Hi all. I'm new here and have never written anything before. But I've had an idea that has been rattling around for a while and I've decided to get it out. This was originally an idea for a short film, so I was tossing up between writing in the style of script (I have ideas for film shots and intended to film) but ultimately chose this way instead.
It was quarter past two, the moon was bright and wind whipped between the trees and through the hills playing the valleys like a violin. It was usually an early to settle city where the bars were closed by midnight, drunk patrons tucked in bed ready for the dead sleep and a beast of a hangover in the morning. The ground shook a little, a light tremor passing through the Earth as a courier truck took the smaller side roads. The Paton Weather Station had been right when they predicted a couple of landslides might happen after four days of heavy rainfall. Through years of experience the city of Paton had learned that Mother Nature was the one in control.
Thomas Colt took a seat in his bedroom and pulled his knees to his chest. The glass of scotch whiskey on the table left a wet patch of condensation, the ice cubes melted and melded to be one with the drink. On nights like this it was easy to get lost in thought; not that it had ever done him any good. The glow of the streetlamps lit the street outside, the constant whispering of the trees sharing secrets no one could ever understand.
A long sleeved white shirt covered his torso and dark jeans decoloured by countless days of wear. His stature couldn’t be concealed by clothing, but it was a suit of armour put in place to hide the mess he was the sole creator of. Tom preferred it this way to avoid curious people asking what they thought were innocent questions.
He reached over to the glass and slowly took a gulp. It was still cold, but he could feel the heat of the drink flowing through his body. Once he had read that the burn of a cheap scotch could damage the throat if a person drank it frequently enough. That would be what he deserved though. Tom put the glass down and stood up from his chair, the light from outside softly brushing across his face and dark brown hair. He grabbed his laptop and sank into the bed which was in the corner of the room; sometimes he needed a place huddle when the nights got tough. Only hours earlier Tom had been in town. Less than 10 blocks away stood Heat, a red brick property with a tall fence and a sturdy front door. A sign on the front warned THERE IS NOTHING HERE WORTH DYING FOR, the barred windows emitting a comforting glow. Tom had been there for one thing; to purchase a weapon.
It had taken him a while to decide what he wanted to buy. Tom was that kind of person who would look at thirty reviews, settle on a choice and be whisked away by the opportunity and excitement of something else. It was a trait that had never served him very well in life; decision making was already hard, more so when you don’t trust your own ability to decide. As Tom was browsing the store someone behind him said, “Can I help you, sir?”.
The man was older, wrinkled, and wore a faded blue denim vest and leather boots, with a name tag that read Viktor. Tom had already assumed he was a store employee as the way Viktor was dressed lacked a great sense of irony.
“I’m here to buy my first gun. I’m looking for a .38 calibre Smith & Wesson revolver”.
“That’s specific”, Viktor said.
In his peripheral vision Tom could see Viktor’s gaze shift up and down his body, stopping again at his face. He turned to look Viktor straight in the eyes. “I’ve done my research”, he smiled.