I have this book I've been working on for a while. This is an extremely small part of the book, but I'd love to see how people think of it. Don't worry about understanding the story, just tell me what you think of the actual writing. Please respond, and if it's good or bad, I'd love to know. :) Just keep in mind the only kind of English/writing/reading classes I ever took was in high school. So this is probably going to look terrible... well, here it is!
Running through a flight of stairs to report to the master, the sergeant's dark blue uniform waves violently from the wild air rushing through the broken windows. He finally reaches the roof when he bursts out, startling the beautiful but muscular brunet female guarding the door.
“Sir, we've received news that we have defeated Poseidon!”
Yorkshirre, the man the sergeant ran to with much haste, smells the damp, acidic wind flowing in the southern direction with pleasure.
“Excellent Terry. I will lead our last and final attack. Prepare our men for the final battle to mark all of man kind!”
Terry exams his leader with distaste. From Yorkshirre's black combat boots and blood red jeans with a skull belt to his ridiculously ugly yellow shirt to his long, blue, wavy hair and an even brighter blue goatee that's beaded with orange beads. The only thing frightening to Yorkshirre is his all white eyes. No pupils, no iris, just all white.
“But sir, our men are too warn out. We haven't slept in over four days.”
Yorkshirre still staring out in the open, replies, “Do NOT question me, sergeant. You question me again and I will kill you.”
Terry's face turns pale, then quickly to red. Anger flushes to his head. He's tired of this so called “Master” ordering him around. He has fought along side with his men. Witnessed horrible deaths of innocent lives while Yorkshirre sits in his mansion playing chest. He finally makes his stand.
“You have done nothing to help our cause. We're losing over half of the human race just because YOU said that the Gods wanted to kill us. I'm not going to allo- akhh,” the sergeant can't finish his sentence. He's frozen in his place.
“I'm deeply saddened that I had to hear this sergeant. You were my favorite pawn to toy with. I warned you not to question me and now I have to kill you. I always keep my word. After all, I don't lie.”
Yorkshirre takes a quick glance around the roof of the tower he stands on. Very limited room for a twenty-three story tower. The Grey cement roof is fading into a rusty brown color covered in ash from battles of the night before. All other buildings have been destroyed. There were thousands of dead soldiers on the ground, rotting away.
“How do you feel about fire, Terry?” Yorkshirre asks this as if he really cared. The sergeant's face turns pale with fear.
Yorkshirre looks at the female soldier guarding the only door on the roof. The moment her fragile hazel eyes notices him staring at her, she stiffens up. A bead of sweat rolls down her beautiful but obviously terrified face.
Cute, she's a nervous wreck. As she should be. Yorkshirre thinks to himself.
Yorkshirre then waves his hand and the sergeant's body is covered from head to toe in fire. The sergeant can't move. He can't even scream in pain.
Yorkshirre knows this. He knows how bad it hurts and how badly the man wants to scream in pain. He relishes it all. Right before the burning of the flesh becomes fatal, Yorkshirre waves his hand to remove the fire and unfreezes the sergeant.
The moment the sergeant collapses on the ground, he begins to scream.
Yorkshirre grins and looks at the female guard. He points at her and demands, “You! What's your name girl?”
She nearly faints in fear but manages to reply, “N-n-name's Julie Kimble s-sir!”
Yorkshirre laughs. His evil, low pitched laugh.
“It's Sergeant Kimble now. And your first task, as sergeant, is to dispose of this disgrace.”
He points at the burnt fleshed ex sergeant still screaming in pain.
“Oh will you shut up!”
Yorkshirre points his finger to the mans throat, and even though he was still screaming, no sound came out.
“Ahh. That's much better. Now, be a dear and chuck this sorry excuse of a human being off this building.”
Sergeant Kimble replies, “Y-yes sir. Right away.”
She walks over and picks his burnt body up. She carries him over to the edge of the roof. With hesitation, she drops him. She can see the panic look on the poor mans face as he drops to his death. After the twenty-three story fall, he finally hit the ground with a bone crushing thug. She turns away, trying her best to contain the vomit from rising in her throat.
“Good. You'll make an excellent replacement. Now come. We have Gods to kill.”
Kimble wonders how on Earth is she suppose to live life now. Yorkshirre wonders what new wonderful ways could he kill Kimble when she finally messes up.