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Chapter 1 (Title TBD =)) (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
Please constructive criticism. :) I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read my story! Thanks!
Chapter 1
I am a killing machine. I have not touched a living thing in two years: because I kill everything I touch. I didn’t ask to be this way, but this is how I am, and I will accept it. One day. But not now. My story isn’t an inspiration to all. As a matter of fact, the very sight of me terrifies children to the bone; they have nightmares about me. I hear their scream in the night and cringe, wishing I wasn’t existent. I don’t want to bring terror to the world. I want joy, laughter, and happiness. Not this. Amity. How can a name meaning harmony and selflessness belong to such a destructive person? Maybe, I was supposed to be harmonic and selfless and giving. But I’m not.
I looked at myself in a reflection in the water. Good thing no one saw me. I am quite terrifying. The wild black hair that seems to cut into anyones flesh who touches it. My eyes… or should I say eye. One eye is blind, with a white cloud over it, making it look ghostly and emotionless. The other eye is cold and heartless, with no feeling or thoughts. Just emptiness. My skin is white: ghost white. Except the right side of my body. It’s covered in scars from a burn in a fire three years ago. The scars are an irritated red with bubbles that seem like they could contain puss, but don’t. My hands shake helplessly, but never affect my aim. My freckles are no longer dots on my face and arms: they’re closing together, making it look like a terrifying tattoo. I no longer appear young, despite the fact that I am still in my teens. My body is tired and my eye has seen too much for one lifetime. I have seen too much. Why do I look at my reflection if I’m so terrible? I think its because if I don’t, I may actually think I’m a human being and try to connect with someone. And that would end up with death, heartbreak, and destruction. No way. I will continue to look at my reflection every day of my miserable life, so no harm comes to anyone but me.

Who was this? Who was this “killing machine?” He stood up with the crumpled paper in his hand. The crumpled paper that held the saddest words he had ever read on it. He wanted to find her- or him. Why was that person as broken and sad as they were? He looked around the pond at which he stood and knew he wasn’t alone.
“He-hello?” he called.
“ My name is Sage. Sage Winifred. I-” he pushed his bangs out of his eyes. Was this the.. creature?
“I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to…” What did he want? To see the creature? To kill it? Or maybe even befriend it? No, that was nonsense. Befriend a killer? Never.
He snapped out of the argument with himself when a bullet whizzed past his head and landed in the trunk of a tree behind him. He didn’t care who it was, he wasn’t going to risk my life to see it. He turned and ran away in the opposite direction of the bullet’s origin. He tapped his glasses as he ran, giving Sage sight of what was behind him. And what he saw almost made him trip. The “killing machine”. It was a girl, as he suspected by the name, “Amity”. She had described herself perfectly. She stood stoutly, watching as he ran away. He didn’t think he would ever get that picture out of his mind. Something caused him to stop. Maybe it was that his mission was to find her and bring her back to the government, and he had never failed a mission. Maybe it was pity for her. But maybe he wanted to help her. Whatever it was, he stopped, and instantly regretted it. he turned around and pushed himself forward towards her. Left foot, right foot, repeat, he told himself, since he seemed to have forgotten that necessary skill. He kept walking, not daring to look up, until he saw boots in front of him on the ground. He slowly picked his head up, his eyes following. She wore black, worn boots. Her pants were ripped and faded, but still looked useful. Her belt held an assortment of guns, knives, tasers, and other weapons that made his own stash of 3 guns on his person feel inadequate. She wore a black tank top and her wrists held all kinds of new and old spy gear. How had she gotten those? Had she been a spy? Or had she.. taken them from her victims? He finally reached her face. He tried his best not to gasp or react, and succeeded. But that didn’t stop him from studying her. Her black hair was oily and unstyled. Her ghost white skin was a shocker, but her web of freckles seemed to scare him more. The red skin and the blister-looking scars on her right side looked extremely painful and it looked like she was trying to desperately to stop her hands from shaking. Her right eye was white where the iris should have been, but it was more revolting than anything. She studied him with one eye, as the other one obviously couldn’t focus.
“Tell them you couldn’t find me. Or better yet, say you killed me.” she growled. But it wasn’t very threatening. Her voice was much like a young girl’s: sweet, innocent, and definitely unaware that harm was happening in the world.
“What?” he managed.
“Sage Winifred. Go home and forget you ever saw me. “
She thought he was going to leave? Fat chance.
“You’re Amity, right?” he said casually, trying not to acknowledge the fact that he was looking into the face of death.
She nodded slowly and cautiously.
“What do you want with me?”
“Nothing.” he insisted, trying to steady his voice. “I.. I read the note you wrote. Well, I’ll guess it’s you.” he held it up. She held her hand out for it, but he didn’t put it in her hand. He felt like he was feeding the fire.
“Why aren’t you scared? Why aren’t you screaming, or running away, or even gasping?” She exclaimed.
“I don’t know what you mean.” he tried to encourage her.
“ Yes you do and don’t fake it. I’m not stupid. I’ve been alive long enough to know when some brat is lying.” Her eyes narrowed into true hatred. He was taken aback.
“I thought you were still in your teens. I’m close to your age. I’m 17.”
“Seventeen and already a spy?” Amity laughed. But it wasn’t a joyful laugh. It was cold and heartless, like her eyes. “Recruiting early these days!”
“When were you recruited?” he questioned.
Instantly, she pressed the cold blade of a knife against his neck. He struggled against her iron grip on his shoulder holding him still, but she was remarkably strong.
“How dare you say that? What makes you think I worked for the government?” she growled through clenched teeth.
“I… I.. just assumed!”
“Well stop assuming. It’s gonna get you killed. “ She released him. He felt liquid trickle onto his chest. He put a hand to his neck and felt the warm blood from the shallow cut her knife had made.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked.
“Because that was your warning. “ she threatened.
“If you really were a killing machine, you’d have killed me right then and there. I don’t think you’re as vicious as you think.” He looked at his nails wittingly.
She grabbed him by my shirt and lifted him up. The wind picked up. Her hair fluttered into his arm and he instantly felt pain. He had cuts all the way down his arm from.. her hair?
“Get out of here. Before I do something I regret.” she threw him down and walked away, one hand on her belt and the other holding the knife of which she was wiping my blood off of. He stood up shakily and brushed the dirt off his jeans. With that, he sprinted the other way as fast as he could. And this time, he didn’t look back.
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Senior Member
I'm intrigued by your story but became confused by your formatting, your lengthy paragraphs and a few other things. Finally noticed the first part was in quotes and was (probably) a letter? My confusion probably says more about me than your writing, so rather than give you a detailed critique of what I think works and doesn't work right now, let me suggest you...

Create a working title to grab attention and leverage our curiosity into your story. Even here in the Writing Forum, we must first want to read something before we can offer criticism.

Indent each paragraph to make them stand out from the others. Even with quotation marks, I found myself reading into the next paragraph before realizing it was the beginning of another.

Break up long paragraphs into two or three paragraphs so you don't have so much going on in one. My view is that every sentence in a paragraph should contribute to the meaning or topic of that paragraph. There are legitimate exceptions of course.

Find more concise ways to convey the dialog and narration. Less isn't always more but in this case I think some tightening would help the flow of your story.

Start your story with a stand-alone sentence. My preference would be "I kill everything I touch." Delete everything before that.

Hope you get more comments so you have more ideas from which to choose!


Senior Member
Thanks! I realize that I am by far not the best writer, but I'm trying. :) I will take your comments into consideration and hopefully change it for the better!

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