The Unforgiving Truth

This is a 9th grade english assignment that i decided was decent so i put it on here. It's pretty much just a skeleton so if ur a writer and u want to build on it, leave some feedback saying so and ill take this off of here so u can do that.

The Unforgiving Truth

Truth begins with a lie. Without lies there is no truth. So forget truth and only remember that lies are where it all began. Thoughts like these are the ones that run through the disturbed and somewhat demented mind of Samuel Peters as of late. This level of disturbed thought is not natural. No, this mind is scarred and traumatized by something it cannot remember. Something as twisted or more so that itself. Something that bruised his mind and crushed his body, leaving him with an artificial hip and a donated lung. Left Samuel’s intense blue eyes shifting in the darkness of his room. They won’t tell him what happened. Two months in the hospital, most of that time on either oxygen or life support, and still no one will talk! Peters slams his bloodied knuckles once again through the pockmarked drywall in savage anger. He screams in a dangerous mix of pain, anger, resentment, frustration, and a degree of self-hate. Overwhelmed by the torrent of emotion, he staggers to the far corner of his room, tripping of the single wooden chair. He curls into a pathetic ball sobbing uncontrollably. “Remember!” he moans.

Two hours later, Samuel sits silently nudging the fragments of the last lamp with his foot. He hates lamps; lamps kill darkness. Darkness is his best friend. Peters loves the dark, oh yes, he loves it so very much. Or, at least, that is what his untrustworthy mind tells him.

Samuel Peters is no longer in his room; he is his subconscious self observing as he walks down a downtown San Francisco sidewalk. The street to his right is packed with traffic; rush hour from the looks of it. His feet carry him at a purposeful clip to a destination unknown to the subconscious Peters. The hallucination has an eerie familiarity to it, a distant menace gnawing at the back of his mind. He turns a corner, passes an alley, and . . .
“Aaauuugh! Help m . . !” the cry cut short.
He turns in alarm. In the alley stands a man beating down another with the handle of a handgun. The victim lets out one final groan of agony before falling to the concrete floor of the backstreet. Satisfied that his victim is finished, the killer turns and starts, noticing Samuel there for the first time. Peters stands on the sidewalk, petrified. Willing his body to move, but his brain is dead with disgusted fear. The killer raises his weapon and blasts off two shots. The bullets rip into Samuel’s body and out through his back blinding pain roars through every fiber of his being as everything goes into slow motion. He remembers now, he knows how this ends.
The murderer is standing in front of him, grabbing his shirt.
He doesn’t die here, no, he, unfortunately, doesn’t die here. He lives to suffer in torment, alone, in the dark.
The man with the gun jerks him to his feet. The agonizing pain proves to me to much for Peters’ stomach.
He throws up, spewing blood and half-digested food everywhere. The assailant jumps aside with a disgusted grimace. He snarls and slams the gun into Samuel’s face, sending his limp torn body sprawling into the busy street.
Samuel blacks out although he knows that the blue sable gives him the gift of an artificial hip.

Peters wakes up shrieking and tearing his hair. He jumps to his feet babbling gibberish, pacing, and wringing his hands. His thoughts are a mass of insanity and suicide.
With a final sinister giggle, he grabs the chair and sprints for the window. Holding the chair above his head he dives through in a mosaic of tinkling glass. He tumbles through the air ten stories above the ground. It rushes up to meet him much faster that he expected.
7 stories . . . 6 stories . . . 5 stories . . .
Samuel closes his eyes and grins. It’s going to be dark soon.
3 stories . . . 2 stories . . . 1 story
Crash!
He slams into the ground on top of the chair in a shower of splintering wood.

So passes our dear Samuel Peters. It is a sad story to tell, but evidence must be gathered. “For what?” you ask. Evidence is being gathered to convict his killer, the cruel and often unforgiving truth.





The End