Intel

Go easy on me cos this is my first story but i'm planning to turn it into a proper book. This is the start. I was told it a little unrealist but please gimme a fair review and some tips. I'm just 17 n cos i'm english my writing style is different to yours.

Running down the stair’s I made a break for the door. Entering the next room with caution, I heard whispers coming from the next room. I hid under a work desk, shielding anyone catching sight of me. “MOVE IN!”. I saw flashes of light move around the ceiling of this dark work office. I could almost swear I just swallowed my heart. I could hear them getting closer. The light circling around my position. The foot steps closer to the end of the room, where a coward lay under a desk cradling twin berretas. There was a slight pause in the space time-continuum. Suddenly the pine wood desk was bursting into pieces, muzzle bolts lit up the room. Blood dripping through the pine desk onto my face. With a slight grin, I licked the blood dripping onto my lips, and arose to dissolve the souls of the remaining Swat team members. It weird because, at this moment, I felt no emotion. Running from one end of the room to another firing 9mm rounds into their body, hearing them cry out to God. Little did they know that God couldn’t hear them. I watched one person’s body slump to the ground in a lifeless motion and I thought that was the last one until, in the corner of the room I caught a whisper. “Men down, this guy’s a maniac. I need backup. I repeat I need backup, over”. I walked over to this man and I saw fear in his eyes. He was at my mercy, and I almost felt sympathy for him. Almost until he reached for his MP5 sub machine gun. Tears welled up in his eyes as he dropped the weapon. A reddish liquid came spewing out of his mouth as I released my grip of the knife plunged into his stomach.

That was 29 years ago. I went down for third degree murder. 2 life sentences. At 21 years old. They say that any man who spends more than 10 years in prison is never right in the head. Stereotypes. I bet none of those suckers have spent a single day in a prison, they just look up a Steve Michaels case and think they know it all. In here I’ve seen some of the most noble men who ever walked the planet. And some of the seediest, cold hearted criminals you could imagine. Over the years staying in the State Pen I’ve seen them all pass through here, lawyers, millionaires, film directors, music stars, drug dealers, druggies, con artists, preachers and atheists. It doesn’t matter who you are. Cos one your locked up, black white, old, young, the rich, the poor. You all suffer, because your all united by one thing. The thirst for freedom. This natural human emotion which is deeply embedded in soul of every being. Oh these tough guys may deny its there, think they’re in control of, or even go to sleep and think it’ll just disappear by the morning. But you can’t repress it forever. Sooner or later you’ll crack. They all do.

‘Liberty and Justice for all’? Try chatting that shit in here and you’d be eating through a straw for the next 10 years. Maybe there was a time when I believed America was the land of opportunity. The land of the free. But gradually over time staring at the same 4 wallschoking on the wretched smell of your rat infested maggot crawling cell room, watching your youth, your dreams slip away, to the point where you no longer care or feel emotion. You begin to wonder, ‘What the hell happened? Where did it all go wrong? Why didn’t anybody warn me that life could turn out like this? Why didn’t anyone help me? What was I thinking’? I don’t know whats more sad, not knowing what day it is, or just not giving a damn.

“Come on Denton, give us a smile. Your getting out in the morning!” That’s wayne, a brick layer from Houston, Texas. Just 19 years old. He was charged with theft although he swears blind he’s innocent. I believe him. Wasn’t even given a fair trial or allocated a lawyer. According to Wayne, the council told him he stood no chance of winning the case, that they’d just give him one year if he confessed. I guess the council needs to make it look like they’re solving cases and getting criminals off the street. Wayne’s got a wife, a 4 year old daughter and another baby on the way. He only did what he though was best for his family. It’s funny, cos kids only appreciate the hardship their parents went through to raise them once they’re grown.

“I’ll be happy once I get through those prison gates” I groaned. Then a long pause. “Wayne” I said in a caring but stern voice, “take care of yourself in ere, yer hear me boy?” “Yes Sir” he replied in country western accent. “Don’t call me Sir, it makes me feel old” I snapped. “But you are-“ “Eh!” I sharply cut him off. “Young enough to whoop yo ass”. He always was a quick one. It was dark and Wayne was on the bottom bunk, so I didn’t see his face turn red, but I knew he felt embarrassed. Just then I remembered something. I started tugging at a seam in the side of my mattress next to the wall. Reached around for my 12 pack of Marlboro then chucked it underneath my bed onto Wayne’s lap.
“What’s this?”
“This should stop any horny bastards from coming into your ass for your last 3 months”.
“Thanks, I err… don’t know what to say” Wayne said quietly. “Hey forget about it, you just do right by your wife and kids. You’ve got a second chance at life. Don’t make the same mistakes I did and live a life of regret. Because those scars on the inside, they don’t heal up”. “Yes si- I mean Denton”. “Hehe, now lets get some shut eye” I said attempting to retain my machoness while feeling all this weird love circling us in the air. I admit this was hard to do, hell- Waynes was like a son to me. I felt obliged to look after him. Ah well. Tomorrow I get out. After 24 years inside. I’m not sure how I’ll cope. But I think I’ll make it.

Stewart

Er, you've already posted it here.

Also, there's no reason why you people should go easy on you. If you can't take criticique then perhaps writing is not for you. You can say you are just 17 but, despite my dislike for him, Christopher Paolini had first book published at fourteen, or something like that. It's not about age; just ability.

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Intel

Ouch. That hurt. And you didn't even gimme a review

Stewart

But I've responded with five paragraphs for you to consider. I only review books; I critique others' work.

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