Ok, I chose to write an action scene because I don't like writing them very much and they never turn out the way I like. This is from a sci-fi/ fantasy story that I'm occasionally working on.
Rachel had finished helping tuck the children in, and she felt the powerful need for something with alcohol in it. Some of the twenty-five year old sauvignon sounded appealing, but that was for a special occasion. She would have to settle on something less than five years old. Rachel quickly bid the others good-night and began walking to her own room.
Rachel had not gone very far when suddenly she heard one of the children scream, and then there was silence. She paused and stood there, waiting to see if it would occur again. Nothing happened, and she continued walking towards her room. At the end of the hallway, there was a muffled sound in another room. Rachel frowned and quietly opened the door. The room was dark, and the child was nowhere in sight. “Greg?” she asked. “Greg, are you there?” There was no answer from the usual chatterbox.
Rachel reached to turn on the light, but suddenly she felt a hand go over her mouth. “Silence,” ordered a man’s harsh voice as he pulled her down to the floor and held her there.
“Miss Rachel?” came Greg’s voice from somewhere in the room.
“What’s going on?” Rachel asked, but it was muffled.
“Hush,” the man ordered. Rachel continued to struggle, but the man slapped her, and she cried out. Greg, given his past home situation of abuse and retaliation, leapt up from where he had been and jumped on top of the man. Rachel’s hands were freed, and she reached up to turn on the light. Now that she could see, she prepared to attack him with whatever she could.
Before Rachel could do anything, she heard screams from up and down the hall. The man, to her surprise, merely pushed her over and then ran out. “Greg, stay here,” Rachel ordered. The boy was shaking, and there were tears in his eyes. “Greg, I will make sure no one hurts you again,” she said. “Do you trust me?” He slowly nodded, and Rachel kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back,” she promised.
Rachel ran out into the hall and saw that it was chaos. There were a few men garbed completely in black that had dragged the children out and were shouting at each other in a foreign language that Rachel did not recognize. Maggie, Ray, Alex, and Lynda had all appeared, and they were all looking puzzled as they tried to grab the children away. One of the men in black suddenly said something, and then the whole group vanished ran down the hall, followed by Ray and Lynda.
The frightened children were all crying, and the teachers quickly rushed to comfort them and give each other glances. Rachel was hugging one of the girls when she realized one of the children was missing: Fran. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly ran to where the girl’s room was. She saw Fran standing in the next hallway, which was shadowy, and the girl was silently looking at Rachel.
“Fran,” Rachel said. “Come here.”
“They’re still here,” Fran answered.
“Fran, come here.”
Rachel was about to speak when suddenly she saw a tiny pinpoint of bright red moving behind the girl. “Fran, get down!” she screamed. But it was too late. There was a loud crash as the window behind Fran broke, and something struck the girl in the head. She fell to the floor, instantly dead. Rachel cried out and ran to Fran, who was all bloody and staring up at her with empty eyes. The other teachers and the children peered around the corner and watched in silence, though a few burst out crying.
Rachel sat there for a long moment, and then she saw that Fran had been clutching something. She gently took it from the girl’s hand and looked at it. It was the picture she had drawn, of the werewolf and the vampire; now it was covered in blood.
“Why?” Rachel whispered. “Why you?”
A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people- Thomas Mann
My writing blog: [
aspiringpen.blogspot.com]
