This is an excerpt from a novel I'm currently working on.
To quote one of my favourite musicians: "Whatever. Gimme a break, I was 15 when I wrote this. So optimistic. Do you like my outfit?"
So you know, it could suck a little (*cough*a lot*cough*) because it's my first draft.
~SETTING THE SCENE ~
Bryan is on his way from Las Vegas to New York when bad weather grounds his flight in Tulsa for the night. He goes to a bar to unwind and meets a guy called Russell. They talk a little before Bryan gets up to use the bathroom. As he returns to his stool at the counter, someone shoves him into a drunken jock.
The jock starts a fight but Bryan is a formidable opponent, surprising everyone except Russell, who knows the reason for it. When Bryan’s claws accidentally come out for a second, slashing the jock’s jacket, the crowd assumes he pulled a knife and
they’re both kicked out.
Here we go!
A thick hand grabbed the back of Bryan’s shirt. Before he could spin around to lay a fist on whoever it was, he felt his feet escaping the floor and a new strain under his armpits where his shirt tightened.
He tried kicking backwards blindly and smacking his head against his captor’s wrist, but nothing could loosen the iron grip that held him. Countless faces passed him in a blur as he was taken towards the bar exit.
Once outside, the hand that had gripped his t-shirt let go, to his relief. He didn’t even care that his captor has dropped him into a puddle, he was just thankful
that his feet were firmly on the ground.
Behind him, the door slammed shut, and now he suddenly felt very alone. As he pulled his hood up to shield his face against the shower that would eventually develop into a storm, the door opened again. This time, the iron grip was on Tim, who tore himself from the bouncer as soon as they were outside. Tim’s eyes blazed with fury when they locked with his. It lasted for just a second, but it was enough. Then the rest of Tim’s buddies burst out of the bar, shouting, howling, making their presence heard.
He thought it was best if he left now to avoid confrontation, but confrontation was exactly what Tim and the gang wanted as they tailed Bryan down the street.
He quickened his pace, glancing back as he passed each building to make sure he was still a safe distance away. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to put up his fists again. The voices grew louder and louder, as if competing with the sound of the rain, which was now pelting down relentlessly. Bryan broke into a sprint, trying as best as he could to dodge the other pedestrians.
The asphalt gave little vibrations underneath Bryan as the gang gained on him. Up ahead was a four-way intersection, but crossing the road wasn’t an option – there was too much traffic. He knew he couldn’t outrun them forever, so he ducked into a narrow alley after rounding the corner at the left, praying that they would give up the chase once they lost sight of him.
In the alleyway, his eyes quickly adjusted to dimness. He knew it was impossible for them to know that he was in here, but his instincts kept on telling him he was being hunted. His heartbeat accelerated to match the pace of the rain hitting the ground.
They’re getting closer.
He saw something move in the corner of his left eye. He wiped the rain from his face, trying to figure out if it was real, or just his paranoia getting the best of him. Then there was a click, and an explosion in Bryan’s chest that rippled throughout his entire body. For a second, he couldn’t breathe, as if his lungs had been stripped of every ounce of oxygen.
His mouth started opening and closing, hopelessly trying to suck in air that just wouldn’t go in. His breaths grew ragged as he looked down and saw blood gushing through a hole in his t-shirt, turning the white cotton crimson.
As someone who weakened at the sight of blood, he couldn’t handle seeing his own escape his body like that with such liquidity. Bryan’s knees buckled, he sank to the ground and tipped over onto his side.
He rolled onto his back, taking deep breaths to clear his mind. With his right hand, the one closest to the wall, he lifted up his shirt, and with his left, he picked through his wound to try and find the bullet. But when his fingers brushed against the metal, a painful jolt seared through his hand. Lifting his hand in front of his face, Bryan saw singes on his fingertips.
Silver bullet. Crap.
He couldn’t call an ambulance; his cell phone battery was dead. And he couldn’t call for help; it pained him to breathe, and anyway, he wasn’t even sure he had enough strength to muster any voice. He let his arm go limp and drop into the ground, it made a soft splash as it came in contact with the wet ground.
Bryan peered up at the sky, and through the rain, he saw a figure, large and stocky, watching him from the roof. He didn’t know whether the figure knew he was watching them, and then it disappeared.
Beyond that, he could see the stars. They blazed fiercely against a type of blackness that threatened to overtake anything and everything. And he smiled, because it was all he could do until death claimed him.