My Story

This is a short story I wrote when I was 12. I had to describe someone in great detail so there are lots of adjectives. This is the first section, follow me and the next two will follow soon.

A key turned in a lock – the scrape cut through the gloomy silence like a knife through butter. A creak resounded through the room as the wooden door opened. Then there was the tip tap of leather shoes falling on a cold stone floor. A shadow was cast on a bare, rotting wall. Norman Payne felt the chill of the room the second he entered it, this was how he liked it though – anyone who visited his 12th floor flat would never come again for fear of frostbite. He contorted his face into the closest thing he could to a smile, tonight he would commit his deed. One, two, three he counted under his breath and took three steps forward.

To a stranger passing him on the street Norman seemed normal enough. They might find him a little odd if they had time to stare into his absorbing dark eyes. Maybe a little more so if they allowed themselves to compare his coal coloured eyes to his tangled blond hair. If you had ever talked to Norman you might begin to get a flavour of Norman’s personality, but it’s a flavour most people would spit out immediately. He was quiet and calculated; he wouldn’t say anything before consulting with his brain for seemingly endless seconds. You could tell he had a deep personality but every word he let slip through his pale lips wouldn’t get you an inch closer to finding out what he was really like. Everything he liked or disliked was buried under a firewall, there was no chance to make friends with him – even his neighbours wouldn’t recognise him on the street.