Being human ideas and plots for chapter 1.
Plots for Mitchell
As you can guess i am new to this site and this is my first story, its basically 'evil mitchell' well sort of, he is in need of blood when george suggests something (btw this is is what is going to happen not whats happening now) so yeah george suggests he drinks or 'trys' animal blood with some wacky effects. should be fun to write
also im only 14 so be easy on me yeah? i have only just started out on the road to litrature so my spelling interpritations may not be the best, but i still love a good review and criticism. yours lovingly natures evi xx
Mitchell sat slumped on his red chair; his hair was untamed as usual. He flicked through some old episodes of the real hustle; the new series wouldn't start till July.
The hunger…or thirst was right under his skin today. He itched with it, he hadn't even dared go to work, instead he had sat all day in a comfortably dark room, with the TV as the only light source. The room seemed eerily quite. Annie was at work with George they wouldn't be back till later…she was invisible again. Ever since she had discovered the truth about her death. It had been as though she, as though she didn't even exist.
Mitchell shifted in his chair. The legs made a screech, making him jump. He just couldn't get comfortable. So he gave up and went into the kitchen leaving the TV to blurt out into an empty room.
He shuffled over to the surface; placing both hands palm down on the side he hung his head. Tangled hair fell either side of him.
Memories…memories that were only aroused into being when he was at his worst when the first was at its worst. He just couldn't take it he spun around and slid down the cabinet. Until he was sat on the cool kitchen floor. He placed both gloved hands onto his knees and stared forward solemnly. Faces… faces he hadn't seen in years, faces taking there last breathe. Girls, men, old men, women, old women. Sick.
He must have been sat staring for hours, his throat burnt with the thirst. He heard the front door nudge and muffled voices of George and Annie. Annie not needing to wait while George fumbled with the keys 'popped' into the living room. 'Mitchell?' she asked quietly into the dark room.
He sat up quietly rubbing his eyes incase of stray tears. There were none god was he that hollow 'I im in here'. He uttered the words quickly gathering his self together, pretending he was about to make himself a coffee. Annie heard him and 'popped' next to the kettle just in front of him. 'You sit down, ill make it you, George' she called Georges name a bit louder. 'Im making coffee, want any?'
'if I see another cup of coffee from you ever gain Annie till be too soon!'
Turning her head around the kitchen door she said 'you could just say no'. George just made clamping motions with his hand, trying to mimic her. They were like kids.
Mitchell, gently placed his forehead onto the table and covered his head with both arms. He couldn't take this much more, it was days like this he felt like snapping of a chair leg and driving it… ' Mitchell, oh my gosh whats wrong with you, are you ill?'. Annie was standing just next to him she pulled his head up softly with her television fuzzy hands he relaxed in her hold.
