Question by super red head!: is my story any good?
ok, look, im in sixth grade and i need to know if the story that i wrote is any good. please dont be mean. i want to be an author. this is not the full story the full version is a work in progress, its 29 pages right now but im not done. ok here it is.
His feet thudded fast down the musty, semidark corridor. The chilling stone floor had luxurious carpets, and the walls had so many extravagant tapestries hung on the also stone walls that you couldn’t see wall anymore. The stone was all pale gray, and frozen, due to the fact that it was january and they didn’t have insulation or heaters in the sixteenth century. He was sprinting at his top speed, and his feet were moving faster than ever they ever had before. But still not fast enough. The sound of the castle’s gaurds’ footsteps were growing ominously more audible by the second. The mysterious runner was not a generally agile person, quite clumsy, actually. He could never fit into the athlete category at his high school back home in the twenty first century. The runner was on the heavy side, with a short and stocky frame. But that didn’t matter right now, the runner had no choice but to sprint to his body’s maximum speed. Which I must say isn’t very quick. There were no options right then because at least seven enraged, muscular men with medieval weaponry and dark intentions in the form of an angry mob were pursuing him in a sixteenth century castle. But the thing is, most people were faster than the runner. So, as you could probably guess, these athletically trained men were most definitely faster than him.
But –why?- you might ask, were they so furious with him? Well, its because of the book. That critical book. That book is the cause of this whole mess. But he needed the book anyway, no matter how much he despised it. The book had made him murder a man that he didn’t know, who did nothing to him, who had a wife, children, a life. The runner was a person who despised war and killing. But; like I explained, all of the runners options for everything were canceled out. Right now, there were things that had to be done, and if they weren’t done, and when they needed to be, then it would be certain death for the runner. The runner managed to squeeze a tiny bit more speed out of each stride, for the runner had gotten caught up in his thoughts, so he hadn’t paid attention to the now very much louder footsteps some length behind him. His lungs were on fire, his throat cracked and parched. His steps getting sluggish more and more with every step he took. His eyelids drooped. But the good news was that his legs were so past the pain, they were absolutely numb now, deftly moving to the slowing rhythm of his pace. His attention was averted when he felt a pair of eyes on him. He jerked to a stop.
As he warily surveyed the old fortress’ dimly lit corridor and caught his breath at the same time, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a man, who looked around thirty, but had bad skin and more wrinkles than he should. In his hand was a sword, glimmering in the dim lighting. It was perched at a perilous angle; with a flick of the man’s wrist, he could’ve killed the runner. And that was what the runner’s mind was ever too focused on. He was so concentrated on not being killed by the man that he didn’t hear the almost silent footsteps behind him, he didn’t hear the shallow breaths, and he didn’t hear the arrow slice the air. And by the time he did; it was in the runners back. The crucial book was taken from his grasp, as was his life. The books contents still unknown to the runner. Mission incomplete.
Answer by NicoleH
pretty good! i liked it! keep writing!
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