Sentence starter #4: 300 words: DECLAN character

[Doctor Setebos]

You know the drill. Or, actually, maybe you don't. Sentence starters (http://www.colonyofgamers.com/cogforums/tags.php?tag=sentence+starter) are a fairly simple concept. I'll post a sentence. You write everything that follows that sentence. That's it. It's just flash fiction. Make it interesting. Make it compelling. Make it yours.

The word count for this starter is 300 words. Remember: the word count isn't meant to be a hard and fast goal, merely a suggestion. But for those that wish to use sentence starters as true exercises in forced writing, it will be welcome practice in attempting to stick to set goals.

And this time, something new for your starter. It happened twice in the last starter completely by accident. This time, it's the rule. Your contribution has to feature a character named Declan. It can be any genre, any time period, any location. Just make sure someone has the name Declan.

So, without further ado, here's your sentence starter:

It wasn't fair.

[crazyD]

A repeat challenge already?

[Doctor Setebos]

A repeat challenge already?Some people didn't get a chance to participate in the Declan theme in the last one. I figured I'd give those people an opportunity. :)

[shunoshi]

Hehe, this is about as close as you can get to a FFA without being a FFA. ;) I've jotted the info down and will have something for Monday!

[National Kato]

So I can just repost my original Declan piece? ;)

[Young Al Capone]

It wasn’t fair.

Smith had spent the last 22 years lamenting his fate, and planning his revenge on Declan. Harvey Declan, that son of a bitch, left Smith in the Sonairian desert at the end of the Cearon civil wars.

If it wasn’t for Operation Stingback the world might have seen its end, and Harvey Declan would certainly not be considered an international hero. The only survivor out of the ten troops who delivered the small bottom tactical EMP, Declan was considered solely responsible for preventing North Cearon from using their planet busters in an attempt to wipe their Southern counterpart from the map.

Smith wasn’t one of those suit troops; he was the pilot of their N22 Sang Class Helicopter. Declan was alone when Smith came for the pickup, he said the others had been killed protecting him while he set the small bottom device in the bunker’s hub system.

It never made sense though, these were not normal soldiers, these were suit troops. They should have been able to handle anyone in that bunker with ease.

What Declan had to gain from killing all of them Smith had no idea, but he planned to figure it out before the end. Whatever it was, Declan was in deep. Smith was positive this Facility showed up on no maps, and there were no records of his imprisonment.

Every day for the last 8035 days Smith had been kept in a cell in some bunker underneath the Northern Cearon capitol, millions of people going about their daily lives 2 miles above him. Everyday he spent alone, except the hand sliding his food underneath his door and the feeds of Propaganda coming from the television, all of it concerning Declan and his heroic acts. That was no coincidence, Smith was sure.

Today was different though, today the meaning of Smith’s life would be abruptly stolen from him. Today the first bit of propaganda was different; it was new.

Harvey Declan had been murdered, in what was apparently a botched robbery in his home. Smith didn’t believe it; someone else got to Declan first.

It wasn’t fair.

354 words, by far my most out of line with the recommendation yet, sorry about that. I plan on writing all of next weeks under the word limit, regardless of what I have to cut. I will be my own worst enemy; an editor.

[National Kato]

Like, shunoshi, I'll have to get to this on Monday!

[Kielaran]

It wasn’t fair. I already knew I was in trouble before Mrs. Peters began handing back the tests. At the top, right beside my name was a large F in red. It had a sticky note on it:
“James,
Please stay after class. We need to talk.
Mrs. P.”

It wasn’t fair, my mantra, kept going through my head. It wasn’t fair that I had to care about algebra. I don’t understand it, so I don’t care. Nobody understands me and they don’t care, so why should I have to care about something I don’t understand.

After class I packed my things up at the normal pace and planned to walk out. I had almost reached the doorway when Mrs. Peters spoke, “James, wait a minute.” It was polite, but I know she doesn’t like me. I bet she enjoyed doing that with the class around. It wasn’t fair.

She waited until we were alone. I know she did it so that she could be meaner and still look like “the nice teacher” to everyone else. She looked at me, not caring about how I was doing, but only doing this because she had to.

“James, your studies are in trouble.” I just looked at her.

“James, if you don’t start doing better, I will be seeing you in class over the summer.” I know she meant if I don’t do better, she will be stuck with me this summer.

“Get your test signed by your mother, she will be waiting for it.” Sigh.

I walked home. It wasn’t fair, but I don’t like the bus. I stopped and checked the mail. Nothing for me.

Mom opened the door, of course she is mad at me, “Declan James Monroe, get your ass inside now!”

I hate it when she uses my full name.

[shunoshi]

It wasn't fair. 'It should have been me,' he thought sullenly.

Declan slumped to the floor, oblivious to the small pool of blood being wicked by his jeans. He stared in disbelief at the young woman's corpse lying beside him. Half of her light blue blouse had turned a sickly violet, absorbing a large portion of the blood draining from her lifeless body. A fist-sized piece of her neck was missing, seemingly torn out.

Only one thought had repeated in Declan's mind while running through the halls, hide. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep his pace for long while carrying his girlfriend’s body. The custodial closet seemed as good a place as any to hide out in at the time. Now Declan wasn't so certain of that.

He shook his head trying to rid himself of the melancholy. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small revolver, and caught movement from the corner of his eye. “B-Beth?” Declan stuttered, barely able to get a breath out as he watched his girlfriend sit upright, a grotesque bubbling noise escaping from the gaping hole in her neck. Declan backpedaled, his shoes sliding uselessly on the blood-covered floor. Beth clawed her way forward, her attempted groans issuing small streams of blood from her throat.

Declan raised the pistol and leveled the sights on Beth’s head, “Beth, wh-what’re you doing?!” She grabbed his foot and clamped her teeth down on his ankle, tearing pant and flesh from his leg. He screamed and fired a round into Beth’s head, sending brain matter onto the wall and her back to the grave.

He could hear moans from outside becoming louder with each passing second. Declan opened the cylinder to his gun and a tear fell from his face landing on the remaining live cartridge.

Woot, 300 words.

[Spectre-7]

That's really strange... I just decided to name a character Declan last week. Weird.

[National Kato]

That's really strange... I just decided to name a character Declan last week. Weird.

NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO BE online PUBLISHED!!!11!111

[crazyD]

This wasn't so odd for me, because I name characters Declan in just about everything I write. It is a badass name.

[Spectre-7]

NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO BE online PUBLISHED!!!11!111

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

[johnperkins21]

How do you pronounce Declan? Is it like Decklin? Dee Clan? Deeklin?

[crazyD]

How do you pronounce Declan? Is it like Decklin? Dee Clan? Deeklin?

Deck-Lan .

[Spectre-7]

How do you pronounce Declan? Is it like Decklin? Dee Clan? Deeklin?

Decklin seems to be the closest to what I've seen.
IPA: dɛklən

[johnperkins21]

Sounds like fun. Here's my 300 word entry.

“It wasn’t fair.”

“What wasn’t fair?” I lifted my head to look at him. Bathed in a dirty sweat, his hair draped over his tortured face. A fractured scar bore deep in his bulbous cheek; no doubt a physical representation of a destroyed psyche.

Noticing my stare, he turned his back to me, “shut up. That story ain’t for you. I got a differn’t story for you. One that is fair.” His legs flapped his leather apron as he walked towards a table in the center of the room.

“No, please!” I wrestled against the ropes as I screamed. The one around my neck clenched, cutting my plea short. “I didn’t do anything to you. What wasn’t fair? I didn’t do anything. Please, just let me go.” The chair, strapped tightly to the floor, wouldn’t budge, despite my urging.

An assortment of knives and saws lay haphazardly upon the table in various stages of rust. His gloved hand moved slowly over the collection as if he were caressing a lover’s leg.

“Please,” a gasped whisper. “Please don’t do this.” The words sounded wet through my cries.

“Naw. Please won’t do no good in here Declan.” He turned and flashed a gnarled smile. “Only thing gun get you out of this mess are those bags over there.” A twelve inch serrated knife pointed towards the corner of the windowless room. “Them’s your please and thank yous. Those bags are fair. Fair ‘nuff I s’pose.”

He lumbered towards me, not ignoring my whispered screams, but reveling in them. His smile grew larger, exposing a mouth of rotted teeth as he raised the blade to my throat. The stench of his breath wafted through the air as he leaned in close to my face, “this. This is fair,” and he slit my throat.

[AboveAvgCharles]

You guys are all so cheery.

Please, think of the Declans.

[astranoir]

You guys are all so cheery.

Please, think of the Declans.

It seems difficult to move in a cheery direction when the sentence starter is "It wasn't fair." :p

[Mr. Murphy]

Continued from http://www.colonyofgamers.com/cogforums/showthread.php?t=807&page=2

It wasn't fair. It wasn't pretty. Ambushes rarely are.

Standing over the two hoods, .45 still smoking, 'Big' Declan Block thought three things in rapid succession. He needed to get ahold of Conner now, while the traitorous rat would still be waiting for word from the men he had hired. He needed the bottle he kept in the desk drawer, and that bottle had undoubtedly been shattered. And he needed more bullets. Problems two and three could be solved in the same place - Sketchy Justin's pawn shop over on the corner.

The coat on the rack wasn't too shot up, so he threw it on to cover his gun, strapped high to his side in a concealed holster, and he headed out to the street through the convenient new exit his visitors had created. Across the small avenue and through the plate window a diner waitress wiped a glass, carefully avoiding the eyes of anyone who might mistake her for a witness. Down the street the rising sound of sirens could be heard responding to the racket of automatic weapons. He'd let the cops worry about it tonight, and check in at the station in the morning. Big D was a laid back man. A little drink, some words with Conner, and a quick rest, and then he'd sort out the mess with the boys in blue.

He reached Sketchy's pawn shop and the door opened with a jingle.

[Khrymsyn]

It wasn’t fair.

The thought kept running through his brain, over and over again.

It wasn’t fair.

Keeping his head lowered, the Irishman took another deep swig of ale.

It wasn’t RIGHT!

Well DO something about it ya sod, he thought to himself. I will, he responded.

Declan Ó Maille braced himself on the oaken table in front of him, and pushed off. His vision blurred, temper sharpened, Declan threw down some coins with a racket, hastily making his way out of the pub.
He turned his attention to the south end of town, towards the last place he saw one Henry Williams.

Declan attempted to put his thoughts to voice, “Damn Englishmen need to leave well enough alone.” Unfortunately, all bystanders heard was the mumbled curses of a drunken bum… a large and armed drunken bum walking by.

“Oy, you. What’s your business ‘ere?” demanded the man in the red-trimmed armor standing to the left of the gate.

“None o’ yours. I’ve got business with Henry.” Declan responded.

“’enry’s not ‘avin guests. Shove off mate.”

“I’m no guest, I have business” growled Declan, as he stepped his left leg backwards, giving him easier access to the leather wrapped handle of his weapon.

With that move, the two gate guards brought their Halberds to bare. Nothing seems to sober Declan Ó Maille quite like the promise of battle. His muscles tightened and he grinned as he grabbed his bastard sword. He slid to his left to deal with only 1 guard at a time. The Guard that was speaking to him saw this tactic and brought his halberd over to the Irishman’s left to block that strategic point.

Dumb move thought Declan. He kicked out, reversed direction and forced a pained scream from the now bloodied guard.

“STOP RIGHT NOW!!!”