A Grave Development

Comment below rating threshold, click here to show it.

Cyanide2x4

Junior Member

03-02-2012

Greetings. I'm a better at creative writing than i am at LoL, and thought fan fiction was worth a brief exploration. This is just a basic prologue, short and sweet, with the sole purpose of gathering an opinion; is it worth writing more? Any comments are welcome (be ruthless if you must, i can take it).

I figured i'd go with a story about Graves, as revenge is easily one of the most timeless plots in literature. So here it is, not much in the way of storyline, but like i said; any thoughts welcome. Does my style fit with fan fiction? YOU be the judge. <(cant... resist... cliches...)

Prologue

Even in the absence of thunder, the mere raindrops against the roof of the prison were deafening. Calling the place a building was generous, as it almost seemed the design of an infant. Boards in the walls were slanted, the bars of the cells were unevenly spaced, and the roof itself was dotted with small holes that invited the rain to plague the shack’s captive. He didn’t mind, though. After all, it wasn’t every day he got to enjoy some clean water for once. There wasn’t any light; the warden had long since gone home for the night. The deputy who was supposed to be there was nothing better than a drunk, left hours ago for ‘a quick drink’. Graves smirked, imagining the incompetent officer passed out in a puddle of mud near the tavern. His thoughts were cut short, however, as a bolt of lightning struck the prison. The whole building shook, enough so that the outlaw rose to ensure his footing. The deafening crack of sonic energy reverberated through his ears, completely muting the rain outside. Then, to his amazement, he could hear an all too familiar noise. It was that of a hinge, more specifically the hinge of the cell door. He turned his head, and couldn’t help but grin. He strolled ever so leisurely through the open door, grabbing his cloak and trusted shotgun on the way out. Continuing through the front door, he walked into the murky streets. For a moment he paused, retrieving two shells from his cloak and slipping them into the barrel of his firearm, and then continued on his way. The spiteful grin escalated into a malicious laugh, and he chuckled aloud as he promenaded down the road, shotgun propped against his shoulder with pride.
For once, it seemed fate was on his side.