23 April 2010, 1:13 pm
if you see any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! :D TY! 10 points is guarantied to someone Rita Buckley gingerly traced her hand over the thin fabric of her handbag, which was resting securely in her lap, feeling the hard texture of the small revolver though the flimsy martial. The blood pounding in the young woman’s ears seemed so loud that she somewhat wonder if the glossy-eyed bartender, who was cleaning a glass only a few feet way from her, could hear it as well. Rita’s eyes scanned her surroundings, looking from the Hotel’s entrance to the large, healthy looking ferns that decorated the area. Her sight traveled across the sofas, coffee tables, and cushioned armchairs placed strategically around the room. The decorated walls, polished hardwood floors, and even around the refined bar she was sitting in. But, her eyes always traveled back to the elevator doors, looking upon them with a mixture of dread and anticipation. It was after eleven o’clock and the lobby was disserted except for two individuals at the bar. Rita tensely lifted the Gin and Tonic she had purchased at the bar, to her lips and sipped it shakily. This had been her third drink this evening, and she wondered if the slight, dizzy feeling she felt was due to the alcohol, or if it was accompanying the dull pain in her chest. Rita placed her drink back onto the polished counter, ignoring the drops she had spilt on her plain light-blue blouse. She shifted her position on the cushioned stool, always remaining stiff and alert. The elevator doors gave a loud ring, and opined. Rita wiped her head in the direction of the elevators and impulsively clamped her hand down on her purse. Out of the elevator stepped a lanky teenage boy, who was hand in hand with a young, redheaded girl with pigtails. Rita exhaled sharply in relief, having been unconsciously holding her breath. Turning back to the counter she took another long sip from her drink, gaining a bothered look from the bartender, who was still cleaning the already-clean glass. The two minors were now walking in her direction, having to pass her by in order for them to exit the hotel. Rita watched the girl, whilst uneasily playing with one of her long black curls. They locked eyes for a moment. She followed the pair with her eyes as they walked though the automatic doors, and left the building. Rita continued to stare after them, even when they disappeared into the dark night. She thought to herself idly, Henry should be asleep by now; I hope he didn’t give the babysitter any trouble. Her thoughts wander to other topics as she continued to fool with her hair, now in an absentminded manner. She thought a bought her last anniversary in Thailand, about the funeral and how painful it had been. She pondered her son, Henry, and his resent outbursts of misbehavior, the financial troubles she now faced, and the night her heart had been ripped apart by the horrific truth that she had lost her beloved forever. Rita remembered that night, the night she, her husband, and her son had been walking home on one of the many streets of Concord, New Hampshire. She remembered how the silver gun glistened in the hand of the mugger, who flailed it threateningly, and the calm, negotiating voice of her husband. Rita tried to recall the exact order in which the occurrences took place, but she found that it was a chaotic blur, and that she didn’t quite know how they had gone from handing over their wallets and jewelry to the burglar, to her husband in her arms, bleeding out onto the sidewalk. Nevertheless, one thing Rita new she would never be able to forget was the face of the man who had so indifferently shot her husband, and how shocked and dismayed she had been when she saw that face a week later, entering this hotel. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell the authorities that she had found her husbands killer. Instead, she became obsessed with the thoughts of revenge. Revenge for her husband, and for her son, who would have to grow up without knowing what it is like to have a father. A Grandfather Clock in the corner of the lobby struck twelve and sent out a clang of noise, which in turn caused Rita to jump in surprise and snap out of her daze. She quickly looked away from the hotel’s entry to the elevator doors. Her body tensed up again and she held her hand over her purse firmly. Her heart sped up, and her mind raced with the plan that she had gone over in her head so many times. He usually goes out around twelve o’clock; he could be here any minute. She fiddled with the drink in front of her, spinning it around on its coaster as she continued to eye the elevator doors fretfully. Ten minutes passed, and Rita had not taken her eyes off of the elevators for a second. The bartender occasionally cast puzzled or wary looks her way. The elevator doors gave a familiar ring, for the second time that night, and Rita’s hear was in her throat. It seemed to take for... Read More »
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