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TITLE (EDIT)
The Agent |
DESCRIPTION
I wrote this for my GCSE a year or two ago ago. The assignment was 'a story set in one room'. I would be greatfull for any feedback anyone could offer me. Thanks.
[909 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Suspense |
AUTHOR
Laurence L'abre |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[November 2005] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
snes_rules@hotmail.com |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (2)
Child (Short Stories) My little brother was annoying me the other night and somhow inspired me to write this story. Any feedback or critisism would be greatly appreciated. Thanks. [635 words]
Fireworks (Poetry) A really bad, short, slightly drunkern poem about fireworks. [32 words] [Humor]
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The Agent
Laurence L'abre
Quentin walked slowly into his room with restrained panic effervescing inside him. He sat awkwardly onto his chair, his legs dizzy with tension. His gaze focused sharply on nothing as his eyes squinted slightly with anxious concentration. A large explosion from outside shook the walls of the room causing a picture to fall and shatter on the old wooden floor. Plaster dust fell from the ceiling onto an untidy stack of magazines piled on a chair. The noise subsided. He opened his eyes a fraction, then slowly, cautiously opened them further as if for fear of losing a limb if they were opened any faster. He closed them again and breathed a sigh of frustrated realisation. It hadn’t worked.
He franticly turned on his computer. The familiar sound of the welcoming tune made him flinch a little and he wheeled himself further into the comfort of his homely desk. The mouse pointer quivered as he flicked through endless files, humming nervously and cursing under his breath. Where was it? He accidentally opened the wrong document and hammered his shaking fist down hard on the keyboard in frustration. He closed his eyes again. Images of recent events flashed through his tired mind. He winced as he felt sweat drip down his brow, awakening him from his trance to the chaotic reality of his current situation. He wiped the sweat away and executed a search of his local hard drive. The emptiness of the following results mimicked what now remained of his hope. His head fell forwards and met the cold hard surface of the monitor. Where? Why? Questions dominated all rational thought he remained capable of. He didn’t have long. They would be coming soon.
Time had passed. How much time was not known to Quentin, nor was it a relevant matter to him. He sat spinning slowly in his chair, his fingers tapped his seat nervously while his mind buzzed, indifferent, making rushed calculations as to where his error may have arisen. By now oblivious citizens would be flocking to the remains of his failed experiment, driven only by their blind curiosity, one of many ill designed human traits he had learnt only led to disaster. The panicky, self-preserving portion of his thoughts was trying to alert him. Why are we sitting here? It won’t be long… He ignored them. There was an abrupt knock at the door. Quentin jumped in his seat but quickly recovered and tried to calm himself.
“Quentin Isaac Elmwood?” The voice behind his padlocked door was deep and soulless. It made his whole body shudder with dread and he stumbled, nearly falling off his chair. He made no noise. Not a breath passed his lips in his desperate attempt to avoid detection. The sound of his heart beating thumped against the walls of his skull with what seemed like enough volume to awaken a city.
“Quentin Isaac Elmwood?” What was the point? Hiding would not be a long-lived strategy.
“That is my name” He tried to make his own voice sound boding and fearless but nothing could compare to the stern emptiness contained within his questioner’s. There was a long drawn out pause, which scared Quentin more than the voice itself could. Two gunshots rattled his door and there was the quiet clink of metal on wood as his lock pathetically hit the floor. The door opened slowly but definitely. The rusting joints creaked under the strain of the very task they had forever existed to perform, while Quentin sat quivering in position thinking only of what terrible path fate had led him down. A tall black figure emerged from behind the one thing that separated Quentin from the unsurpassable danger that was the outside world. Towering over everything in sight it stepped closer towards him like a robot designed only for one thing. Its merciless, dutiful eyes were just visible behind the dark sunglasses, employed only to hide any emotion, which by some unnatural turn of events may be displayed to the world around him. A gun was held mere inches from Quentin’s left temple. He stared down the dark abyss that was the barrel. A single twitch of the figure’s painstakingly trained finger was all that lay between him and the end of what he called his life. Sweat poured from every pore of his body but his expression remained blank, every trace of will power he held within him was concentrated on hiding his fear. He was not leaving this world a coward. All the muscles of his face twitched erratically but his appearance remained, determined.
“Mr Elmwood. You have been deemed dangerous,” It’s voice remained as cold and undeniable as it had and always would be. “Please come with me.” Regardless of the polite words that passed the figure’s hostile lips, the fact that this was not a request was unavoidable. Quentin said nothing. He solemnly rose from the seat, which now seemed home to him and stood a dead man. The gun followed him up. It did not twitch or falter, the arm supporting it stayed still and relentless. Whatever the figure once was, it could no longer be classed as human. Not a word was uttered from that point on. Quentin walked slowly, but without hesitation. Refusing to give in to the burning desire to look back. His feet stepped along the battered wooden floor, through the doorway and beyond. The figure marched after him, gun still locked in position. The door closed.
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READER'S REVIEWS (2)
DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"This is good! (I'd like to see a follow-up, a sequel or prequel.) I gather it was your first attempt, and as such, it's good, a wee bit wordy, but it conveys the thoughts of the character well. It's set in an interresting world - I'd like to know more about it... " -- Debbie Kean, Auckland, New Zealand.
"I liked the description. But I'd like to see the sequel of what happened. =]" -- Cherie, Singapore.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2004 Laurence L'abre |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
November 2005 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1930
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