The following is a copy of today’s attempt at writing fiction on the Most Dangerous Writing App. As before, the app was set to a 500 word limit. It took me around 30 minutes to write these 500 words.
There were two of them. Wait, three. No, just two. Remy counted the footsteps again. He listened hard. There was no room for error from here on. They had guns; he was sure. The footsteps were getting closer. 3…2….1…Bang! Martin kicked open the door of the broom closet hitting the first assailant first on his arm then on his head with a noticeable thud. Martin lurched out of the darkness of the broom closet bringing down the broom he was holding with both his hand onto the wrist of the second assailant in a flash whacking the gun off the heathen’s grimy hands. The broom broke in half upon this impact as was the goon’s wrist he was sure. In a smooth motion Remy swung around the half of the broom which had remained in his arm, behind him and up above his head and down in front of him in the diagonal slashing motion of a samurai, landing it squarely onto the jaw of the first assailant in an audible “crack” of his skull. Remy allowed the piece of the broom to continue diagonally downwards in a follow through motion until it reached a little past his hip then he shifted his weight to this leading foot pushing himself upwards as he swung the stick diagonally upwards towards the head of the second assailant. Again, the stick found its mark right below the temple of the second goon with a whip like “whack” sound. There was split-second delay between the “whack” sound and the confirmation of its registration on the goon’s face right before his eyes stared off into the distance and he fell backwards leaving a noticeable thud of the back of his head meeting the cold hard marble floor. The sound of this conflict would have alerted the rest of them. “Let’s go! Now! Get the gun” barked Remy as he picked up the Remington .45 which was now lying on the floor a few feet ahead of him. On hearing his father’s command, the 17-year-old Martin, who was still hiding in the broom closet rushed out and picked up the handgun which had slipped off down the hallway. “There’s more them coming…we go out the back…follow me” Remy whispered loudly enunciating each word and rounding his lips deliberately and methodically as to ensure that his uninitiated kid would be able to understand. Martin firmly nodded an okay and followed his father closely. The duo made it past the empty kitchen and reached the back door. Remy paused at the closed back door, peered out of the little window in the middle of the door, gestured Martin to stop and “wait here for my signal”. Remy then took a deep breath, turned the doorknob, and slowly cracked the door open. Remy turned around to look at Martin, looked him in the eye and said, “remember what I told you …and always remember how much Dad loved you.” Martin nodded emphatically holding back the urge to say “no, wait, what if we just” because he knew none of the options which he could present were as good as the one his father had just presented.
