did not feel sorry for this poor ****, I am not paid too.

     I tuck my gun into the shoulder holster held under my left arm and adjust my coat so you could not see the pistol concealed underneath. I go to the hall and open the closet. I begin to pull out the random **** that he kept in there, tossing it out of my way until I find the object of my search, an old, rusted crowbar. Technically, anything with a hooked end would have worked, but a crowbar was definitely choice. 

     I return to the corpse and hook the bent end of the crowbar in the collar of his shirt and drag him across the dusty floor, away from the front door. The door was not exactly an ideal place to whack him, but it was unavoidable, he tried to run.

     I had him almost clear of the door when my phone rang once again. I open it and 'lo and behold, it was Eddie once again. I drop the crowbar and exit the apartment before answering. Once again Eddie started right in on yelling at me as I walked down the empty corridor. Then he drops the ball on me. The shittiest news a guy in my profession could possibly hear at a moment like this. Information that makes me hate the fact that I couldn't stand Eddie's drunken ramblings long enough to allow me to hear what he really had to say the first time he called. He told me: "Nick, the hit's off. Jones found out the cops have the snitch under surveillance."

     I stood there, jaw to the god damned floor. The sounds of sirens break the moment of silence. "They're here." I say into the phone before shutting it. I pull my pistol from inside my jacket and take out my extra magazine, holding it in my other hand, and waited for the inevitable.

become a author I would buy your books!!

working on a novel right now! care to be a test audience?

hey folks, i wrote this one morning in a hotel room while everyone else was passed out drunk (it was back when i was in the navy and a bunch of us would get a hotel room on the weekend and party). i posted it on myspace back then, but that isn't exactly the best place to put out random writings, so i thought i'd throw it on here.
its just a short segment that would take place in the middle of a story, if there was more to it that is.

let me know what you think!


Nick

The sound the ejected casing made as it bounced off the wall should have paled in comparison to the thunderous explosion the pistol had made in the small room not two seconds before, but it still rang in my ears nonetheless. By the time the .45 caliber bullet shell had finally stopped bouncing off of the cheep, dirty hardwood floor, the previously living form of a man who had rolled on my boss to the cops, had slid down the wall and slumped over on the floor amid a growing pool of liquid crimson.

     My ears finally stopped ringing just in time to hear my phone ringing in my jacket pocket. I take it out and see that Eddie was waiting for the connection to be made. I hit the green button and listen to him prattle on for a minute about me taking so long to answer my phone. It’s nine in the morning and it sounds like he already has a pretty decent drunk on. I halt his ramblings long enough to tell the little unwelcome guest phone that I am on a job before shutting said phone, disconnecting the one way conversation before Eddie could get another word out.

     I look back over to the body in front of me, taking notice of the large red stain it left down the door as it slid to the floor. The face was ruined by my Colt 1911, but everyone knows this guy anyway, even though he had no friends because no one wanted to get close to this slug of a man due to his job of snitching absolutely every wrongdoing to the cops. And in a town like this, the only doing anyone has, is wrongdoing. This time he had reached his limit. He had found out about a job my employer was pulling, a job that was botched because of this stoolie's information. A job that would have meant hundreds of thousands of dollars to my employer. Thus, this man's reason for execution. I did not feel sorry for this poor ****, I am not paid too.

     I tuck my gun into the shoulder holster held under my left arm and adjust my coat so you could not see the pistol concealed underneath. I go to the hall and open the closet. I begin to pull out the random **** that he kept in there, tossing it out of my way until I find the object of my search, an old, rusted crowbar. Technically, anything with a hooked end would have worked, but a crowbar was definitely choice. 

     I return to the corpse and hook the bent end of the crowbar in the collar of his shirt and drag him across the dusty floor, away from the front door. The door was not exactly an ideal place to whack him, but it was unavoidable, he tried to run.

     I had him almost clear of the door when my phone rang once again. I open it and 'lo and behold, it was Eddie once again. I drop the crowbar and exit the apartment before answering. Once again Eddie started right in on yelling at me as I walked down the empty corridor. Then he drops the ball on me. The shittiest news a guy in my profession could possibly hear at a moment like this. Information that makes me hate the fact that I couldn't stand Eddie's drunken ramblings long enough to allow me to hear what he really had to say the first time he called. He told me: "Nick, the hit's off. Jones found out the cops have the snitch under surveillance."

     I stood there, jaw to the god damned floor. The sounds of sirens break the moment of silence. "They're here." I say into the phone before shutting it. I pull my pistol from inside my jacket and take out my extra magazine, holding it in my other hand, and waited for the inevitable.

just shot you an email!

damn, wanted to change something on it, but the edit button's gone!