This is a story I have yet to complete, so I'm posting the first part here for review.
There’s that man again, right outside my bedroom window.
It never fails. It hasn't for the past six months.
Every Saturday morning, at 3 AM, he comes. And every stinking morning, he breaks into my house completely unannounced, and begins rummaging through all of my things. Now usually, it's just rummaging. He examines every object carefully (probably to see how valuable each one is), then puts each one back in its place.
Starting last month, however, he took it a step further.
He began stealingmy stuff.
Now, as you can imagine, I don't take too well to this. And I'm more than prepared to confront him. But there are two problems with that. The first problem is...he's armed. He's always got that old, glossy Remington with him. It's got red stains on the barrel. What they are, I don't really care to find out. Of course, even so, I'd still be willing to confront him (I'm not exactly defenseless myself)...but then there's the thing that's been keeping me away from him all of the past six months.
His three buddies.
Those three always stick close to him, and there's always at least one or two that aren't getting distracted from their guard by all the valuables in my house. They're armed too. And for the past three Fridays, they've stolen dozens of the items from my house. They've taken everything, from furniture to jewelry. And frankly, I'm getting tired of it. Very, very tired.
I'm always forced to hide from them. Under my bed, a table, in a closet, or (if I can make it) outside. But not anymore. My back is so cramped up from having to lean over in my tightest spaces, that even my kinks have kinks. Though at least those guys, no matter how much they search through every facet, nook, and cranny in my house, have never once found me. It's like something naturally deters them from each hiding space of mine.
Well now, I'm going to make them find me.
The man is here on his own tonight. That's a first. He's still got the rifle though. But I can take care of that pretty easily, now that he's on his own. All I need to do is wait for just the right moment to strike. Look at him...so small...so helpless, when he's alone, all by himself. It almost makes him look innocent, like he couldn't be responsible for any bad thing at all. But I know otherwise.
Is there some sort of gimmick you're building up to with the story? The entire time, it feels as the narrator is about to drop a bomb on the reader, but the pasta never reaches that point. Otherwise, I don't really know what to say. It's a story about a man who stakes out a seemingly abandoned house, then brings his friends with him to help with robbing it. Like I said, it feels like there should be some sort of twist somewhere.
Cornconic wrote: Is there some sort of gimmick you're building up to with the story? The entire time, it feels as the narrator is about to drop a bomb on the reader, but the pasta never reaches that point. Otherwise, I don't really know what to say. It's a story about a man who stakes out a seemingly abandoned house, then brings his friends with him to help with robbing it. Like I said, it feels like there should be some sort of twist somewhere.
Oh yes, there's a twist. And a very "twisty" one at that.
But like I said, this is part one. There's more of this story to come, so the bomb has yet to drop.
So what are you waiting for? You might as well just complete the story at this point. Like I said, I can't really give much useful feedback on such an unfinished draft, and I imagine others will find it quite difficult too. At this point, you should just add the twist and finish the story.