Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Home Invasion - [1] - Home Invasion

I was thinking about school one day, when a thought came to mind. What happens when you mix action with school? That is how I came up with the new idea for my new series, Home Invasion. It is about kids who have to fight off bad guys with whiteboard markers, superglue, scissors, and other school supplies.

So, here it is!
                                                                    CHAPTER 1
                                                                  Home Invasion
I woke to the sound of shouting.


Ms. Smith was the strictest teacher in the school. It was just my luck that I ended up in her class. So of course, instead of "Go to the corner!", Or "Miss your recess!", it was a


SMAK! SMAK! SMAK! She wouldn't let me go until my bottom was a bloody hunk of meat.

My bottom was too sore, so I squatted. My best friend, Alex, passed me a note. It read:


To my dismay, this was true. Pains raced through every vein in my body as I sat down onto the chair. I just hoped it wouldn't be too bad by the end of the day. And of course, when I got home, it would be my fault that I had stained my white school jeans red. And then not only would my butt be sore, so would my back.

"Turn to page 23 of your algebra textbook!" shouted Ms. Smith.

I sighed angrily and flipped my textbook to page 23. And that's when the door was kicked down. 

A man with a purple mask and a  black suit burst into the room. He said in a harsh, sharp voice
"We are taking over this school. Hand over your valuables and you will be treated leniently."

Ms. Smith got to her feet.  "And what if we refuse?" she said in a voice that bubbled with fury.

All of a sudden, he had a gun in his hand, pointed straight at Ms Smith's face. She went pale and passed out. Even though he had a mask on, I could see him smile. Slowly, the students handed over their watches and bracelets and playing cards and earrings. The man gathered all the valuables and left the room. 

At first, everyone was too terrified to talk. Then, at last, Alex spoke up. "What are we going to do?"
And the classroom buzzed into conversation. I walked over to Alex. I saw my reflection in his spectacles. I looked pale and terrified. Alex looked like one of his elderly relatives had just had a heart attack. He buried his face in his hands.

"What are we going to do?" he said again.

"I don't know." My voice was almost in a whisper.

I took my metal ruler. I stuffed it into my belt. 

"What are you doing?"   Alex questioned.

"We could fight our way out of here!" I whispered back excitedly.

I've seen movies where a load of people get held up by a robber or someone, but they fight their way out with champagne bottles and forks and butter knives and stuff like that, so I figured we could do the same.

"Are you insane?" asked Alex. "We could get killed!"

"And what's the alternative?"

"Run away!" he replied! "At least we escape with our lives!"

It suddenly dawned on me that this was not a drill. This was serious.  And one wrong move would cost us our lives.                                                                 

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