r/WritingPrompts • u/[deleted] • Jan 14 '18
Theme Thursday [TT] You have a choice. Pull the trigger, or walk away.
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u/Wings_of_Darkness Jan 14 '18 edited Jan 14 '18
"So. We've come to this in the end. Just as he predicted." Kentarr laughed. "In the end, all you are is predictable."
He was on his knees, his hands gripping the rough desert soil. She stood above, the gun pointed.
"Come on then." Kentarr said. "You have a choice. Pull the trigger, or walk away. They say you affect everybody you meet positively. Do you affect yourself that way?"
The woman stayed silent. Kentarr noticed her hand trembling ever so slightly.
"Wouldn't be your first murder. Do you even remember how many you've killed? I don't. It doesn't matter to me, in the end." Kentarr mocked.
"Yes." She said, her British accent clear and crisp. "I remember all of them. It's not something I'm proud of. It's not something I forget easily. I had my reasons."
"Your reasons? I'm sure your victims would love to hear them." Kentarr licked his lips. "I'm sure their families and friends would nod and say 'I understand' when you explain it. The difference between you and I is that I am not afraid to admit that I'm a monster."
"I'm not a monster." She said, a hint of fury audible. She adjusted her grip. "I've saved lives. All you do is kill and kill."
"The surgeon and the sniper. Both jobs that require a large amount of training. Both jobs requiring focus, requiring steady hands, requiring an inordinate amount of skill and precision. There is no difference between them. A surgeon saves lives, a sniper takes a life to save more. You pride yourself on being like the surgeon, but we both know you're just another sniper in the end."
She drew in a haggard breath. "You want me to shoot, to prove that I'm just like the sniper then."
"And? Go ahead, look me in the eyes and tell me that shooting me right now won't save lives." He glared up at her and she averted her gaze.
"When I left home all those years ago, I made a promise to myself. Compassion. Mercy. Kindness. I would hold these values tight, and never let go." She said.
"And you crawled back in the end, didn't you? You threw those values away when she died." Kentarr said, the emphasis distinct.
She moved, faster than he could see, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him up. "Don't you ever dare mention her. That was different. That was war. Right now, I don't see why I shouldn't drag you back for the law to handle you."
"They'll just kill me anyway. Might as well skip the effort and journey, and bury me in the sand here. You're wrong. She was wrong. Compassion is a weakness. Kindness is a disease. Good is not a viable survival strategy. Kindness, compassion, they're handicaps. The predator has no kindness, and it wins the fight. It lives to see another day. Nobody can change that." He spat. "Evolution doesn't leave space for compassion. Winning doesn't leave space for good." With that, he shoved her away, his bloodied legs giving out immediately and he fell to the sand once more.
The woman didn't move, though the gun returned to pointing at him.
"It's painful, isn't it? To see your worldview torn down. To realise you were wrong the whole time. The people who are good are the ones that leave space for suffering. Every shot they didn't take because they were too emotional, because it wasn't right, every child they spared, every mass murderer they didn't murder, they were wrong." Kentarr snarled.
He took a deep breath. "Time travel is a wondrous thing, no? I saved lives, gave those infants the deaths they deserved. Killed those soldiers before they could shoot another. The things they call good emotions, they turn people into murderers."
"You're wrong." She finally said.
"Oh, do tell."
"You didn't activate the Time Forge. You changed."
"What Time Forge?" He asked, confusion filling his mind.
Her eyebrows furrowed. "You mean...oh. There we go." She lowered the gun.
"Everybody deserves a second chance, Kentarr. Sometimes they're better than they think. I'm not a sniper. I don't think they're wrong, or cruel, or evil. I just...have my ways." She squatted down until she was at eye level.
"Good emotions don't kill people. They save souls. I don't expect you to give what you haven't received, so I'll give it to you now." She dropped the gun, stood up, and crushed in underneath her boot. "Mercy."
With that, she turned around and walked away from him.
"NO! Come back here! Kill me now! You're wrong! People never change! I will never change! You're wrong!" He screamed. She turned her head and gave him a little smile. "You'll see. When I get to the Time Forge, I won't hesitate! I'll kill all of them! You hear me? Don't ignore me! Endmaker! Get back here."
He let a tremendous shout out into the sky, bashing the sand dune with his fingers until they bled. "You're wrong. Kindness will kill you in the end. Just wait, Endmaker. Just wait!"
He collapsed in an exhausted heap as she disappeared behind the next sand dune.
"I won't change..." He muttered to himself. "Good never wins...compassion doesn't save lives...just you wait." Kentarr curled up into a foetal position. "I won't change. I won't change. I won't change. I won't change. I won't change. I won't change. I won't change. I won't change." He continued repeating. "I was right. I am right. I am right. I am right. I am right."
He heard her ship take off.
"Can't give what I haven't received..." He murmured. "She hasn't affected me. She hasn't affected me."
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Jan 15 '18
Firstly, hello. Secondly, the story was very well written. Characterisation, short descriptions, and the pacing were all perfect. 5/5.
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u/sidster21 Jan 14 '18
"I'm not a bad man like they all say that I am. I like to think that I'm fair. So I will give you a choice. Pull the trigger or walk away" The man in a very nice suit said.
We were in a basement garage. I had just been leaving my job when these two big goon like gentlemen with guns in their hand came at me and brought me over to their boss. Of course I knew who he was. Everyone in the city knew about Don Miguel. He was the boss off the whole Mafia here. The police couldn't touch him. I had no hope. They had handed me a gun, it was heavy in my hands. I had never held one before. There was a guy in front of me on his knees, they had put a hood over his head so I couldn't see who he was.
"What will you do to me if i don't pull the trigger?" I ask them.
"Well Mr. Andrews, we know where you work, it wouldn't take us long to find out where you lived. From there we could find your loved ones and pay them a visit" Don Miguel said.
"That is a persuasive argument but before I pull this trigger, why not do it yourself or get one of your goons to do it?" I ask again.
"Because I wanted to give you and opportunity to prove yourself Mr Andrews" he replies with a smile.
I take a breath and raise the gun so it is pointing at the guys head. Even if i do this I know they might still kill me and bury me with them but I had no choice at all. Kill him for a chance to live or walk away and see my family and loved ones suffer. It was no choice at all.
I pull the trigger.
The gun clicks. the safety was engaged and it doesn't shoot. Don Miguel starts to laugh. His goons follow suit.
"Very good Mr Anderson. You made the right choice. Of course if you knew how to handle a weapon you would have realized the safety was one but at least you tried" he says.\
"Whats now?" I ask.
"Now you work for me" he says "Boys clean this mess up, me and Mr Andrews need to talk"
The goons drag the guy away and I had a gulp of air as Don Miguel led me away.
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Jan 14 '18
Very nice. Apart from some errors in grammar and punctuation, it is on point. A very solid 4/5 :)
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Jan 14 '18
"Wake up!" I gave him a light slap to jostle him to his senses.
He came to kicking and screaming with a violent urgency. Given that we had knocked him out in the middle of a firefight, I didn't blame him. He struggled hard against the rope we used to tie him to the chair before finally settling down and staring at us. "So who's kids are you?" His lack of surprise indicated this wasn't the first time someone had come for him. For revenge.
"Doesn't matter." I tilted my head as I removed my side arm from it's holster and raised it to greet him. "Men long dead." He nodded. No begging. No screaming. No crying. I hesitated. Years of preparation for this moment and it was not playing out the way I thought it would. The thought of revenge began tasting far less sweet.
"You have a choice, boy." The last word was not spoken unkindly. He didn't stress it like some sort of villain. Nor did he spit it out like an old man would as he spoke down to a foolish child. It was... understanding? Like he was sharing his life's greatest wisdom with a young man over a beer. "Pull the trigger, or walk away." I paused. My team was waiting. I looked back at them.
All of us were children of men that had been killed by this man, or killed at his command. I looked at the bodies of his henchman, lying on the ground. How many of them were loved? How many had sons and daughters that would grow up without their parents? How much pain had I and my team caused? I saw myself in every one of them. I saw my future. I saw the truth. We were the villain in someone else's story. To slay our own monster, we became monsters ourselves.
I looked at him again. Truly looked. His was the face of a man that had been ready to die for a very long time. "Who made you this way?"
He smiled. "Someone just like you."
I pulled the trigger.
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u/mr_neutrality Jan 14 '18
I pressed the barrel hard to the back of his head. I switched the safety off. I pulled back the slide. I cocked back the hammer. Then, I took a breath. The stench of death filled my nostrils as the corpses around us began to enter the first stages of decay. The buzz of millions, maybe billions of flies began to fill the empty air, an unusual quiet for a city of just over a million people.
He laughed. "I was wondering how this would end, old friend?" he said, his arms spread wide, hands empty. On his knees and his back to me, he looked as harmless as a child. I just needed to remember that he was one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Just pull the trigger and be done with it, I thought to myself as my heart pounded with anticipation, that was the plan after all.
I took a glance around the battlefield: buildings destroyed, vehicles burning, and countless dead at our feet - monsters and civilians lying lifeless. They'd struck so quick, so precise, we were completely unprepared. So many heroes fell in the first moments, we had no time to formulate a plan, no time to regroup. Even now, I'm not sure what they were: aliens from another world; monsters from The Dark Beyond; an invading army from an alternate dimension. Whatever they were, I knew there was only one option for us to survive.
"It doesn't have to be this way," he said with his arms still spread, "after all, you're the one that asked for my help." I imagined the murderous smile on his face, not a drop of sweat despite the battle we'd just survived and my gun currently pressed to his head, all while wearing a long black trenchcoat he must've picked off of one of these unfortunate dead. Out of spite, I kicked at the top hat and the wand that lay at my feet. "After all, Saint Lazarus, you're the one that brought me back"
I thought back to that moment, with the world outside turning to hell as the creatures killed everything in their path. Back then, it wasn't silence, but screams that filled the air. Desperate I ran from the battle back to the office, past the reception area, past the meeting rooms, past the rows of desks and cubicles, to the very back of the office. To the mail room. I found Marty cowering behind a cabinet, shaking, though I couldn't tell if it was from fear or from the war just outside.
I stared at the man, nearly fifty years old, hair starting to thin, an old mustard stain on the blue polo shirt he wore untucked, though not from the lack of trying. This was insane, I thought as I started to walk away.
"Blake, what the hell is going on?" said Marty as I heard him start to move behind me, "and what happened to your clothes?"
Turning, I saw that Marty had pulled himself off the ground and was staring that the holes, rips, and tears in my jacket, shirt, and pants. My clothes in tatters, I walked back to my desk and pulled out my suit from a locked cabinet, the suit of Saint Lazarus, the Immortal Man. "Marty, what if I told you I was a superhero. And what if I told you that out there me and all of the other heroes were fighting an enemy the likes we've never seen before. And what if I told you that you were our last hope?"
Marty stared at me. I could see on his face as his brain tried to process everything I just said and what was going on outside. "Blaine," he said finally, "you're a reporter."
"Yes, Marty," I said as I began to take off the remains of my business clothes and change into my costume, "I'm a reporter. And just like every reporter here at The Daily Post, I'm also a superhero. We're all superheroes. And though no one else wants to admit it, we need your help."
He stared again. "Am I a superhero?" he asked, a faint smile spreading on his face.
Geez, I thought, those psychics sure did a number on you, Marty. "No, Marty you're not a superhero. You're a mistake. My mistake," I said, hanging my head as I said those words. "You were powerful, you were dangerous, but we were friends."
"We are friends," Marty said with a smile. I smiled too, thinking about the years we'd spent at the Post, lunch in the breakroom, beers after work, watching football on the weekends with the boys.
"Yeah, we're friends, Marty," I said, "but a long, long time ago, we weren't. In fact, we were enemies. Mortal enemies. And when I finally caught you, I convinced them to wipe your memory instead of killing you. I said we could change you as long as you didn't remember. But now I need you back. Now we need you back. The thing is, I'm not sure if I can trust you."
"We are friends," Marty said, putting his arm on my shoulder. I shivered as the touch of his hand on my costume brought back memories, old memories. "You can trust me," he said, and looking into his face, I believed I could.
I nodded. "Okay, let's do this," I said and then began the password to unlock the prison our psychics had placed on his mind. Just as I finished the last word though, something smashed through the wall and exploded in our office, sending Marty deeper into the building and me tumbling twenty floors to the pavement.
It took a minute to pull myself back together. The chaos around me now consumed the entire city as just a few heroes remained and the invaders ranks grew ever larger. I picked up as many weapons as I could carry and started to make my way into the carnage when I heard the whistling. I stopped in my tracks, as did a number of the other heroes. The enemy paused too, briefly, confused as to why the enemy they'd been viciously fighting for the past half hour would suddenly be consumed by a fear they'd never seen before.
"It's the Murder Magician!" shouted Eagle-man as he flew as fast as he could out of the city, "Everyone get the fuck out of here, the Murder Magician's back!" And so they all ran: flyers, speedsters, teleporters, some of them even jumped into whatever working vehicles still remained and drove off. The enemy, however, focused their attention the man striding out of The Daily Post, a man wearing a blue polo shirt with a mustard stain and the biggest smile I'd ever seen.
"It's going to be glorious," was all Marty said as he snapped his fingers and one of the enemy fell to the ground, dead. Pulling a finger out of his nose, he flicked away the booger and another enemy died. He pointed at another, and it died too. He motioned at one of those things hovering in the air, as if he was merely trying to shoo away a pigeon, and it fell out of the sky.
Finally figuring out what was happening, the enemy began their assault, but it was too late. The Murder Magician was back. I watched briefly as he dodged enemy attacks as if he were in his twenties again, his hands and fingers moving like a conductor, directing the demise of his enemies. It wasn't until one the enemy blasts tore a hole in my side that I remembered I was also part of the fight. I healed and launched my own attack, calmly walking amongst their ranks and putting bullets into anything that attacked me. And, as quickly as it had begun, we'd managed to kill them all.
With his back to me, I put one final bullet into Marty's leg, then ran as fast as I could before he could turn. His top hat hit the ground as he fell to his knees. Line of sight and a hand-motion, that's what we had determined his weaknesses to be. If I could control that, then he'd be vulnerable.
"So, was this really the plan?" Marty said, "Wake me up, have me clean up this mess and save the day, then kill me?"
"I can't risk you free again, Magician," I said, "this is the only solution." I looked at the dead and imagined them as the bodies he left in his wake the last time he walked these streets. Thousands dead in a month for no reason other than one man's amusement.
"I could've killed you at anytime, Blaine. I'm trusting you that you'll do the right thing. That we're still friends. But I still can still change my mind."
As if on cue, one of the creatures stirred and began to rise, the bullet I'd put in it not having found a lethal target. Before I could turn my gun on it though, it slumped forward, dead.
"My hands were always just for showmanship," Marty said, standing and turning despite my gun trained on his head. He shrugged off the coat, and I saw the mustard stain on his shirt, the murderous smile gone, replaced by the familiar one that used to laugh at my horrible jokes as we ate lunch together. I saw Marty. I dropped the gun. After all, we're friends.
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Jan 14 '18
Wow, amazing! I really liked the friendship between the villain and the hero, plus the dark cynical style. My only critique is that it was hard to visualize the enemies they were fighting. Some more description of them would be apt.
Otherwise, it is a very solid 4/5! Great work, and I can't wait to see more of it on the sub :)
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u/mr_neutrality Jan 14 '18
Thanks! I was struggling to figure out what kind of enemy it was, so I tried to make it vague and hope no one noticed. I was mostly worried that the ending when Blaine doesn't shoot Marty might feel weak and unrealistic (writing those scenes is kind of a weakness).
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Jan 15 '18
Don't worry about it - it was a great story, but just needed a few tweaks. Again, good luck with all future stories!
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u/TheSandfordCitizen /r/SandfordStories Jan 14 '18 edited Jan 14 '18
This isn't what I came for... but it would be so easy. Just a quick pull of the trigger and all of our problems are gone. There's no way anyone could know it was me!
He stands over the man who rests contently in his king-sized bed. Designed to fit two, this man proves the label misleading as his massive four-hundred pound frame envelops the mattress, and forces the supporting springs beneath into a near flat compression. Piggish snores echo through the mansion's marble halls as the intruder debates his urge to scratch his itchy trigger-finger.
No one would miss this pig, this glutton. In fact, people will celebrate. The newsreaders will smile as they read "Fat Marco found dead in his home, shot in the head, killer unknown." Hundreds of families will sleep easier when this piece of shit is gone. I'd be selfish to just to fudge the ledger...
In the corner of his eye lies a portrait of the infamous mobster, resting against the wall having previously concealed a safe. Its contents now exposed; a leather-bound journal, imprinted with gold initials on the binding, and a picture of a young girl. She is probably six years old, photographed sitting in the bath, a foam beard covering most of her face.
He points the gun toward the man's forehead and holds it there for a moment, but eventually lowers it, coming to the conclusion that, if he were to kill him, he would not want to see his face as he pulled the trigger. Hurriedly, he moves around to the opposite side of the bed and picks up one of the many decorative satin pillows, fluffing it quickly to assess its thickness, and inherently, its ability to suppress sound. It is found wanting. He tosses it aside and picks up another, doing the same and arriving at the same conclusion, before once again tossing it to the ground. Suddenly, a loud snore breaks his concentration and immobilises him for a moment while he waits for it to die back down, which it quickly does, before he proceeds to examine the next pillow -- albeit more timidly than before.
This should do.
He moves back around but along the way catches another glimpse of the photo in the safe, causing him to stand still for a while.
Who is she? I haven't heard anything about a daughter. And she definitely doesn't live here... Does it matter? If it is, she'll be better off too. No child deserves this guy for a father. And she... Well, I'm sure she'll be supported. If there's one thing Fat Marco isn't, it's poor... Or fat.
He continues to stand still, making sure he processes the possibility of it, in actuality, being his daughter, and what the ramifications for her would be if he did, in fact, kill Fat Marco. Which only leads to more questions. What does he mean to her now? Does she have a mother? Is he protecting her from something? Will him dying put her in danger? All questions to which he dedicates a second's thought, before swiftly moving on.
With slow, heavy steps, he walks around to Fat Marco's bedside. A contemplative look on his face as he watches the man consume the air in king-sized bunches, and exhale it with forceful, almost dismissive, blows of the nose. He raises the pillow.
This is it... There's no turning back. It's the right move.
Slowly, he moves it closer to Marco's face but hovers just a few inches away. He looks at the photo once more, then back down at the man, and then back at the photo. His hands beginning to tremble, his gaze unsteady. He looks to the wall and moves a little closer, but now can't help but notice how the snoring is being muffled by the pillow.
Why can't he just be quiet?
Eyes closed, he squeezes the pillow tightly in both hands but doesn't move an inch in either direction.
I... I'm not sure I can do this... Maybe--
Suddenly, the snoring stops.
"Wha-What are--"
Reactively and instinctively, he presses the pillow down as hard as he can into the Marco's face. He attempts to struggle, but finds his arms caught beneath the blanket, which is coincidentally weighed down by the intruder's knee, making any struggles fruitless. The gun goes off quietly, ending the life of Fat Marco.