Sampling of how I write
Erm, well I have a tendency to simply write out random scenarios that come to mind, with not explanation or thought of a story behind them. -___-U Sometimes they are there only to convey a moral point that I'm contemplating at the moment. Anyway, this is one that kinda popped into my head today, and I thought I'd share. Enjoy! and if you would like to use this as a base for a story, be my guest, I won't be using it in any of my writings. Just credit me or something!
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Mathew gripped her shoulders, finally making her look him in the eyes. All around them were the sounds of gunshots and the echoing of running footsteps. He knew that it had to be her plan, but it seemed to him that everything was falling apart. The group of brave men she had rallied to follow her in hopes of overthrowing their tyrant were now being hunted through the halls of his fort, picked off by his solders.
"Ashley, I don't understand, I thought we were gonna help these people!" Everyone in the group had stuck to her plan, that amazing idea that had gotten them into the bowls of Moyer's iron fortress, all but Ashley herself. In a few minutes of chaos caused by some guards they encountered, she had slipped off and come back again. Mathew knew nobody else had noticed, but having traveled with her for so long, he knew that she was never anything less than completely thorough. He'd bet his life that she knew all the guards routs and shifts and also that she intended for them to meet the platoon of 12 tan clad soldiers on their way to the barracks.
So where did she go, and why has everything gone horribly wrong?
"I am going to help them, just follow me!" she mimicked his hushed tones, as if it could stop their voices from reverberating around the room. Like lightning, she was out of his grasp again, leading him through a labyrinth of doors and grated staircases. Every few minutes, they would turn a corner, only to come face to face with one or two guards. Each was quickly dispatched by the machine gun hanging by Ashley's waist before they could even respond. Just as the lanky teen had guessed, she seemed to know exactly where they would be stationed.
As he ran mindlessly behind her, he tried to figure out where she was going and why the men with them were now being exicuted.
"Ashley! Ashley, they're a diversion aren't they?! You set them all up, you killed them all!" It seemed so unfathomable that the young looking eighteen year old ahead of him had planned this, but at the same time she often surprised him by putting logic before emotion. Her silence was answer enough, but the men would all be dead soon, and they couldn't die in vain.
This is wrong, but what's done is done, there's no turning back now.
And it was true, stopping Ashley and accusing her of murder wouldn't defeat Moyer or stop his public execution of 'traitors.' The deaths of the townspeople that had pledged support lay on her conscience alone, and all he could do was make sure she succeeded.