I close my eyes and inhale deeply. The smell of spices distract my nose and my taste buds are full of sea water. Once I know I’m calm I open my eyes again and point my gun at my target. Counting to three, I take off the safety and close one eye. My heart slows and everything stands still for a moment as my target picks up his newspaper and waves happily at a neighbour.
Before I lose all my nerve I press the trigger listening to the soft sound the bullet makes and the loud, ear-splitting scream that comes from the neighbour as Walter Goodwin’s mouth falls open and his body falls to the ground with a thump. Still. Motionless.
That, right there is part of chapter one of a book I’m writing. The problem with the story? It’s probably the only thing I sort of like out of the 5,000 words I’ve written.
This wasn’t the case back in December. Hell, I could get an idea for a story from a commercial and write a whole freaking story that I loved. But with this, this unknown story that doesn’t even have a name, it’s harder. I’ve always wanted to write a story about an assassin. But every time I try, I get stuck. Maybe I’m losing my love for writing (I’m really hoping this is not the case), maybe I should just stick to contemporary, or maybe, I’m stuck because I know this story counts.
This is the first story I will send to an agent.
I hate almost everything about it.
Aahhhh, The joys of being a teen writer.