Bef
11-01-2006, 05:49 PM
Okay, this is a story for my GCSE coursework, its finally finished -Yay- I actually wrote the skeleton for this story a few years ago but i wasnt feeling very creative so i just used it ;) Anyway please please give me C+C, its coursework so i want it to be perfect...
Little girl.
Such peculiar patterns the rain made on the wet window. It had been hammering down for nearly an hour now! Maisie found it quite comforting. She curled up on the couch watching the rain, thinking about nothing in particular. She shook her head slightly, sighed, and stirred round the dregs left in her mug. She went into the kitchen to empty the remainders of the cup into the sink. She could feel a breeze coming down the stairs. Sighing, she ambled up the stairs and walked into her bedroom. The window was wide open; she had been sitting there earlier that day and the rain had felt cool and fresh on her cheeks. A wry smile played around her mouth as she wiped down the side of her bed, which had been drenched with the rain and closed the window. "Oh well. It will be dry in a while." She said to no one in particular. She was alone in the house... Or was she?
There was somebody in the house though. A man sprung from the bedroom closet, he looked around and his eyes settled on Maisie. He really didn't look dangerous. His dreary white shirt and stone black jeans did not appear frightening. His bedraggled brown hair and skinny build did not startle Maisie. Even his hazel eyes, empty, hollow, did not alarm her.
It was the butcher knife he gripped in his right hand that chilled her blood. He didn’t say anything as he sprang at her with the deadly blade, forcing her to the ground. She screamed from both fear and simple surprise as he held the blade to her throat with one hand and began to unbutton her cream blouse with the other.
Now Maisie struggled violently, yelling, screaming for help. He only grinned and continued. She clawed his right arm with her pointy nails, shredding the skin. He shrieked and dropped his weapon. Maisie quickly snatched it in her hand while her attacker was momentarily incapacitated. She leapt up stabbing wildly at the man, shoving him off her and onto the soft, blue carpet as he howled in pain. The thought of calling the police never crossed her mind as she ran out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
One of the larger rooms in the house contained weapons of every type: crossbows, guns, swords, morning stars, and battle-axes. She hastily plucked the oak handle that supported the razor-sharp curved blade of the axe from its holding place on the wall. She put the knife aside on a nearby shelf. Her attacker had risen from his spot on the bloodstained carpet and, his breathing heavy, his expression pained, he pursued her into the armoury skidding to a halt on the well polished floor, staring wild eyed at the exhibits that surrounded him.
Maisie laughed wildly, raising the axe above the man's vulnerable head. Bringing it down in a motion of brutal, devious grace, she heard his final shriek. Scarlet droplets stained her clean half-unbuttoned blouse. Death was not enough, though. The girl slowly hacked her attacker's corpse to crimson pieces. The blood flowed so beautifully; the red colour seemed so perfect and pure. It saddened Maisie to perform the foreseeable gathering of the remains in a bin liner. Slightly before one in the morning, she buried the black bag deep within her garden. It required little effort, as the rain had given the earth a soft, moist excellence.
After returning the shovel to its proper place, she retreated to her inner chamber with dirty, blood-spattered hands. The faded cyan carpet in her home carried bits of red here and there. Some came from tonight's visitor, but others originated from several of Maisie's other victims. The walls were covered in sharp painful words and distorted photographs. She carefully washed the knife as well as her hands. "Another piece for my collection." Maisie smirked, placing the knife in an empty display case beside the axe. She hadn't had to do anything this time; he had come to her! Eyeing the blade, she wished she'd gotten something more personal from him like a ring or a watch. Normally, keepsakes came in that form. Still, the knife would do nicely. Little girl indeed!
Little girl.
Such peculiar patterns the rain made on the wet window. It had been hammering down for nearly an hour now! Maisie found it quite comforting. She curled up on the couch watching the rain, thinking about nothing in particular. She shook her head slightly, sighed, and stirred round the dregs left in her mug. She went into the kitchen to empty the remainders of the cup into the sink. She could feel a breeze coming down the stairs. Sighing, she ambled up the stairs and walked into her bedroom. The window was wide open; she had been sitting there earlier that day and the rain had felt cool and fresh on her cheeks. A wry smile played around her mouth as she wiped down the side of her bed, which had been drenched with the rain and closed the window. "Oh well. It will be dry in a while." She said to no one in particular. She was alone in the house... Or was she?
There was somebody in the house though. A man sprung from the bedroom closet, he looked around and his eyes settled on Maisie. He really didn't look dangerous. His dreary white shirt and stone black jeans did not appear frightening. His bedraggled brown hair and skinny build did not startle Maisie. Even his hazel eyes, empty, hollow, did not alarm her.
It was the butcher knife he gripped in his right hand that chilled her blood. He didn’t say anything as he sprang at her with the deadly blade, forcing her to the ground. She screamed from both fear and simple surprise as he held the blade to her throat with one hand and began to unbutton her cream blouse with the other.
Now Maisie struggled violently, yelling, screaming for help. He only grinned and continued. She clawed his right arm with her pointy nails, shredding the skin. He shrieked and dropped his weapon. Maisie quickly snatched it in her hand while her attacker was momentarily incapacitated. She leapt up stabbing wildly at the man, shoving him off her and onto the soft, blue carpet as he howled in pain. The thought of calling the police never crossed her mind as she ran out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
One of the larger rooms in the house contained weapons of every type: crossbows, guns, swords, morning stars, and battle-axes. She hastily plucked the oak handle that supported the razor-sharp curved blade of the axe from its holding place on the wall. She put the knife aside on a nearby shelf. Her attacker had risen from his spot on the bloodstained carpet and, his breathing heavy, his expression pained, he pursued her into the armoury skidding to a halt on the well polished floor, staring wild eyed at the exhibits that surrounded him.
Maisie laughed wildly, raising the axe above the man's vulnerable head. Bringing it down in a motion of brutal, devious grace, she heard his final shriek. Scarlet droplets stained her clean half-unbuttoned blouse. Death was not enough, though. The girl slowly hacked her attacker's corpse to crimson pieces. The blood flowed so beautifully; the red colour seemed so perfect and pure. It saddened Maisie to perform the foreseeable gathering of the remains in a bin liner. Slightly before one in the morning, she buried the black bag deep within her garden. It required little effort, as the rain had given the earth a soft, moist excellence.
After returning the shovel to its proper place, she retreated to her inner chamber with dirty, blood-spattered hands. The faded cyan carpet in her home carried bits of red here and there. Some came from tonight's visitor, but others originated from several of Maisie's other victims. The walls were covered in sharp painful words and distorted photographs. She carefully washed the knife as well as her hands. "Another piece for my collection." Maisie smirked, placing the knife in an empty display case beside the axe. She hadn't had to do anything this time; he had come to her! Eyeing the blade, she wished she'd gotten something more personal from him like a ring or a watch. Normally, keepsakes came in that form. Still, the knife would do nicely. Little girl indeed!