AN/ Okay, before I start this of, my Ranger's Apprentice story is on HIATUS. Yes, I said HIATUS. As soon as I get inspired, I'll write more, but right now this is what I'm doing so DO NOT HASTLE ME.
Okay, now that's over, hello people! My friend recomended the Hunger Games to me and I became ADICTED. I read the Hunger Games -loved it!- I read catching fire -loved it a little bit less- and then I read mockingjay - which the ending made me cry and want to throw the book against the wall (I'm an official Gale/Katniss shipper, deal with it) but I didn't throw it against the wall because it was my friends copy.
R&R, please do not flame. Constructive criticism? Gung-ho. Yelling for the sake of yelling? Get off my review page, why the hell are you reading this?
The worldaround me is burning. The smoke, which blossoms from the spot fires dotted around, hitches in my lungs, and I barely suppress the urge to cough. Beyond the black plumes that twist and turn around themselves like serpents, I can barely see. But that means that no one else can see me. So, apart from the immanent threat of asphyxiation, I'm okay.
I'm surrounded by people who wanted to kill me. I didn't know where they were, and I didn't know who they were. Okay, now that's not necessarily true, I do know these people. Not well, but I do know them, except for one. I know him a little better than the others. Now, though, it was a battle to the death. Somewhere deep inside my mind, I wondered how this had all happened. It was all a little unreal, more like a dream than reality. No, not a dream, a nightmare.
Something, somewhere, clicks. It's a familiar click, a familiar sound, but I can't tell where it's coming from. That little sound, a tiny little sound, sends stabs of fear through me. I felt like every inch of my skin had needles pressing into my flesh, because I know that sound. It's a gun. And not just any gun, that's his gun. And right now, it's probably aimed at my head through the black screen. He knew where I was. In spite of all ration and logic in my head, I knew that he could see me.
I have the overwhelming feeling that I was a sparrow, surrounded by cats, all licking their jowls. All of them were hungry to eat the little birdie. I, like any other bird, would fly away, if it weren't for my clipped wings. Grounded and surrounded, it wasn't a question of if they would tear me apart, it was a question of when, and which one would claim the prize.
And I had my bets on that grey one, with it's claws poised to dig into my flesh.
But I'm getting ahead in the story here, aren't I? You're new to this. I'm starting in the middle of the story. Maybe the end, I'm not quite sure. But either way, the best place to start a story, in my opinion, is the beginning. I'm sure most of you will agree with that. But if you don't, I don't care. This is my story and I'll tell it how I like.