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Post  JonnyKid on Sun Jun 28, 2009 5:52 am

As daylight broke I slotted the key into the lock and as always jimmied it for a good ten seconds until I heard the rusty old tumblers engage. I don’t know why Karl, the shop’s owner, didn’t get a new lock, hey; why not get a new damn door while he’s at it! I stepped into the small rectangular room that was ‘Karl’s Kool guitar Faktory’, ‘for all your shredding needs,’ or at least it was until Karl started drinking, now it was more of a “Karl’s Krappy guitar Faktory”. The smell of alchohol hung in the air, vodka and scotch were Karl’s drink of choice, although I didn’t really think he had much of a choice in the matter, it was almost as if the booze drank him the way he gulped it down his neck. I glanced around the room, there was paperwork covering every available surface, even the larger amplifiers! Of course this was only part of the shop, the part where we kept the records and the stock that we had specially ordered in for certain customers. I went into the display room to check on the guitars, all was well so I sat down and switched on my mp3, no customers ever came in before five o’clock in the morning. I hated having to get up so early, but I knew I’d have to when I took the job. I flicked aimlessly through my playlists, searching absently for something that suited my mood. In the end I settled for Social Distortion’s ‘Story of my Life,’ it’s pretty old, I know, but I had a headache still from last night’s no holds barred partying with my mates, so I probably couldn’t handle anything too heavy. I put my feet up on the counter, took a sip of my coffee and shut my eyes.
I'm Felix, I'm 16 years old and as I'm sure you have already gathered I work in a guitar shop. Personally I didn’t want to get a job, but the price tag on that beautiful Gibson Les Paul custom just wouldn’t take no for an answer. That shining pinnacle of what the electric guitar represented was my muse for the seven months that I had worked at Karl’s. The Les Paul, complete with twin humbuckers had a beautiful plain white finish, gold bridges and the scratchboard had been removed to give it a really classy unique feel. How I longed to hold that guitar, how I yearned to practice my riffs on that finely tuned masterpiece of an instrument. You’re all probably sure I'm some kind of a nut by now, but that guitar ruled my thoughts with an iron fist.
Whilst I was busy listening to my mp3 and dreaming about what was surely to be mine, I didn’t notice any events unfolding beyond my firmly shut eyelids. I had drifted into that half-conscious, half-dream state of being, and barely noticed the shadows moving around the room. But I did notice them, of course with my excellent IQ, it took me less than three minutes to realise I had some company, and unfortunately, it wasn’t the type I’d pick. Perfectly rationally, I assumed that they were customers and opened my eyes. In the room, from left to right I saw, a wall of Line 6 amplifiers, a big scary masked guy with a gun, a display case of wah pedals, our beautiful range of Ibanez superstrats, some old vintage Fender Telecasters, a second big scary masked guy with a gun, a display case full of distortion pedals, a third big scary masked guy who, for a pleasant change, had what looked like a machete, a desk sized display case with some signature guitar straps and effect pedals, and; oh joy the barrel of a gun.
I froze, until now I had no idea what the expression where ‘blood turned cold’ meant. I stared up the long dark barrel of a rifle praying to whichever God popped into my head, first Buddha, then Allah, that guy with the trunk and eight arms and finally Osiris, Egyptian God of death (I’m an Egyptology nerd, sue me). I slowly watched as the gun dipped slightly so the end of the barrel was out of my line of sight, I suddenly felt the icy cool metal of the gun on the delicate flesh above my throat. It’s odd the things that flicker through your mind when you think you’re about to take a dirt nap, forget all that life flashing before your eyes nonsense, that’s a load of rubbish. The stuff you do think of consists of the more random and pointless, for instance; I thought, “Wow I really should have shaved this week; I wasn’t expecting anyone to be examining my bared neck at gunpoint anytime soon”.
The masked assailant spoke to his comrades, who I now noticed were looting the equipment and some of the more expensive guitars, in a burly, ragged voice “Lads, the kid’s awake”. I watched as the man with the machete briskly walked to face me, he gently pushed the first criminal aside and bent over me, knocking my legs from the desk. He held the razor sharp blade to my throat and applied pressure creating a small incision, nothing serious but he made sure I could feel it. I had broken out in a cold sweat as I felt a warm drop of blood trickle down my neck and probably staining my worn green t-shirt. His lips parted in a particularly evil looking grin, he then said evenly in a soft Scottish accent “How do you feel right now?”, I hesitated, almost saying something quick and witty, then realising that this was nor the time or place for wit. So what do I say? Nothing charms like the truth I guess. I tried to hold myself together as I licked my dry lips, but I felt like a smashed china vase glued back together with milk “I'm scared” I said, my voice cracking.
“We’re all scared, it’s the human condition”, he whispered calmly to me. Then, out of seemingly no-where, the butt of a pistol made contact with the back of my neck, blackness.

When I woke up I was on the shop floor with two worried pair of eyes looking down on me, my vision was blurred and cloudy so I couldn’t see who it was. Fear struck me at the thought that it was my attackers; one whiff of blurry figure’s breath told me it was Karl. My thoughts were further confirmed when I heard his gravelly voice say “You ok kid?” The fuzzed face was that of a woman’s, as my vision came into focus I recognised her as a paramedic in a green jacket, striped with grey reflective bands. “Some minor head trauma, should be no more than a concussion” she said matter-o-factly.
“Good, Good”, he bent down closer to my dazed, confused face “I'm gonna go talk to the cops for a few minutes, you sit tight kid” his nerves bringing his Russian accent to the fore, he stood up and wandered off. I tried to speak but my throat felt like someone had shoved a blender down it, so I made a feeble attempt at lifting my head. My head was gently pushed back down to the coffee stained floor by the paramedic, in a soft, caring manner she said “Take it easy kid, it’s all gonna be ok”.
“I would feel a whole lot better if someone told me what was going on” I replied with more coldness in my words than I intended. Now a new face came into view, it wore a blue hat and a harsh look played on it’s lips.
“Listen kid”, I wish everyone would stop calling me ‘kid’ “I’ve been chasing these bastards half way across the country, until now they’ve killed any witnesses. They travel around England and Scotland going into shops and taking anything of value”. I stood up on legs that felt like they were missing their bones with the help of the officer. I peered around the once cramped shop; it now seemed a lot more spacious. “Kid-”
“stop calling me ‘kid’ and tell me what’s going on!” the words that had been bubbling in my core flooded out of my mouth, despite my attempts to place dams behind my tongue, cutting off the officer before he could utter a second word.
“I’m telling you what’s going on kid, now calm down. Your shop was just robbed by a gang of violent, wanted thieves who won’t stop until we catch them. But if we do catch them, we need you to testify in court against them, can we count on you to do that kid?”
I opened my mouth, ignoring the obvious use of the word ‘kid’ “Yeah, I'll testify for you officer...”
“Barbrady, officer Barbrady. Now a few of my colleagues might stop by your house later to ask you a few questions, where do you live?”
“Ford road, number 521” I replied reciting from memory.
“Ok kid, we’ll be seeing you” the officer said before starting to walk off.
“My name’s Felix” I called after him, although I don’t think he heard. There was a loud crash to my left, I turned to find two startled cops, staring mouths open, at a huge, felled, Laney amplifier. What looked to be a senior ranking officer, started shouting at them things like “What the hell are you numskulls doing?! I said don’t touch anything until the CSIs arrive!” to the chorus of Karl raving in the background about how it wasn’t enough to be robbed, he had to have what remained of his shop trashed by clumsy pigs.
I took the bus home because my head still throbbed and I was scared that if I walked too far, I would collapse. Thankfully, the stop where I got off was a mere stone’s throw from my block of flats. I slotted my key neatly into the lock and stepped into the dark hallway, I lived here with my brother, but he was never home. He was in India at the minute, learning some ancient methods of the monks of Lakshadweep islands or something. It was always something, I thought to myself as I trailed into my room, whether it was backpacking in Budapest, or climbing in the Himalayas my big brother Tom was doing it. I slumped down into my soft, soggy, green sofa next to my turtle pen, I reached inside and brought out Jerry, Margret was probably having one of her naps in the turtle cave. I tickled Jerry under the chin; he loved being tickled under the chin. He slowly crawled up my arm and onto my shoulder. Turtles were my favourite animal since before I could remember. They were so cool how they always had two sides to them; hard on the outside soft on the inside, slow on land fast and elegant in water. I lay back on my sofa and massaged my temples, today had been a long day, and I had a feeling it was the first of many more long days to come.

part of a story i did 4 english GCSE, tell me what u think, i got 91% for it.

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Post  Mike on Wed Jul 01, 2009 12:50 pm

It's a very good story, the only thing you need to work on is correct punctuation, and when to start a new paragraph. First of all, whenever a new person is speaking, you indent, here is an example

red - bob
blue - jim
Hey, Bob, how is it going?
(indent here) Mighty fine, Jim, thanks.

Which turns out to be
"Hey, Bob, how is it going?" Said Jim
"Mighty fine, Jim, thanks." replied Bob

I couldn't explain that very well. If you want me to go through and proofread and correct your mistakes, just say the word and I will go and correct your mistakes with red

Also, you should try to describe your characters better, like saying the turtle was a "light green with spots of brown on its head"

Courtesy? (if the courtesy rule applies here

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