The Idea Box

Pretty Please?

"One story," pulling on my pyjamas, "please, pretty please," she pleaded wholeheartedly, looking up at me with her cobalt blue eyes.

"One story," I gave in with a sigh, "but then its time for bed, okay?" I stated imperatively, looking down at her sternly, amusement masked behind my authoritative facade, until she squeaked out a yes.

"All right, well, where should I begin?," seating myself on the edge of her bed, I began my story, "It  had been three days since the young siblings had found the map to Sar'el Kushm, three days since they had had a decent sleep and three days since the end of their prosaic lifestyle, as-" 

"What does p-prosaic mean?" Annabeth interrupted staring at me inquisitively,

"Prosaic means normal, repetitive almost," seeking permission to continue with the nod of her head, I sipped some water and resumed, "as they set out to uncover the secret behind their recently deceased grandfather's death - may he rest in peace - their curiosity fuelled their rigorous journey as they neared the waterfall, being lightly sprayed with water the oldest of the two stopped sho-" 

BANG!

Annabeth let out a short scream at the sudden sound as my heart jumped. The water cup slipped from my fingers and spilt onto the carpet, painting the red upholstery a dark, sodden colour.

BANG!

It sounded again. I now identified the sound, frozen as the realisation gripped my body, the fear keeping me rooted to my spot on the bed as my mouth ran dry.

BANG!

The gun sounded again. This time it was ten times louder and threateningly close as I saw the tall, broad silhouette of a man standing in the doorway of the bedroom, identity hidden by the poor lighting. I could just make out a sawed-off rifle in his hands as he raised it up to eye level aiming directly at me. What I didn't know was that as the man had made his way through the house to where he is now, Annabeth had managed to crawl out of bed and was now standing next to her nightstand. As the trigger was pulled and those few seconds went by as if time was slowing down, she pulled me down off of the bed and onto the carpet alongside her, her small frame easily manoeuvring my larger, petrified one.

I thought we were safe, that she had saved us; both of us, until I saw the carpet darken in colour beside me and I felt a wet substance on my hands.

I sat up and looked down to see Annabeth, her princess pyjamas soaked in blood-her blood-as she let out four words, "Don't die, pretty please," all the while the man in the doorway let out a menacing, ear-splitting shriek I assumed was supposed to be a laugh. I almost went entirely deaf as I saw the light leave her cobalt blue eyes, a single tear streak staining her left cheek. 

BANG! 

One more gunshot, this one meeting its intended target as I felt the bullet rip through my skin tearing its way through my stomach. As I fell to the floor my blood seeping into the carpet mixing with Annabeth's, all I could feel was contentment; I was happy not to leave the story open-ended, happy to be able to tell her the ending, happy that I wouldn't be forced to live without my sister.

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........ha......haha..........soooooooo...............I'm just going to leave after this short explanation.

Right. The purpose of this book is to put my writing to good use, its function to serve as prompts and inspiration for other writers with enough resolve to reach the end of a story. As my days as a student came to an end, I discovered that I had a bad habit of leaving things incomplete, and because I didn't have the heart to throw anything away (blood, sweat and tears people) I said why not put it somewhere it can be of good use and voila! The one book that might actually have some consistency to it.

Please tell me one thing. Did you think the character was an older brother or sister? I find the different interpretations to be quite interesting. 

If this gets a response I will update again if not then it can enter the chasm of procrastination and abandonment like so many before it.

Well, that's that. See ya~