Mystery/Suspense/Thriller Writers

Where do I go from here?

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  • #114071
    Vic
    @vic

      @anne_the_noob14 I have no knowledge about beekeeping, lol! Notice I don’t explain anything about what she needs to do… 😆 I just wanted to include details about her “normal” life. Though, I have no idea if she could actually do legit beekeeping with a travel itinerary… do you have to take care of them every day, or can you kinda leave them to themselves for a while if you know what you’re doing? (which I obviously don’t… 🙄)

      "Mine eyes are ever toward the LORD" (Ps. 25:15a).

      Writer for TheeGeneration

      #114073
      Vic
      @vic

        @sam-m @emberynus-the-dragonslayer @melodyjoy @claire-h@anne_the_noob14 @joshuapior

        Let me know what you think. Still don’t know exactly how this is gonna end. 😏 Next scene is under construction and will be up soonish. Maybe by tomorrow but I’m working so it might be Monday.

        ———-

        Her doorbell rang and Liz jumped. Calm down! she scolded herself as she got to her feet. Not the police, they’d pound. Not Dirk, he never visited any of his agents’ homes. Maybe her neighbor asking if she had any honey for sale yet, or Jake wanting to practice with her. She opened the door and raised her eyebrows.

        “Diane?”

        “Hi, Liz.” The youngest player in the orchestra shifted nervously. “Jake gave me your address. He said you wouldn’t mind if I stopped by?”

        “No, not at all!” Liz smiled broadly at the skinny kid. She was so tiny, Liz wondered how she could get such an amazing sound out of her viola. The thing was bigger than she was. “What can I do for you?”

        “Well, I was wondering if you’d be willing to practice the new piece with me? I know it’s kind of strange since I’m on a different part, but…well, I’ve found it really helps me to know how I fit in with the others.”

        I was really hoping for some alone time, Liz thought, but it’d be good to open up to Diane, especially since she’s new. She’s gotta get to know good ol’ friendly Liz. 

        She kept that smile in place and opened the door for her visitor. “Oh, I would love to! Come on in!”

        Diane hunched her shoulders a little, retreating into herself like a scared child as she entered Liz’s living room.

        She waved towards the carpeted floor. “Sorry about the violin on the floor. I was just taking it out to practice. Wasn’t expecting anyone to stop by!”

        Diane’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry, I can leave…”

        Liz moved her case to the sofa and set her violin in it. “Hey, don’t worry about it, hon! I love having visitors! You go ahead and get your viola ready. I’ve gotta get a chair for you from the back room. You need a stand?”

        “No, I have my own.”

        “Great. Be right back.”

        “Sure, thanks,” Diane’s voice was so soft Liz could barely hear it as she left the living room.

        When she got back, Diane had her viola out and was staring at the pictures up on her wall. “Is this your family, Liz?”

        Liz opened the folding chair. “Yes.”

        “Do they live here in Manitoba?”

        “No, they’ve passed on.”

        Diane’s face crumbled. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

        Liz smiled gently. “It’s okay. I was sixteen. Time heals all, they say.”

        “You lost them all at once?”

        Liz picked up her violin and arranged her music on her stand. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We got caught in a terrorist attack. It was only by God’s grace I survived.”

        Diane’s face registered shock. “You were there too?”

        “Yes, I was there too.” Liz shifted in her chair and smiled half-heartedly. “Look, Diane, as much as I don’t mind talking about it…”

        Diane straightened quickly. “Oh…oh, yes. That’s fine. Sorry.”

        Liz smiled tenderly at the girl. “That’s ok. Let’s do this, eh?”

        She grinned. “Yes, let’s!”

        "Mine eyes are ever toward the LORD" (Ps. 25:15a).

        Writer for TheeGeneration

        #114074
        Mel
        @melodyjoy

          @vic

          Hello! I really enjoyed reading the second portion of your story!!! Great job!

          One thing I enjoy when reading your story is that even though you are writing in 3rd person, I almost feel like it is written in 1st because you help readers picture her and know what she is thinking and going through.

          MEL

          Life is short, smile while you still have teeth!

          #114076
          Mel
          @melodyjoy

            @vic

            AND I just read your 3rd portion! **Thumbs up**

            I liked how you portray Diane’s character and personality. You do a great job of showing how she is really shy and quiet/reserved 🙂

            Is this going to be a long book-type story, or is it going to be a short story? Just wondering’ (cause I love your work so far! 🙂

            MEL

            Life is short, smile while you still have teeth!

            #114088
            Emberynus The Dragonslayer
            @emberynus-the-dragonslayer

            @vic

            Cool and cooler! Keep up the good work! I really love Diane!! She’s so sweet!

            Sleep doesn't help if it's your soul that's tired.

            #114104
            Claire
            @claire-h

              @vic

              I love how you are developing both Liz and Diane’s personalities… And ooh, now I’m curious about Liz’s backstory. 😉

              a flower does not think of competing with the flower next to it.
              it just blooms.

              #114116
              Vic
              @vic

                @melodyjoy Right now it’s a short story, but it could turn into something longer. We’ll see! I’m getting more excited about it as I work on it more!


                @claire-h
                I’m curious about her backstory too… 😁

                "Mine eyes are ever toward the LORD" (Ps. 25:15a).

                Writer for TheeGeneration

                #114358
                Vic
                @vic

                  @sam-m @emberynus-the-dragonslayer @melodyjoy @claire-h @anne_the_noob14 @joshuapior

                  Next part! Enjoy!

                  ———-

                  Thud, thud, whack. The heavy bag spun away from her and she wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She bounced on her toes and continued. Jab, cross, squat. Breathe, release, repeat. Kick, punch, kick, punch. The bag spun and she clenched her jaw.

                  “A bit out of practice, huh?” The swarthy figure offered her a water bottle.

                  Liz gulped the water and panted for air.

                  “Need a sparring partner?”

                  She shook her head and took off her gloves.

                  “Calling it quits already? You just got here.”

                  “Just needed to clear my head, Dirk.”

                  “Bad memories?”

                  “Something like that.”

                  “Liz, if you need a break…”

                  She shoved her gloves into her gym bag. “This worked just fine.”

                  He nodded. “Steve and I’ll be at the range tomorrow. You want to join us?”

                  She flung the bag over her shoulder. “Probably not. I’ll get my practice in. Whenever I get my next assignment.”

                  His eyes narrowed. “Liz, are you okay?”

                  “Look, Dirk. I signed up for this. We make the world a safer place, remember?”

                  Dirk raised his eyebrows. “Quoting the book back to me, huh? Maybe I should make you an instructor.”

                  “No thanks.” Liz relaxed and grinned. “I’m not that good.”

                  “Hey, you didn’t do so bad,” Dirk moved around the punching bag, sizing it up. “You’re just, you know, a girl.”

                  He threw a punch and a satisfying snap echoed through the empty gym. “Your hand-to-hand might not be the best, but your shooting sure is. You’ve got a clear eye and a steady hand, Liz. And a calm mind, when it comes down to you against the problem. That’s the most important.”

                  Liz smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Boss. Hey, I’ll take a rain check on the sparring. Maybe next week.”

                  Dirk’s fist drove into the bag. “Yep. I’ll be here.”

                  "Mine eyes are ever toward the LORD" (Ps. 25:15a).

                  Writer for TheeGeneration

                  #114359
                  Emberynus The Dragonslayer
                  @emberynus-the-dragonslayer

                  @vic

                  Awesome work!!! I’m more intrigued by this story all the time! I’ve been waiting for this! Keep writing!

                  Sleep doesn't help if it's your soul that's tired.

                  #114366
                  Livi Ryddle
                  @anne_the_noob14

                  @vic *grins* She could totally keep bees with a busy travel schedule. I’ll try not to go into a ton of unwanted explanations, but basically if she can find time twice a month (preferable more like four times a month) to check on them and stuff, she’s good. That changes a bit in the winter and spring (all times of year, really), and then later in the summer if she’s gonna extract honey, but I think if she has three to five hives, she should be able to fit that in. 🙂

                  I really like these next parts!! I can’t wait for the next one! 😀

                  “We make the world a safer place” … Interesting…

                  "Reck not."
                  ~Sir Nicholas Beauvallet

                  #115281
                  Vic
                  @vic

                    @sam-m @emberynus-the-dragonslayer @melodyjoy @claire-h @anne_the_noob14 @joshuapior

                    Finally…! Part 4 (end of Part 3 included for a little refresher 😉) Hoping to wrap this one up soonish. We’ll see. There’s potential for a longer version someday, but probably not what I’ll be focusing on. I just want to give this a satisfying finish. The next part will probably be a flashback to let you know kind of what happened between part 3 and part 4.

                    ***

                    “Look, Dirk. I signed up for this. We make the world a safer place, remember?”

                    Dirk raised his eyebrows. “Quoting the book back to me, huh? Maybe I should make you an instructor.”

                    “No thanks.” Liz grinned. “I’m not that good.”

                    “Hey, you didn’t do so bad,” Dirk moved around the punching bag, sizing it up. “You’re just, you know, a girl.”

                    He threw a punch and a satisfying snap echoed through the empty gym. “Your hand-to-hand might not be the best, but your shooting sure is. You’ve got a clear eye and a steady hand, Liz. And a calm mind, when it comes down to you against the problem. That’s the most important.”

                    Liz smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Boss. I’ll take a rain check on the sparring. Maybe next week.”

                    Dirk’s fist drove into the bag. “Yep. I’ll be here.”

                    ***

                    She remembered his words later, when he was there and she wasn’t, as she ducked under a flying fist and swung her high heel at the face of a black-clad assailant. She heard a curse and kicked him before he had a chance to recover. Thanks, Dirk. He always said that in order to even the odds, she had to fight dirty. There’s no time to be fair when you’re fighting for your life, especially against a fully armed tac team.

                    She saw her clutch underneath the table. She rammed her elbow into another man’s throat and dove for it. Pain seared through her chest as she hit the concrete floor, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Then she had her gun out, and twisted onto her back.

                    She made three straight shots, instinctive and desperate, and froze, panting, her gun trained on the last man standing.

                    Target acquired. 

                    He stared at her, and she stared back. Blood trickled over the traces of a beard, and he looked dazed. He swayed slightly, blinking slowly and shaking his head as if trying to clear it.

                    I probably don’t look much better. 

                    “Thank you.” His voice was soft, with a twinge of an accent of some kind.

                    “Thank you?” She softened her grip on her gun, starting to point the barrel up towards the ceiling.

                    He moved closer, and she stiffened, fixing her gunsights on his head. His brow furrowed and he stopped, raising his hands slightly.

                    “You’re hurt.”

                    She could hear the concern in his voice.

                    “So are you.”

                    “I can help.”

                    Pull the trigger, Liz! 

                    “Please. You have helped me. Let me help you.”

                    His eyes are bluer than the picture in his dossier. Like… 

                    “Vince…” her whisper reverberated against the concrete walls of the warehouse.

                    He tilted his head. “My name is Vytas, remember?”

                    “Vytas, right.” She started to shiver, and he came closer. Her finger tightened on the trigger. “Stop… moving!”

                    Vytas froze, his eyes haunted. “Liz, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should never have gotten you involved.”

                    • This reply was modified 3 months ago by Vic.

                    "Mine eyes are ever toward the LORD" (Ps. 25:15a).

                    Writer for TheeGeneration

                    #115297
                    Emberynus The Dragonslayer
                    @emberynus-the-dragonslayer

                    @vic

                    Another awesome part!! Looking forwards to reading more!! 🙂 🙂

                    Sleep doesn't help if it's your soul that's tired.

                    #115302
                    Ella
                    @writergirl101

                      @vic

                      Ok, wait wait wait.  What is happening?!  I need more!! 🙏🙏😃  You can’t just stop there…😁

                      Great job, btw!  I love reading these.  It’s such a cool idea and you managed to pull it off without adding any gore/language.  Two thumbs up!!👍👍

                      If something goes wrong in your life, yell "Plot twist!" and keep going. 😎🍰

                      #118246
                      Livi Ryddle
                      @anne_the_noob14

                      @vic

                      Ooooooo yikes… I’ve got chills…. 😀 I love it!!

                      "Reck not."
                      ~Sir Nicholas Beauvallet

                      #119903
                      Vic
                      @vic

                        @sam-m @emberynus-the-dragonslayer @melodyjoy @claire-h@anne_the_noob14 @joshuapior

                        Here it is. Finally. The end of the matter. Basically Part 3 revised. I included the entire “short story” here. Enjoy!

                        ***

                        The tall buildings faded into a snapshot-perfect background, and her line of sight snapped into place. Her finger pressed gently against the trigger but paused when the wind picked up. The barrel of her rifle was cool against her jaw. She opened her hand and cooled her fingers in the breeze. She inhaled the concrete air and surveyed the buildings around her, exhaling as the wind ruffled her short hair. The murmur of the crowded sidewalk below swelled, and she glanced at her watch. Four minutes twenty seconds until show time. She looked down her barrel again, framing her target in the center of her scope. The wind died and she squeezed. She didn’t wait to see if he fell. She knelt by her case and disassembled her rifle. A glance at her watch told her she had three minutes forty-eight seconds. Her mind ticked off the seconds as she nestled each part in its place and imagined the scurry a mile away. Her target’s security detail would have their building locked down by now and establishing an investigation perimeter, probably a two-mile radius. The police would be here soon. Two minutes nineteen seconds. She padded down the stairs in her socks, shoes in hand, case on her back. Seventh floor, sixth floor, fifth floor, and she slipped her shoes on. One minute twenty-two seconds. She flew down the hall and burst into the green room. Two others just leaving for the back hall. Judy and Diane.

                        “Liz! I thought you wouldn’t get here in time!” Diane’s blue eyes were wide.

                        Judy rolled her eyes. “You’ll learn this about Liz, Diane. She gets here early but no one ever sees her until show time.”

                        Liz grinned and set her case in an empty place. “I get more done that way. Never liked just hanging out with everyone else with nothing to do.”

                        Diane’s brow wrinkled. “To each their own, I suppose.”

                        They left and Liz opened her case. Thirty-two seconds. She smiled as she lifted out the contents of the case. No one would guess she had parts of a high-powered rifle hidden beneath her violin. She straightened the collar of her black suit and slid her case into an open locker. Twenty-four seconds. She clicked out to the back hall, onto to the stage, and slid into her seat.

                        Jake winked at her. “Cutting it kinda close, aren’t you, Liz?”

                        She smiled broadly at her stand partner and rested her violin on her collarbone.

                        “Me? Never.”

                        Ten seconds til show time. She managed to get a few warmups in before Erik, the concertmaster, walked onstage. He surveyed the crowd and bowed deeply. He sat down and the orchestra tuned. With encouraging smiles at each other, the orchestra members lifted their instruments.

                        ***

                        Liz stared at herself in her bathroom mirror. She wondered what other people saw when they looked into her eyes. Eyes were important. Dirk always said they were the windows to the soul, that people could tell who you were just by making eye contact. Pretty sure that’s not true in my case, she thought. You have taught me well, my friend.

                        She pushed her hair back with a band and washed her face slowly. The water felt good against her skin. Refreshing. She threw the towel into the waiting laundry basket and began brushing her teeth, running through her to-do list in her mind.

                        Practice her new chamber orchestra piece: the Shostakovich  Chamber Symphony. She’d heard it a million times but never played it. She was excited for this upcoming tour. She and her friends, making music for the world. Bringing a bit of happiness into miserable lives.

                        Check on the bees and tend her flower garden. It would be nice to do that first, but she really needed to get in some kind of accomplishment before relaxing.

                        Log onto the Viper database and update her status as available. That last one was optional, but she never really thought twice about it. It was just what she did. She always uploaded her itinerary and Dirk was careful in assigning targets to her. This last assignment was risky, really, using her real-life job instead of a fabricated cover and having to remain within the investigation radius. It worked well, though, better than she had imagined. It wouldn’t happen again for a while, she knew. Dirk would make sure that no suspician would arise from assassinations and the orchestra’s performances coinciding too often.

                        Liz stared at the face in the mirror. It was pretty, people said. Young and innocent. She smiled at it, and it smiled back. She was glad it was happy. People don’t really notice happy people. They just sort of blend in, like being happy is normal. Funny how people don’t realize happiness is really just a forced emotion, Liz thought as she exited her little washroom.

                        She got out her violin and laid it on the living room rug. She heard Mrs. Donavan’s voice screeching at her never to do that, but it wasn’t like she was at a music school with a million other kids bouncing around to Tigger’s song anymore. She stared at the satin-lined interior of her case. It was a clever design, one Dirk had made. She didn’t know exactly how, but it fooled airport scanners and x-rays, revealing only the violin and not the gun. Sure, it was a little heavier and bulkier, but that was the benefit of being a musician. People expect you to be weird about your instrument and how you protect it during travel. Dirk always said one of the best ways to detract attention was to attract attention in a completely different way and for a completely different reason. Her violin made that possible.

                        Her doorbell rang and Liz jumped. Calm down! she scolded herself as she got to her feet. Not the police, they’d pound. Not Dirk, he never visits his agents’ homes. Maybe her neighbor asking if she had any honey for sale, or Jake wanting to practice with her. She opened the door.

                        “Diane?”

                        “Hey, Liz.” The youngest player in the orchestra shifted nervously. “Jake gave me your address. He said you wouldn’t mind if I stopped by?”

                        “No, not at all!” Liz smiled broadly at the skinny kid. She was so tiny, Liz wondered how she could get any sound out of her viola. The thing was bigger than she was. “What can I do for you?”

                        “Well, I was wondering if you’d be willing to practice the new piece with me? I know it’s kind of strange since I’m on a different part, but…well, I’ve found it really helps me to know how I fit in with the others.”

                        I was really hoping for some alone time, Liz thought, but it’d be good to open up to Diane, especially since she’s new. She’s gotta get to know good ol’ friendly Liz.

                        She kept that smile in place and opened the door for her visitor. “Oh, I would love to! Come on in!”

                        Diane hunched her shoulders a little, retreating into herself like a scared child as she entered Liz’s living room.

                        “Sorry about the violin on the floor. I was just taking it out to practice. Wasn’t expecting anyone to stop by!”

                        Diane’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry, I can leave…”

                        Liz moved her case to the sofa and set her violin in it. “Don’t worry about it, hon! I love having visitors!” Liar. “You go ahead and get your viola ready. I’ve gotta get a chair for you from the back room. You need a stand?”

                        “No, I have my own.”

                        “Great. Be right back.”

                        “Sure, thanks.” Diane’s voice was so soft Liz could barely hear it as she left the living room.

                        When she got back, Diane had her viola out and was staring at the pictures up on her wall. “Is this your family, Liz?”

                        Liz opened the folding chair. “Yes.”

                        “Do they live here?”

                        “No, they’ve passed on.”

                        Diane’s face crumbled. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

                        Liz smiled gently. “It’s okay. I was sixteen. Time heals all, they say.”

                        “You lost them all at once?”

                        Liz picked up her violin and arranged her music on her stand. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly and silently. “We got caught in a terrorist attack. It was only by God’s grace I survived.” Throwing God in there was a good tactic, too, but not one she’d ever learned from Dirk.

                        Diane’s face registered shock. “You were there too?”

                        “Yes, I was there too.” Liz shifted in her chair and smiled half-heartedly. “Look, Diane, as much as I don’t mind talking about it…” Liar.

                        Diane straightened quickly. “Oh…oh, yes. That’s fine. Sorry.”

                        Liz smiled tenderly at the girl. “That’s ok. Let’s do this, eh?”

                        She grinned. “Yes, let’s!”

                        ***

                        Thud, thud, whack. The heavy bag spun away from her and she wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She bounced on her toes and continued. Jab, cross, squat. Breathe, release, repeat. Kick, punch, kick, punch. The bag spun and she clenched her jaw.

                        “A bit out of practice, huh?” The swarthy figure offered her a water bottle.

                        Liz gulped the water and panted for air.

                        “Need a sparring partner?”

                        She shook her head and took off her gloves.

                        “Calling it quits already? You just got here.”

                        “Just needed to clear my head, Dirk.”

                        “Bad memories?”

                        “Something like that.”

                        “Liz, if you need a break…”

                        She shoved her gloves into her gym bag. “This worked just fine.”

                        He nodded. “Steve and I’ll be at the range tomorrow. You want to join us?”

                        She flung the bag over her shoulder. “Probably not. I’ll get my practice in. Whenever I get my next assignment.”

                        His eyes narrowed. “Liz, are you okay?”

                        “Dirk, I signed up for this. We make the world a safer place, remember?”

                        Dirk raised his eyebrows. “Quoting the book back to me, huh? Maybe I should make you an instructor.”

                        “No thanks.” Liz grinned. “I’m not that good.” She jutted her chin towards the slowly revolving bag.

                        “Hey, you’re not so bad,” Dirk moved around the punching bag, sizing it up. “You’re just, you know, a girl.”

                        He threw a punch and a satisfying snap echoed through the empty gym.

                        Liz rolled her eyes. Trust Dirk to show off his skills any chance he could.

                        He gnawed on his lower lip like he always did when he was focused and another snap broke the dull silence of the gym. “Your hand-to-hand might not be the best, but your shooting sure is. You’ve got a clear eye and a steady hand, Liz. And a calm mind, when it comes down to you against the problem. That’s the most important.”

                        Liz smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Boss. I’ll take a rain check on the sparring. Maybe next week.”

                        Dirk’s fist drove into the bag. “Yep. I’ll be here.”

                        ***

                        She remembered his words later, when he was there and she wasn’t, as she ducked under a flying fist and swung her high heel at the face of a black-clad assailant. She heard a curse and kicked him in the stomach before he had a chance to recover. Thanks, Dirk. He always said that in order to even the odds, fight dirty. There’s not time to be fair when you’re fighting for your life, especially against a fully armed private militant team. Which, of course, she had not planned on doing tonight.

                        She saw her clutch underneath the table. She rammed her elbow into the other guy’s throat and dove for it. When she hit the contrete floor, pain seared through her chest and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Her nail broke as she clawed for her clutch, and then she had her gun out and twisted onto her back.

                        She made three straight shots, instinctive more so than desperate, and then froze, panting, her gun trained on the last man standing.

                        Target acquired.

                        Blood trickled over the traces of a beard, and he looked dazed. He swayed slightly, blinking slowly and shaking his head as if trying to clear it. He looked around at the three militants sprawled on the floor, and took a deep breath. His brow furrowed as his gaze fell on Liz. He stared at her, and she stared back.

                        Scattered thoughts played leap-frog in her mind, and she fought to get back control. She’d been at the art show, attempting minimal contact. She’d located her target and proceeded according to plan — observe and shadow for a stake-out-take-out routine later in the evening.

                        Well, that didn’t work, she derided herself. Of course it would all go wrong. How was I supposed to know he’d start flirting with me?

                        “Liz?” His voice was soft and uncertain, with a twinge of some kind of accent.

                        She softened her grip on her gun, starting to point the barrel up towards the ceiling, and he moved closer.

                        Target on the move. She stiffened, fixing her gunsights on his head. His breath quickened, and he raised his hands slightly as he continued towards her.

                        “I’m so sorry this happened tonight. I never meant for you to get mixed up with this.”

                        Panic started to swell in her chest, and she could feel the blood pounding in her temples. His eyes were blue. Bluer than the picture in his dossier. Blue like…

                        “Vince…” her whisper reverberated against the concrete walls of the warehouse.

                        He tilted his head. “Vince?”

                        “My brother.”

                        Moron!

                        The back of her eyes burned, and she saw the barrel of her gun start to waver. Get with it, you idiot! Finish the assignment and get out of her. Do not lose control of the situation!

                        “Your brother?” His voice was lilting, almost soothing, and Dirk’s warnings about emotions and adrenaline taking over screamed in her head. Taking a stern breath, she steeled her eyes, steadied her hand, and hardened her voice. “Stop moving.”

                        His face changed. “What is this?”

                        Dirk said to remember the reason. The purpose. The goal.

                        Men like you killed my brother. “Back up.”

                        He complied, and she got up off the floor, keeping her sights steady.

                        His eyes darted around the room, locking for a split second on the door, then flying back to her.

                        “You’ll never make it.”

                        “Who are you?” He glanced at the dead men. “Not with them. Not government handler.” He tilted his head. “Private assassin?”

                        In the silence that followed she heard, faint and far away, the approaching sirens, and did something no well-trained killer should ever do. She took her eyes off her target, and in that tiny moment of time he ran. He ran towards the back of the warehouse, away from the door, and she didn’t have to think anymore. She knew how to hit a running target and applied all her knowledge in the next second. She heard his cry and saw him fall, and she bolted for the door.

                        The car the private military team had used to bring them to the warehouse was still sitting there, and she very nearly broke her high heels in her haste to get to it. She threw her gun into the passenger seat and wondered why her hands shook as she hot-wired the car. She spun out onto the lonely road, forcing herself to think of nothing other than to get away. Far away. And never to think of that incident again. Ever.

                        "Mine eyes are ever toward the LORD" (Ps. 25:15a).

                        Writer for TheeGeneration

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                      The written word matters to God.

                       

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                      Every Year, Thousands of Writers Give Up

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                      Don't Be That Kind of Christian Writer

                      Want to impact the world for Christ with your writing—without being preachy or cliched?

                       

                      Learn how to avoid common pitfalls and craft powerful themes by downloading our free worksheet!

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                      So You've Got Cliches in Your Novel...

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                      Does Christian Fiction Need to Be Clean?

                      Our Tricky Subjects for Christian Storytellers e-book examines how to depict sensitive topics like violence, language, and sex with realism and wisdom. Sign up to download it for free!

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                      Poetry Isn't Just for Poets

                      It can also help novelists write better stories!

                      Get our Harnessing the Power of Poetry e-book to learn how techniques used by skilled poets can enrich your storytelling.

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                      Enjoying This Article? Get the Full Series!

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                      Uncover the Secret to Relatable Characters

                      Learning how to help readers connect with your story's characters doesn't need to be a mystery.

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