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This is a story I'm working on. Message me and tell me what you think because, in all honestness, I don't know what to think about it. I like it, it's one of my favorites but I need feedback, any type. So please, tell me what you think.









Shaking in fright and engorged with pain, Timothy Willer staggered. Dark crimson blood seeped through his tattered brown trench coat. Deep roars of thunder throughout the isolated village as Timothy struggled towards shelter. Clutching his left shoulder, preventing any further damage to his wound, he searched aimlessly.

'dammit,' he thought, 'I've failed. There's not a chance anyone in this old town will provide me with shelter. After all, it was I who buried them deeper in their pathetic little graves.'

Blinding flashes of brilliant white colored the sky like paint on a canvas. Timothy's rigid frame hunched towards the ground for safety. His stubborn brown hair became glued to the sides of his strong, young face. His crstyal green eyes glistened flakes of diamond as he shot his eyes randomly around his surroundings.The cold and damp barren land revealed no secret hiding grounds Timothy could use. Prickling rain drops collided against his hardened face with an unwelcomed chill.

Timothy groaned as a stinging pain ran throughout his severally injured body.

'I don't think I will make it. My arm's more than useless and my strength is fading rapidly. I will die among the rotting corpus of the people I have murdered. There is no escaping it this time. Tonight, I will finally meet my bitter end.'

Timothy collapsed, falling face first in the sludge of mud. Taking in sharp breaths of air, he gasped. He could feel the blood oozing out of his veins and crashing to the floor. He knew if he would not die of blood loss, he would surely die from the brutal police. Timothy gazed on the distance, feeling the affects of his massive blood loss racing to his head. Choking down one more gulp of air, Timothy tollaped over sideways.





Two Days Later





"Let me get this straight, you found Mr. Willer in your garden unconiscience?" Asked Detective Alicia McSull, dressed in her neatly pressed navy police uniform. Her strawberry blond hair professionally pulled back in a tight bun. Her shimming blue eyes reflected the rainbow shades of the glass light fictures. She held a notepad that contained notes for several solved cases ago. Her liquid ink gel pen stained the sheet of paper she was waiting to use, as she stared expectedly at the old farmer.

"Yes ma'm. He was layin' dead as a door nail smack dabbed in the center of my corn fields. He damn near killed them too!" Jack Connor exclaimed in his heavy southern drawl. His ocean hazel eyes beamed innocences as he willingly recalled the memory.

Alicia frowned, glancing uselessly down at her ink stained notepad.

'I don't even know why the Caption gave me this stupid case.' Alicia bitterly thought. 'I should be solving murders, not gang related crimes.'

"Do you know any information on him? His name or address? Any form of identification you might have found on him?"

Jack stared at the ceiling, releasing a tired sigh.

"Well, come to think of it, I did. Let me just run and collect it." He said as he limped towards the kitchen. Alicia raised an eyebrow before shaking her head.

'Why didn't he tell me first thing? I was asking him all these questions and he never once mentioned an I.D.'

The familiar stomps of Jack's attempts to scurry back to the detective. He knew the mysterious mans form of I.D. was strange, but was unable to determine if it was common somewhere up north.

"Here you are, ma'am. Fell out of his coat when I brought ed here." Jack informed, handing Alicia the strange I.D. in a zip-lock bag. Alicia stared at the bag curiously.

'What on earth. . .'

"He's a minor? I find that hard to believe Mr. Connor. He must be at least 21, how could he possibly be under even 18!?"

Mr. Connors frowned at the reaction of detective McSull.

"Ma'ma, I know nothin' else 'bout this here boy. Alls I knows is he a kid. He no older than me oldest son." He stated, irration rapidly growing in his tone. Alicia smirked at the obvious fur station in the Mr. Connors voice. She found it rather amusing Mr. Connor was so easily agitated.

"Sir, I mean no offense. I was simply talking out loud." She responded softly in her professionally clam tone. Mr. Connor sighed, not waiting to seem like a quick tempered old man. Alicia gave a small smile, signally it was perfectly okay.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Connors. Mr. Willer will recover and be back on his feet in no time. I must be going. We will be in contact later." Alicia recited as she turned towards the crackled front door. Mr. Connors nodded absentmindedly, following Detective McSull out the door.

"You have a nice day, Detective." He mumbled as Alicia stepped down the unstable looking stairs.

"You too, Mr. Connors." She replied, opening the passenger side of an old dodge neon . The once bright shining black, now fashioned a duller and more uninteresting shade of grey. Alica groaned as she fastened her seat beat and nodded to Peter Gray who had patiently waited for questioning to be over. Peter Grey's unnaturally orange hair drew more attention than Alicia liked. His dark stony eyes showed a cruelness that did not exist in Peters body. His long and string like frame made him resemble a noodle more than a police officer.











That's all I have right now, again, tell me what you think.