Voltron
06-10-2003, 06:48 AM
This is my final project for my Creative Writing Class. Tell me if you see a pattern. (It's a first draft, so please disregard grammar and spelling)
DON’T FEAR THE REAPER
Samantha woke up at quarter past six as always to get ready for work. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She was the type of person that always had the best of luck. Not today, however, as a cannon ball ripped through her apartment wall and tore off her head.
“Sweet merciful Minerva,” said Larry Bone; the inspector who just happened to be on duty at the time of the incident. He looked with horror at the headless figure lying in the crimson pool turned slowly to check with one of the officers whom he sent to check the other apartments when he lost his footing on the blood, fell, and snapped his neck upon impact with the floor.
“Inspector Bone, we found the head two blocks down in a Laundromat, and OH DEAR GOD!” screamed one of the officers as he caught a glimpse of his boss lying lifeless on the floor. Officer Ken Lewinski was found dead after strangling himself to death with the chord of his radio whilst sending out a communication for an ambulance.
“And that’s why we have three people dead, and two of our own. Let’s get this all cleaned up; I’m going to go get some coffee.” grumbled Frank James. Who was head of Homicide in the NYPD. He thought of why anyone would have fully operational cannons in their apartment; but this thought was cut short by a car slamming into him. For as Frank crossed the street between him and the coffee shop; he failed to notice the mini-van racing down the street.
Inside the car, the particular driver that day was Jessica Langley. Jessica was a woman trying to get her two children to school on time, and still make her nine o’clock meeting. But they would never make it because as she rammed into Frank James she flew out the windshield for about forty yards until she was thwarted by an oil truck that combusted upon collision.
William Hampton was incinerated by the exploding fuel of his truck, as the blast rung out for miles. His family would always remember him as an American Zero, a failure at life.
“Scalpel,” whispered Dr. Sally Waxler; all eyes fixated on her in the operating room. The scalpel was handed to her as she went to make a vital incision on the patients brain. This was the defining moment of her career, if she pulled off the procedure, she’d be famous. As the top doctors of the world were observing her every move, her eye twitched involuntarily. She made the cut as the shock wave from the recent blast shook the very foundations of the OR; thus causing Waxler to slip, cut a wire connected to the life support system; resulting in her electrocution and the patient’s coma, then untimely death.
It just so happened that a rogue spark from the severed chord reached the entire hospital’s supply of nitrous oxide canisters. The explosion caught and vaporized the OR by surprise; due to the fact that they were racing to save Doctor Waxler.
“Run for your lives!” was the shrill shriek of an old arthritic man that called Waxler into consciousness again. She opened her eyes to see him racing along in his wheel chair, running from an explosion she only saw what it was too late. No remains were found of Sally Waxler.
The old man zipped down the hall like a decrepit Paul Revere. Shouting at the top of his geezery lungs, trying to wake up the other patients and lead them to salvation. Jerome would never see any of his hospital chums again however, as he hit a discarded clip board and fell out of his wheel chair. Jerome crawled along the floor, but after two feet was too exasperated to move. Looking back, the last thing he saw was the explosion round the corner.
DON’T FEAR THE REAPER
Samantha woke up at quarter past six as always to get ready for work. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She was the type of person that always had the best of luck. Not today, however, as a cannon ball ripped through her apartment wall and tore off her head.
“Sweet merciful Minerva,” said Larry Bone; the inspector who just happened to be on duty at the time of the incident. He looked with horror at the headless figure lying in the crimson pool turned slowly to check with one of the officers whom he sent to check the other apartments when he lost his footing on the blood, fell, and snapped his neck upon impact with the floor.
“Inspector Bone, we found the head two blocks down in a Laundromat, and OH DEAR GOD!” screamed one of the officers as he caught a glimpse of his boss lying lifeless on the floor. Officer Ken Lewinski was found dead after strangling himself to death with the chord of his radio whilst sending out a communication for an ambulance.
“And that’s why we have three people dead, and two of our own. Let’s get this all cleaned up; I’m going to go get some coffee.” grumbled Frank James. Who was head of Homicide in the NYPD. He thought of why anyone would have fully operational cannons in their apartment; but this thought was cut short by a car slamming into him. For as Frank crossed the street between him and the coffee shop; he failed to notice the mini-van racing down the street.
Inside the car, the particular driver that day was Jessica Langley. Jessica was a woman trying to get her two children to school on time, and still make her nine o’clock meeting. But they would never make it because as she rammed into Frank James she flew out the windshield for about forty yards until she was thwarted by an oil truck that combusted upon collision.
William Hampton was incinerated by the exploding fuel of his truck, as the blast rung out for miles. His family would always remember him as an American Zero, a failure at life.
“Scalpel,” whispered Dr. Sally Waxler; all eyes fixated on her in the operating room. The scalpel was handed to her as she went to make a vital incision on the patients brain. This was the defining moment of her career, if she pulled off the procedure, she’d be famous. As the top doctors of the world were observing her every move, her eye twitched involuntarily. She made the cut as the shock wave from the recent blast shook the very foundations of the OR; thus causing Waxler to slip, cut a wire connected to the life support system; resulting in her electrocution and the patient’s coma, then untimely death.
It just so happened that a rogue spark from the severed chord reached the entire hospital’s supply of nitrous oxide canisters. The explosion caught and vaporized the OR by surprise; due to the fact that they were racing to save Doctor Waxler.
“Run for your lives!” was the shrill shriek of an old arthritic man that called Waxler into consciousness again. She opened her eyes to see him racing along in his wheel chair, running from an explosion she only saw what it was too late. No remains were found of Sally Waxler.
The old man zipped down the hall like a decrepit Paul Revere. Shouting at the top of his geezery lungs, trying to wake up the other patients and lead them to salvation. Jerome would never see any of his hospital chums again however, as he hit a discarded clip board and fell out of his wheel chair. Jerome crawled along the floor, but after two feet was too exasperated to move. Looking back, the last thing he saw was the explosion round the corner.