1
tycks om introt till min lilla novell?
Postat av Galenskaper den 9 Augusti 2013, 18:06
14 kommentarer · 324 träffar
Tjena! Är 18 år gammal och testade skriva lite på engelska. Har inga förkunskaper om författarmetoder och har knappt läsa några böcker, så be nice. Men vad tycker ni? Tar gärna emot feedback och tips.
"The eerie silence broke as the hammer pummeled the table-top. The young boy quickly rolled over to dodge the crushing impact of the next hammer-blow. His heart paced. His chest beat. The pulse rapidly increased and surged through his body as he walked the fine line of life and death for every successfully dodged blow. Down on all four, and ready to charge off, he turned his head and stared at the rabid middle-aged man holding a firm grip of the long sledge-hammer. He took off and managed to escape the fourth blow, leaving a cracked hole on the floor, dangerously close to his feet. He sprinted up and went for the long belt-ish-looking leather scabbard hanging horizontally on the wood wall. It held swords, scimitars, wands, bows and jagged daggers of all kinds and caliber, but the young boy reached for a tiny dagger.
The man let out a deep belly roar and swung the hammer furiously over his head, again, and again. The kid could not fathom what happened. The kid could not divert his gaze from the man's eyes as he crawled back. The frenziedly flailing, massive hammer, was no longer the pivot of the kid's eyes. In the heat of the battle, heedless of thought he rolled over as the old man lifted his hammer for another swing, and stabbed right through his foot. The man squealed like a stuck pig. The boy instantly removed the dagger from the penetrated foot and thrusted it towards the leg of the man in an attempt to further incapacitate and impair his movement, but it was blocked by the man's hand and merely slashed a shallow segment of his palm. The man seemed to ignore pain as he clutched the dagger's razor-sharp blade in his hand and ripped it out of the boy's closed fist grip. He ditched the dagger and arched over to pick up the hammer. The boy blindly crawled back, so terror-stricken and panicked; he saw no way out. From the depth of his emotional eyes, one could spot a profound feeling of dismay. The kid was more so disappointed than scared. Disappointed that he might have failed, not only himself, but his family.
The young boy had pursuant eyes. For every blow and swing from the clobbering hammer, he could not hinder himself from focusing his gaze on the burning, hateful eyes of the man. His heart kept beating heavy and fast as he kept crawling back, and what disturbed him wasn't the fact that the man had a deep scar, as if cut open by a claymore, running vertically across the middle of his face, from hairline to chin. The scar was so hideous and large, it had literally sliced open his nose, splitting it like a tomato. What truly agitated the young boy, was not the abominable cut, but it was the vicious and depraved hatred that stirred deep in the man's soul.
Everything stopped for a second. For a second, everything was motionless and silent. Something rushed through the tiny body of the young boy. Overwhelmed by emotions of fury, resentment and passionate hate, he rose to his feet and rushed towards the much bigger man. The hammer was high above the man's head, gaining momentum for yet another crushing blow. Instability, thought the kid, as he rushed towards his foe. The hammer had a slow swing, and as it was fixated on top of the man for a slight, flashing moment, the man stood unstable and debilitated as the furious boy slammed his full body-weight on the exposed kneecaps of the man, tearing apart the tendons that connect the shin and femur.
What appeared to last for hours in the boy's head, ended in a few seconds. The silence died as the rain broke, rattling the window pane, only to be drowned by the shrill, high-pitched howling of the man. The boy stood over the man, then bent over to pick the dagger up. Once more, he looked deep into the man's eyes, he saw no cry for salvation, as he had hoped. He saw no good in the man, only a spiteful, deep hatred. He finished the man, and left him for dead."
"The eerie silence broke as the hammer pummeled the table-top. The young boy quickly rolled over to dodge the crushing impact of the next hammer-blow. His heart paced. His chest beat. The pulse rapidly increased and surged through his body as he walked the fine line of life and death for every successfully dodged blow. Down on all four, and ready to charge off, he turned his head and stared at the rabid middle-aged man holding a firm grip of the long sledge-hammer. He took off and managed to escape the fourth blow, leaving a cracked hole on the floor, dangerously close to his feet. He sprinted up and went for the long belt-ish-looking leather scabbard hanging horizontally on the wood wall. It held swords, scimitars, wands, bows and jagged daggers of all kinds and caliber, but the young boy reached for a tiny dagger.
The man let out a deep belly roar and swung the hammer furiously over his head, again, and again. The kid could not fathom what happened. The kid could not divert his gaze from the man's eyes as he crawled back. The frenziedly flailing, massive hammer, was no longer the pivot of the kid's eyes. In the heat of the battle, heedless of thought he rolled over as the old man lifted his hammer for another swing, and stabbed right through his foot. The man squealed like a stuck pig. The boy instantly removed the dagger from the penetrated foot and thrusted it towards the leg of the man in an attempt to further incapacitate and impair his movement, but it was blocked by the man's hand and merely slashed a shallow segment of his palm. The man seemed to ignore pain as he clutched the dagger's razor-sharp blade in his hand and ripped it out of the boy's closed fist grip. He ditched the dagger and arched over to pick up the hammer. The boy blindly crawled back, so terror-stricken and panicked; he saw no way out. From the depth of his emotional eyes, one could spot a profound feeling of dismay. The kid was more so disappointed than scared. Disappointed that he might have failed, not only himself, but his family.
The young boy had pursuant eyes. For every blow and swing from the clobbering hammer, he could not hinder himself from focusing his gaze on the burning, hateful eyes of the man. His heart kept beating heavy and fast as he kept crawling back, and what disturbed him wasn't the fact that the man had a deep scar, as if cut open by a claymore, running vertically across the middle of his face, from hairline to chin. The scar was so hideous and large, it had literally sliced open his nose, splitting it like a tomato. What truly agitated the young boy, was not the abominable cut, but it was the vicious and depraved hatred that stirred deep in the man's soul.
Everything stopped for a second. For a second, everything was motionless and silent. Something rushed through the tiny body of the young boy. Overwhelmed by emotions of fury, resentment and passionate hate, he rose to his feet and rushed towards the much bigger man. The hammer was high above the man's head, gaining momentum for yet another crushing blow. Instability, thought the kid, as he rushed towards his foe. The hammer had a slow swing, and as it was fixated on top of the man for a slight, flashing moment, the man stood unstable and debilitated as the furious boy slammed his full body-weight on the exposed kneecaps of the man, tearing apart the tendons that connect the shin and femur.
What appeared to last for hours in the boy's head, ended in a few seconds. The silence died as the rain broke, rattling the window pane, only to be drowned by the shrill, high-pitched howling of the man. The boy stood over the man, then bent over to pick the dagger up. Once more, he looked deep into the man's eyes, he saw no cry for salvation, as he had hoped. He saw no good in the man, only a spiteful, deep hatred. He finished the man, and left him for dead."
