Frank Freemont felt reality kicking in slowly as he awoke. He knew at first that he was upright – he had not been sleeping in a luxurious bed with a woman next to him, as his dream had depicted – then, that he was deeply uncumterbal. Every muscle in his body seemed to be screaming at him, and yet he couldn’t remember why this was. In fact, try as he might, he could not remember anything from the last time he was awake. He tensed a little, readying himself for a stretch, but his hands would not move. His eyes flickered open as he found himself tied up to a chair. He felt something trickle down his face and land on his dirty suite. Blood. That explained why his head was hurting like hell. He blinked a couple of times to survey his surroundings. At first, he noticed an old chair sitting opposite him with its back to him; he then let his eyes wander around the room. He was in, what appeared to be a large warehouse, used for stocking boats or cars by the enormity of it. And by the look of the large windows up ahead, it was evening as an orange light filtered through them. Frank stared down at his bonds, struggling slightly, trying to see if he could loosen his bonds, but it appeared that he was tied up with thick chains.
He then heard something from behind him. a large metal door opened and slammed behind whoever had entered, then footsteps coming over to him. The killer walked around frank and peered at him. He was holding a mug of tea that he was sipping from. “Oh good,” The killer said in a low voice “Your up.” The killer then sat down on the chair facing frank. He set down his mug of tea at a leisurely pace, reached into his back pocket and produced a gun. Frank tensed. The killer examined the gun and blew inside the barrel. He then produced a scrap of fabric and proceeded to polish the gun, humming to himself softly as he did so. All the while, frank sat there, feeling the pressure. Once the killer had finished polishing the gun, he laid it on his lap, picked up his mug of tea and took a sip, giving a little smile to frank over the rim of the mug as he did so. He then put the mug down, gave the gun a quick inspection and once he was satisfied, trained it on frank’s head. Frank stared wide-eyed at the killer. Now that he was looking at him properly, he could see that there was something familiar about his face. He inhaled quickly.
“You” he muttered. The killer nodded
“Indeed it is.” He said, now un-coking the gun. Frank’s eyes narrowed and he sneered slightly
“You wouldn’t.” He said. The killer raised an eyebrow
“Oh?” Frank chuckled nervously, his eyes glued to the barrel of the gun.
“Of course you wouldn’t, you have a wife and kids-“
“Do I?” the killer asked, “When have you ever seen them?”
“I… Well…” Frank paused. He was right. He had never actually seen any member of the killer’s family before. “You wouldn’t.” Frank repeated, now sounding a little desperate. The killer sighed.
“Your scared of me, frank.”
“No I’m not!” frank said quickly. He noticed that his voice was beginning to quiver.
“You have always been scared of me. You know why I know?” Frank didn’t reply. The killer sighed Re-cocked the gun “This is how I see it, right? There have been people before you, in this same situation, that don’t even know me and they’ve never got worked up. They just assume another killer, like all the others, so they’re not surprised. But you frank. You, know me. And I know for a fact, that you have been scared of me for quite some time. I’m a threat to you in the business world. And now, I’m a literal threat. I think that you knew, somehow, that this was coming. So why are you surprised?” frank shook his head
“I…” he couldn’t finish his sentence.
“Its because you’re a coward, frank. You don’t show it to anyone. Know one knows. But I can see it. I can see it in your eyes, its all there, plain as the nose on your face.” He paused “Where was I?” he muttered “…Oh yes.” And he re-cocked the gun. Frank frowned
“This is all a joke!” Frank laughed, almost hysterically “A sick, sick joke. Who put you up to this? Harrison, was it?” The killer frowned and shook his head
“Look, listen… I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of the situation here. I, am going, to kill you. You, are going, to die. Or-“
“Or?” frank squeaked, not liking the idea of a second option.
“Yes. Or, I kill your family” Frank paused, then chuckled deeply
“…You don’t have the guts,” he muttered, slowly shaking his head. The killer’s eyebrows raised
“Oh really? You wanna try out that theory? …I’ll tell you what;” he said getting up and walking behind the chair. He freed one of frank’s arms from the chains and brought it up. “You take that-“ he said, forcing the gun into frank’s hand and wrapping his fingers around the trigger. With one flick, he un-cocked the gun for Frank, and threw his own chair to the side. Rolling his shoulders a little, the killer stood in front of frank “Now, if you can’t kill me, I get to kill you. Do’yah see how this works?” he smiled a little, rolling his head from side to side, readying himself. Frank smirked
“Pfft…easy.” He muttered.
“Good, then it should be over quickly.” Frank looked down at the gun, readying his shot. But then he paused. As he stared down at the gun, he saw the reality of what was happening. This man was going to lay his life on the line, all for the bet that frank would kill him to save his own life. “…Your crazy.” He croaked. The killer shrugged
“And yet it makes sense.” He stretched a little more, and then held back his arms, completely exposing his chest so that frank had a clear shot “Well, go on then.” He said. Franks eyes dropped back to the gun. He had the chance to kill this man, this man that was going to kill him anyway. Frank had the chance to save his own life. But then… What if this man wanted to be killed? What if he was using frank as an excuse to die? What if frank was to be framed for a murder, even though its technically self-defence. But then, the killer hadn’t done anything to him. He had threatened, but that was about it. What if the police found him? Frank’s fingerprints would be on the gun. He couldn’t testify against being the murderer, because he was technically killing an innocent man.
Frank stared up at the killer, who was now smirking. The killer relaxed and a slow chuckle reverberated from his chest.
“Can’t do it, can you?” he said, walking back over to him, and taking the gun. “And do’yah know why that is?” he said. Frank whimpered silently. He had missed his chance.
“You’re a coward, Frank Freemont.” The killer said, pulling the trigger. The roar from the gun echoed throughout the warehouse, and frank’s head slumped as blood leaked from it.
The killer yawned and stretched a little. Then, picking up his mug of tea, he took a sip
“Still warm.” He muttered, smiling. And with that, he strolled back across the warehouse, whistling as he went.
- Title: A Killer Scene. Literally.
- Artist: Alisa Chatoyant
This is a little scene from something i am currently writing, and i would like some critique on it, if you please :)
If you don't understand it, thats good. Your not supposed to. (Meaning, you don't have to read the rest of the story to understand just this one scene)
Comment plz. Don't just rate it and scuttle off unnoticed :D
Apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes.
(If you steal/copy any of my story or characters, I'm afraid I'm going to have to hunt you down :o)
- Date: 01/03/2011
- Tags: scene killer crazy psychotic murder