Daniel_Infinity
New Member
Sigh. I just ran out of my trial version of MS Office 2004, which I had no idea would impact my writing so much. It turns out the nice layout and everything gave me some kind of incentive to hack away at my keyboard! The first two weeks were amazing! I did at least two thousand words a day, over the course of nine hours, but I still did it 
(so much for doing a thousand words an hour... too many mistakes that way.)
Then after those two weeks I started to slug on my writting and I also did a quick revision which really turned me off, (I went around changing the tense!! IT WAS A BUMMER!! So many was, and went, and said! Lol, I almost died!)
Anyhow, before I kill you guys with more senseless blabber I would like to know what you guys think of this piece from somewhere in the middle of my story. Please, crucify me on my grammar and everything because I want to take any and all critique and apply it to the entire story, which I do actually plan on publishing somewhere within this month, (Hehe, hello September!) Oh, and just as a forewarning, there are curse words used, tis why the fifteen warning
Chapter Eight (I don't know if I'll make any more chapters before it, but right now in my draft it's chapter eight.)
CHAPTER EIGHT - 2049
03/03/49: 6:00PM Wednesday
Christopher is just released from the Texas State Prison.
He is a 6’ 2½” Caucasian with a slim build and black hair, trimmed just below his ears. In the time he was there he has grown some facial hair that he couldn’t keep in check. The foul smell of prison life reeks from his torso and armpits. His face is grim from the years at the Texas State Prison, his mind weak.
Flanked by two larger guards equipped with bulletproof body armor and M16 rifles. The forty-six year old has been imprisoned since he was twenty-eight. The guards usher Christopher out, stuffing papers into his hands and forces him to sign before pushing him through the front exit.
“And don’t come back!” One of them yells out.
Christopher stops himself in his tracks, coughs and takes a breath of the fresh air. Finally, he is out! Some old newspapers flutter about the ground. A couple pages catch onto his leg. He looks down. The headliner reads, ‘CENTAUR1 TO LAUNCH APRIL 13TH!’ It is all over the news, The Centauri project, Dimensions, finding another world. Christopher disregards it until his brain fully registers what the newspaper is saying.
“Shit!” He cusses aloud. He has to do something otherwise the lives of twenty thousand people will be at the mercy of velocity. His eyes spin from side to side. He needs a car.
“Hey, what the **** are you doing out here?” An officer yells out. He had just pulled into the parking lot from a patrol. It is the end of his shift but seeing a person standing in the parking lot next to the sidewalk of the Texas State Prison wearing an orange prison jumpsuit didn’t look at all inconspicuous.
“No, wait! My clothes, here, I was released,” Christopher tries to explain, holding out some ragged pieces of clothing in his left hand and tries to show some papers in his right hand. The officer has already drawn his gun. A couple of other officers heard the commotion and rush to the scene, guns drawn.
“I’m not a fucking criminal!” Christopher cries out. He holds his arms up, dropping his old clothes and the papers he was given.
“Shut up!” One of the officers yells back. “And get on your damn knee’s!”
“Alright! Alright!” Christopher complies. He drops to his knees. No concern of the pain that rattles through his legs when he hits the ground. His eyes are weakening.
The guards are probably going to handcuff him and throw him against the curb until they go over his papers and then confirm it with the administration. All of the time some asshole will have a gun pressed against his face and probably would be assaulting him to no ends.
**** this! He thinks. There are only three guards there anyways; maybe he has a fighting chance. No way in hell will Christopher stand by and let the Centaur1 explode while he still has breath in him.
The officer that had pulled in with the patrol car, the one that first noticed Christopher; slowly lowers his gun in his left hand and pulls a pair of handcuffs off his belt with his right hand. His name is Matthew, and this is his second year as a police officer. He joined right after all law enforcement coalitions formed a general police force. It is only established through several states in America, others are still reluctant to join.
“Hands behind your fucking back!” Matthew yells. Christopher brings his hands to his back. They are slightly bent to allow movement.
“I’m not going back.” Christopher quietly assures himself. He closes his eyes for a moment, wondering if this is what he really wanted.
“Should I check his I.D.?” Matthew asks the other officers. He is referring to the electronic identification chip that is embedding in three out of four American’s. The government has promised it is for the safety of its’ people, but conspiracy theorists and human activist groups have still rallied against the chip; claiming it is for spying on the people and giving more control to the government.
One of the guards shrugs. The other guard shakes his head.
“We could check that bastard after we get him in. Now bring him over here!”
Christopher is set on not going back. He pushes himself up with his knees, swinging his arm back creating an elbow that slams into Matthew’s neck. He does it as soon as Matthew is going to holster his pistol, to better handcuff Christopher. That gave Christopher the time he needed to execute his attack.
The gun slides from Matthew’s hand easily, and he falls to the ground holding his neck and gasping for breath. Christopher holds out his hand and receives the gun easily, flips it around, shooting one of the officers’ twice before the other officer manages to shoot him in the chest. He falls on his right knee, partly because of the shot, partly because of the body’s nervous reactions. His arms swing, bringing the pistol with them. They are now pointing at the officer that shot him. Both pistols fire! Another bullet hits Christopher in the gut. His bullet punctures the officer’s Adam’s apple. It is a lucky shot; Christopher was aiming for the torso because it was the most probable area to hit.
The alarm goes off. Footsteps of dozens of prison guards are rushing to the scene. Christopher scrambles to his feet. He grabs the electronic keychain from Matthew and dashes toward the patrol car.
“There he is!” A guard shouts out before Christopher gets in the patrol car and makes an exit down the prison lane. Some of the guards take aim and fire at the car but give up after they realize it isn’t doing any good.
The police soon take pursuit of the stolen cruiser. They try to electronically disable it but Christopher manages to jam the communication network by bending the antenna toward the floor of the patrol car, canceling out their signal. He is trying to figure out where he could go. Who could he count on? His mind races through everyone he knew nineteen years ago. Nobody comes to mind, at least not anybody that could help him with his current situation. Wait; there is a Charles guy, worked for the Navy and was an engineer with NASA years before the Centauri project. But how is he going to convince him that there is a problem with the Centauri project, how is he even going to find him? The computer! Christopher jacks the antenna back up and flips open the tough book computer. His right hand immediately navigates through the American criminal database. It is the fastest way for him to find anyone on a police computer. He types in Charles, pauses to figure out his last name, Burden? Barone? Bergen? Burgundy! The screen flashes a mug shot of a teenager. At first Christopher thinks he’s got the wrong guy until he reads the date of the picture, 2013! This must have been a crime he committed in his youth! It also states that Charles Burgundy is currently on leave from the LynDimesions laboratory in Texas. Not too far from where Christopher is.
The patrol car launches itself down a major city road, skidding before the Texas State Police headquarters shuts it down. The doors lock and the windows bar. A sleeping gas is unleashed inside the vehicle. Christopher hacks away at the computer keyboard, trying to keep it on just a little longer. The screen keeps flickering on and off but Christopher persists in finishing sending messages and hacking into the cruiser’s mainframe.
Four police cruisers surround the patrol car that Christopher has stolen. Gases are seeping through the cracks in the sealant, escaping into the atmosphere. Six police officers’ rush to surround the car with their guns drawn, two others stays at their cruisers, arched over the hoods of the patrol cars, aiming at the stolen cruiser.
The police Sergeant seems to be nervous, he makes sure not to rush any action. The big fellow stands at 6’5” and has a very defined build. He isn’t huge but bigger then the average American. His natural hair color is black, but now half of it is grey. He has green eyes and his skin is brandishing his age of forty-eight very well. “Nobody shoots unless I give the go.” He orders. After receiving a few nods from his fellow officers’ he gestures to the officer at his side.
“Alright, open it.” That officer radios to the Texas State police headquarters. All four doors swing open. Clouds of green sleeping gas escape from the confinements of the cruiser. After a couple of yells and warnings the gas is thin enough to see through to the inside of the car.
Character count reached. Will repost the rest on a reply.
Thanks for any response! And even though it's not perfect, nor stealworthy, to other writers: copywritten material, please do not use any of the intellectual property posted herein.
Thanks everyone
Daniel
(so much for doing a thousand words an hour... too many mistakes that way.)Then after those two weeks I started to slug on my writting and I also did a quick revision which really turned me off, (I went around changing the tense!! IT WAS A BUMMER!! So many was, and went, and said! Lol, I almost died!)
Anyhow, before I kill you guys with more senseless blabber I would like to know what you guys think of this piece from somewhere in the middle of my story. Please, crucify me on my grammar and everything because I want to take any and all critique and apply it to the entire story, which I do actually plan on publishing somewhere within this month, (Hehe, hello September!) Oh, and just as a forewarning, there are curse words used, tis why the fifteen warning
Chapter Eight (I don't know if I'll make any more chapters before it, but right now in my draft it's chapter eight.)
CHAPTER EIGHT - 2049
03/03/49: 6:00PM Wednesday
Christopher is just released from the Texas State Prison.
He is a 6’ 2½” Caucasian with a slim build and black hair, trimmed just below his ears. In the time he was there he has grown some facial hair that he couldn’t keep in check. The foul smell of prison life reeks from his torso and armpits. His face is grim from the years at the Texas State Prison, his mind weak.
Flanked by two larger guards equipped with bulletproof body armor and M16 rifles. The forty-six year old has been imprisoned since he was twenty-eight. The guards usher Christopher out, stuffing papers into his hands and forces him to sign before pushing him through the front exit.
“And don’t come back!” One of them yells out.
Christopher stops himself in his tracks, coughs and takes a breath of the fresh air. Finally, he is out! Some old newspapers flutter about the ground. A couple pages catch onto his leg. He looks down. The headliner reads, ‘CENTAUR1 TO LAUNCH APRIL 13TH!’ It is all over the news, The Centauri project, Dimensions, finding another world. Christopher disregards it until his brain fully registers what the newspaper is saying.
“Shit!” He cusses aloud. He has to do something otherwise the lives of twenty thousand people will be at the mercy of velocity. His eyes spin from side to side. He needs a car.
“Hey, what the **** are you doing out here?” An officer yells out. He had just pulled into the parking lot from a patrol. It is the end of his shift but seeing a person standing in the parking lot next to the sidewalk of the Texas State Prison wearing an orange prison jumpsuit didn’t look at all inconspicuous.
“No, wait! My clothes, here, I was released,” Christopher tries to explain, holding out some ragged pieces of clothing in his left hand and tries to show some papers in his right hand. The officer has already drawn his gun. A couple of other officers heard the commotion and rush to the scene, guns drawn.
“I’m not a fucking criminal!” Christopher cries out. He holds his arms up, dropping his old clothes and the papers he was given.
“Shut up!” One of the officers yells back. “And get on your damn knee’s!”
“Alright! Alright!” Christopher complies. He drops to his knees. No concern of the pain that rattles through his legs when he hits the ground. His eyes are weakening.
The guards are probably going to handcuff him and throw him against the curb until they go over his papers and then confirm it with the administration. All of the time some asshole will have a gun pressed against his face and probably would be assaulting him to no ends.
**** this! He thinks. There are only three guards there anyways; maybe he has a fighting chance. No way in hell will Christopher stand by and let the Centaur1 explode while he still has breath in him.
The officer that had pulled in with the patrol car, the one that first noticed Christopher; slowly lowers his gun in his left hand and pulls a pair of handcuffs off his belt with his right hand. His name is Matthew, and this is his second year as a police officer. He joined right after all law enforcement coalitions formed a general police force. It is only established through several states in America, others are still reluctant to join.
“Hands behind your fucking back!” Matthew yells. Christopher brings his hands to his back. They are slightly bent to allow movement.
“I’m not going back.” Christopher quietly assures himself. He closes his eyes for a moment, wondering if this is what he really wanted.
“Should I check his I.D.?” Matthew asks the other officers. He is referring to the electronic identification chip that is embedding in three out of four American’s. The government has promised it is for the safety of its’ people, but conspiracy theorists and human activist groups have still rallied against the chip; claiming it is for spying on the people and giving more control to the government.
One of the guards shrugs. The other guard shakes his head.
“We could check that bastard after we get him in. Now bring him over here!”
Christopher is set on not going back. He pushes himself up with his knees, swinging his arm back creating an elbow that slams into Matthew’s neck. He does it as soon as Matthew is going to holster his pistol, to better handcuff Christopher. That gave Christopher the time he needed to execute his attack.
The gun slides from Matthew’s hand easily, and he falls to the ground holding his neck and gasping for breath. Christopher holds out his hand and receives the gun easily, flips it around, shooting one of the officers’ twice before the other officer manages to shoot him in the chest. He falls on his right knee, partly because of the shot, partly because of the body’s nervous reactions. His arms swing, bringing the pistol with them. They are now pointing at the officer that shot him. Both pistols fire! Another bullet hits Christopher in the gut. His bullet punctures the officer’s Adam’s apple. It is a lucky shot; Christopher was aiming for the torso because it was the most probable area to hit.
The alarm goes off. Footsteps of dozens of prison guards are rushing to the scene. Christopher scrambles to his feet. He grabs the electronic keychain from Matthew and dashes toward the patrol car.
“There he is!” A guard shouts out before Christopher gets in the patrol car and makes an exit down the prison lane. Some of the guards take aim and fire at the car but give up after they realize it isn’t doing any good.
The police soon take pursuit of the stolen cruiser. They try to electronically disable it but Christopher manages to jam the communication network by bending the antenna toward the floor of the patrol car, canceling out their signal. He is trying to figure out where he could go. Who could he count on? His mind races through everyone he knew nineteen years ago. Nobody comes to mind, at least not anybody that could help him with his current situation. Wait; there is a Charles guy, worked for the Navy and was an engineer with NASA years before the Centauri project. But how is he going to convince him that there is a problem with the Centauri project, how is he even going to find him? The computer! Christopher jacks the antenna back up and flips open the tough book computer. His right hand immediately navigates through the American criminal database. It is the fastest way for him to find anyone on a police computer. He types in Charles, pauses to figure out his last name, Burden? Barone? Bergen? Burgundy! The screen flashes a mug shot of a teenager. At first Christopher thinks he’s got the wrong guy until he reads the date of the picture, 2013! This must have been a crime he committed in his youth! It also states that Charles Burgundy is currently on leave from the LynDimesions laboratory in Texas. Not too far from where Christopher is.
The patrol car launches itself down a major city road, skidding before the Texas State Police headquarters shuts it down. The doors lock and the windows bar. A sleeping gas is unleashed inside the vehicle. Christopher hacks away at the computer keyboard, trying to keep it on just a little longer. The screen keeps flickering on and off but Christopher persists in finishing sending messages and hacking into the cruiser’s mainframe.
Four police cruisers surround the patrol car that Christopher has stolen. Gases are seeping through the cracks in the sealant, escaping into the atmosphere. Six police officers’ rush to surround the car with their guns drawn, two others stays at their cruisers, arched over the hoods of the patrol cars, aiming at the stolen cruiser.
The police Sergeant seems to be nervous, he makes sure not to rush any action. The big fellow stands at 6’5” and has a very defined build. He isn’t huge but bigger then the average American. His natural hair color is black, but now half of it is grey. He has green eyes and his skin is brandishing his age of forty-eight very well. “Nobody shoots unless I give the go.” He orders. After receiving a few nods from his fellow officers’ he gestures to the officer at his side.
“Alright, open it.” That officer radios to the Texas State police headquarters. All four doors swing open. Clouds of green sleeping gas escape from the confinements of the cruiser. After a couple of yells and warnings the gas is thin enough to see through to the inside of the car.
Character count reached. Will repost the rest on a reply.
Thanks for any response! And even though it's not perfect, nor stealworthy, to other writers: copywritten material, please do not use any of the intellectual property posted herein.
Thanks everyone
Daniel
