For once, a story that when I actually know what’s going to happen :O. For once, one that doesn’t end after the prologue or a few chapters(Unless everybody hates it of course) :O. I guess it isn’t overly rude or disturbing, but I hate putting age restrictions on my fan fiction, and the rudest word in the prologue is “Bloody”, although knowing what people are like today it’ll be classed as an 18+ for that. But anyways, it’s a story about a detective-crime fighting guy who does detective and crime fighting things. Comment and criticism please. Please note that the prologue/prelude is a little short, being what it is. So yeah, err, it’s under this message.
Prologue/prelude.
“Raining. Stupid rain. It’s England, but it could at least stop in a while. Some sun would be nice. As in, lasting, not 3 days of peace and then a torrential downpour”, Thought the figure. He was a slim figure of medium height. He had small beard, a large black coat, blue jeans and eyes, and messy blonde hair. A quick glance to his watch. 22:50. “Jesus, it’s late. Should be sleeping. Nah. I guess I’ll just sleep here if need be. Have a nice thinking session”, he thought again, chewing on a freshly bought green apple. Now this was a mystery; he much preferred red ones. “Far better taste. Don’t know why I’m eating them. I don’t know why I’m doing this at all really. In fact, I don’t really know who I am. Better refresh myself…
My name’s Tim Green. No wait, Tom… Yes, that’s right, Tom Green. 30, err, 1,2,3. What’s that number in the middle of 5 and 3? 4, yes. 34 years old. My favourite colours are red and purple. Not green, as many people say. Not blood red though. Blood… Something I see a lot of. Shame seeing it, but I do. This brings me to my job; A detective. I don’t know why I became one, but when I did, I seemed remarkably good at it. I’m going on holiday in a week. I plan on staying there for a few months or so, a bit of a break from my usual-
“Help, somebody, help!!! SSOOOMEEEBODYYY!!!!!”
Busy schedule. Tom shot up, gun in hand. He dashed across the silent street, and peered around the alley wall. He quickly analysed the scene: Woman lying on floor, and a tall slim man, towering over her with… “Oh, no, not a knife again. Hate Knifes. I can’t kill him, so I’ll have to risk shooting it out of the idiot’s hand. I aim my gun, already loaded, clench my teeth and fired. Bingo! Knife out of hand, although that hole in his palm won’t be growing back anytime soon. His fault though. The man turned around. I know this guy. Crooked James. Serious cocaine addict. Had problems with his wife and children. Guess he finally snapped”. Joe charged towards Tom, and attempted to lunge onto him. A quick kick to the face though and Joe was sent sprawling onto the floor. Tom grabbed Joe by his collar and raised him into the air. “OK, you freak! Think Killing her will help?! Make it all better?! Another Bloody corpse on the streets?! Another murder on your sentence?!” Shouted Tom, turning red with anger.
“Why should you care?!” Hissed Joe savagely, spitting in his speech. Tom picked up the knife and held it to Joe’s throat.
“You annoy me so very much. I could kill you, right now, if I wanted”, Tom said, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He placed both the man and the knife on the floor. “ To be honest”, Tom said, in a far more subtle tone, “I’d love to. But that’d make me just as low and pathetic as you. Another pathetic idiot who carelessly kills without even considering that it’s another human, like you, that has feelings and desires. And if everybody was like that, then what a world we’d live in right now”. Tom phoned for the police and looked across the road. But he decided he’d sleep at home now. And he’d shave, and he’d brush his teeth, and he’d sleep in his bed for once, because he figured that sleeping on the floor next to the supermarket was a bad idea for three reasons; He’d done it for the past three days, he was beginning to look like a hobo, and that he was grateful enough to still be alive so he couldn’t imagine the joy he’d get from being in a nice air-conditioned room.
Prologue/prelude.
“Raining. Stupid rain. It’s England, but it could at least stop in a while. Some sun would be nice. As in, lasting, not 3 days of peace and then a torrential downpour”, Thought the figure. He was a slim figure of medium height. He had small beard, a large black coat, blue jeans and eyes, and messy blonde hair. A quick glance to his watch. 22:50. “Jesus, it’s late. Should be sleeping. Nah. I guess I’ll just sleep here if need be. Have a nice thinking session”, he thought again, chewing on a freshly bought green apple. Now this was a mystery; he much preferred red ones. “Far better taste. Don’t know why I’m eating them. I don’t know why I’m doing this at all really. In fact, I don’t really know who I am. Better refresh myself…
My name’s Tim Green. No wait, Tom… Yes, that’s right, Tom Green. 30, err, 1,2,3. What’s that number in the middle of 5 and 3? 4, yes. 34 years old. My favourite colours are red and purple. Not green, as many people say. Not blood red though. Blood… Something I see a lot of. Shame seeing it, but I do. This brings me to my job; A detective. I don’t know why I became one, but when I did, I seemed remarkably good at it. I’m going on holiday in a week. I plan on staying there for a few months or so, a bit of a break from my usual-
“Help, somebody, help!!! SSOOOMEEEBODYYY!!!!!”
Busy schedule. Tom shot up, gun in hand. He dashed across the silent street, and peered around the alley wall. He quickly analysed the scene: Woman lying on floor, and a tall slim man, towering over her with… “Oh, no, not a knife again. Hate Knifes. I can’t kill him, so I’ll have to risk shooting it out of the idiot’s hand. I aim my gun, already loaded, clench my teeth and fired. Bingo! Knife out of hand, although that hole in his palm won’t be growing back anytime soon. His fault though. The man turned around. I know this guy. Crooked James. Serious cocaine addict. Had problems with his wife and children. Guess he finally snapped”. Joe charged towards Tom, and attempted to lunge onto him. A quick kick to the face though and Joe was sent sprawling onto the floor. Tom grabbed Joe by his collar and raised him into the air. “OK, you freak! Think Killing her will help?! Make it all better?! Another Bloody corpse on the streets?! Another murder on your sentence?!” Shouted Tom, turning red with anger.
“Why should you care?!” Hissed Joe savagely, spitting in his speech. Tom picked up the knife and held it to Joe’s throat.
“You annoy me so very much. I could kill you, right now, if I wanted”, Tom said, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He placed both the man and the knife on the floor. “ To be honest”, Tom said, in a far more subtle tone, “I’d love to. But that’d make me just as low and pathetic as you. Another pathetic idiot who carelessly kills without even considering that it’s another human, like you, that has feelings and desires. And if everybody was like that, then what a world we’d live in right now”. Tom phoned for the police and looked across the road. But he decided he’d sleep at home now. And he’d shave, and he’d brush his teeth, and he’d sleep in his bed for once, because he figured that sleeping on the floor next to the supermarket was a bad idea for three reasons; He’d done it for the past three days, he was beginning to look like a hobo, and that he was grateful enough to still be alive so he couldn’t imagine the joy he’d get from being in a nice air-conditioned room.
