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What did you think of the short story?

Poll closed Dec 21, 2015.
  1. It was very bad.

  2. It was bad.

    0 vote(s)
  3. It was alright.

    0 vote(s)
  4. It was good

    0 vote(s)
  5. It was excellent.

    0 vote(s)
  6. It was magnificent.

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Multiple votes are allowed.
  1. BarristerOfTheFuture

    BarristerOfTheFuture New Member

    Mar 26, 2013
    Likes Received:

    My Short Story- What level would you give it?

    Discussion in 'General Writing' started by BarristerOfTheFuture, Mar 26, 2013.

    Hi guys I am new on this forum and hope to learn a lot in this new Universe! It's based on the killing of victim, of the Yorkshire Ripper.
    Hope you guys like it!

    The Next Victim

    Based on A True Story

    Synopsis: He is still on the loose and this time he's in Bradford, on a hunt for another prostitute. Will he rip somebody apart yet again, by the will of 'god'? Will he get his way with another prostitute? Based on a true event.

    9:15pm: ''Ok Yvonne no problem, their in good hands'' Silvia said politely. ''What time will you be here to collect them?''
    ''Eh...Umm...Not sure. I'm just going out to the pub to see a friend.'' replied Yvonne.
    ''So what time will you be back exactly to collect your children?''
    ''Around 11.30?''
    ''That's fine with me Yvonne. I have some cookies and milk for them and then i'll send them to bed.''
    ''Well, I hope they won't cause too much trouble!''
    ''No, of course they won't, their a delight.''
    ''Well I must get going Silvia, work to do. Busy busy busy!'' Joked Yvonne.
    ''Ok babe have a great time.'' said Silvia whose voice was getting weaker by the second. She had an enchanting smile on her face, highlighted with a maroon coloured lipstick.
    It was a cold and gloomy night in the heart of West Yorkshire. The social scene was buzzing in Bradford and people were visiting cafe's and pubs to watch the highlights of Saturday's Premier League game; Leeds United vs Coventry City.

    The cafe's and pubs in Bradford were old-fashioned and they were crumbling under the power of old age. There was a lot of hatred and enmity in the pubs of Bradford-people were always arguing while they weren't in their senses. Drunkards, completely lost in a world of sin and wickedness. Unfortunately, there was no control in any of the pubs. Bradford was too social and it was a town bursting with culture. There was also plenty of agriculture just like Leeds, it's neighbour town in West Yorkshire.

    9:30pm:Yvonne reached the Flying Dutchman a pub that was situated on Leeds Road, and people were watching highlights of Leeds United vs Coventry, on a plasma tv which was partly covered in cobwebs and dust. ''Come on, you b*****d. How could you have missed that?'' shouted a heavily drunk man, who was about to fall of his chair. He was clumsy and looked to be in his fifties. The pub was trashed with beer bottles and there were many prostitutes walking around the pub trying to tip off men with their supposedly beautiful figures. There was not a single sober person in sight. Yvonne was a prostitute herself. She was a regular visitor of The Flying Dutchman, but was annoyed by the sound of game machines, spinning bottles, and rolling corks. ''Oh, Angela am I glad to see you? How are you'' Yvonne asked. She felt relieved to find Angela who had just finished smoking a cigarette. Angela was a friend good friend of Yvonne, loyal in any means. Unlike, Yvonne she wasn't a prostitute and was much taller and had a slimmer frame than Yvonne, who could be considered tubby. Her eyes were as hazel as firewood and her hair was round and short, similar to Yvonne's. They exchanged glances and hugged each other, signalling a warm welcome, in the chill of the weather.

    The door was open and there was no central heating in the pub. The mighty whisper in the wind could be heard. ''Yeah, Angie I just came here to tell that I am going to go make some money'', Yvonne nervously said.
    ''Why at this time Yvonne? It's pretty dark out there.''
    ''Yeah, I heard from my mates that you can make a few quid at this time of the night. ''
    ''Well, if you say so but do be careful.''
    ''Oh for God's sake! Angie don't worry, i'm a professional. I've been with over 30 men. I know what i'm doing.'' They both had an inferior cockney accent which was non-rhotic.
    ''Nah Nah, Yvonne you see ya got me completely wrong 'ere...I heard a killer's on the loose. I didn't want to scare you.''
    ''Don't worry Angie, I keep telling you, i'll be fine. I'll earn enough money with 30 minutes.''
    Angela was timid and afraid. She was worried for Yvonne's safety. She had always been 'over-protective, but simply she was just agitated for her dear Yvonne.

    10:00pm: People were still in the pub, playing darts. Yvonne left the pub through the back door as the front door was crowded. She took a steady glance at her shiny bronze AMC Pacer (which she was given by a friend). Yvonne looked just as worried as Angela, as she needed money. Who would feed her kids? Her family lived in poverty, she was a divorcee and no-one would employ her for any job. Yvonne quickly got into her car, slammed the door in a moment of frustration and drove off/

    10:15pm: Yvonne was still driving on the lookout for any men who she could tip-off. She was suffering by the second and gripped the filthy steering wheel of her car, even tighter. There were no policemen in sight, just drunkards walking like zombies. Yvonne began to get scared and now she was worried that there wouldn't be any sober men in any near street. She could percieve the sound of a football match on tv and the sound of laughter-evil laughter. SCREECH!
    Yvonne was nearly sent her to her death. Another car had narrowly missed hitting the rear front of her car. Destiny didn't accept her death yet. Yvonne wasn't annoyed or aggravated in any sort of way; she saw this as an oppurtunity to make some money. The driver of the other car was a lanky, curly-haired man with a black goatee. He looked to be in his 30's and had a devillish grin. His eyes were jet black and his eyebrows were as thin and sharp as the lead of a pencil.

    He braked and was soon surprised to see that Yvonne, a blonde-haired prostitute who was dressed in black sweater and pants, was knocking on his tinted black window. ''Well, where have you sprung from?'' he asked.
    ''Just good timing. You can put it down to fate.''
    ''Well why not?''
    ''30 minutes for £5. Do we have a deal, baby?''
    ''Yeah, come with me.''
    This was good enough for Yvonne. She had made enough money for a day's living, or perhaps two and followed the lanky, curly-haired man who was wearing a buttoned white full-sleeve shirt and curduroy trousers, in her car which strangely enough had a noticeable amount of red staining on the sides. Both of them were seemingly excited. Before she knew it, Yvonne was being led to a piece of waste ground which was peculiar. Yvonne sluggishly got out of her car. Clonk! To the head...Yvonne was knocked out. Clonk! Clonk! Clonk! Clonk! Yvonne was knocked out and lay in cold blood. Destiny had decided for her death, at Drummonds Mill which you could very well call 'No-Mans Land'. A heavy wailing hammer was drooling blood as it looked on to the curly-haired apex predator who just stood there, praising his hammer through his obnoxious mind.

    10:50pm: Immediately, another car arrived at Drummond Hill and pulled up right next to the man's car. Quickly, the lanky, curly-haired apex predator pulled Yvonne's bloodstained body beside an old brown leather sofa. He had to stop her from making any sort of noise to his threat; he grabbed handfuls of horsehair from the sofa and began stuffing it into her mouth and down her throut playing with her already forgotten soul.Maliciously, at the same time he held her nose. After a while, he let go of her nose to see if she was still making a noise, and as attempted, he seized it and held it again. He was satisified, and so was his hammer who had just had it's best meal ever. Who was this man? He saw that the car that had pulled up next to his car, hadn't left yet. He was getting crazier by the second. He wanted more. He was a beast who had lost his fangs. The crazed man looked down at Yvonne's bare breasts and licked the tip of his knife which was as clean as a whistle. He gave a smile that resembled the one of the Grinch who stole Christmas...Except he was a man who stole woman's lives. He was crazed mentally and physically. He was none other than the Yorkshire Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe.
  2. chicagoliz

    chicagoliz Contributing Member Contributor

    May 30, 2012
    Likes Received:
    Sorry, Barrister, but you'd need to post this in the Writing Workshop, which you can't do until after you've critiqued some other pieces of writing and posted here. In the meantime, why don't you head over to New Member Introductions and introduce yourself?
  3. mammamaia

    mammamaia nit-picker-in-chief Contributor

    Nov 21, 2006
    Likes Received:
    Coquille, Oregon
    ditto that!

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