Rebel on the Run

[Declan_23]

Okay, here's a short story I wrote for my GCSE English. Unfortunatley, I only got a B. Please tell me what you think.


Rebel on the Run
   Hundreds of people had been killed; people that were later found innocent. Hate and distrust of the police coursed through the public like poison through a body. They took to the streets to express their anger. They held placards emblazoned with slogans, while unimaginative they conveyed their feelings. “LESS POLICE MORE FREEDOM”. But one man felt that this was not enough. They had been subject to violence, and so they should respond in the same way, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. He threw the first brick. He killed the first policeman. He started the Mayday Riots.
   Jimmy cleared the wall and carried on sprinting as bullets pinged into the brick. He’d been found by the police and that meant the safe house wasn’t safe anymore. And if the safe house wasn’t safe then no where in this country was. Jimmy needed to get out. He felt a searing hot pain pass his cheek; the first policeman had climbed over the wall and had taken a shot. He put on a burst of speed, he tried to find an alley to escape into, but the openings were skimming by too fast. Running was sapping all his energy; the policemen would soon catch up. As Jimmy rounded a corner he ducked into an open doorway and ran up the stairs. Out of the window he saw the law enforcers miss the doorway and go past. Jimmy collapsed from exhaustion on a bed
   For starting the riots and murdering the riot police Jimmy had been sentenced to life without parole. Life was hard in prison he discovered. The other prisoners treated him with disgust but were angels compared to the guards. They spat in his food and swore and insulted him. He couldn’t take it. Luckily however, there was something Jimmy was very good at. Escaping. He persuaded the prisoners. They revolted and killed the guards. He didn’t care that he let thousands of criminals escape. Most of them were political prisoners anyway, ex-soldiers that had resisted the BNP’s takeover and the police-state.
   Light crept across the room to the bed where Jimmy slept and woke him. He was dazed at first but after coming to his senses he realised how lucky he was that he wasn’t found and captured. The room smelt wet and mouldy. He got up and looked around. The carpet was a brown colour with patches of green. Other than the bed the room was empty. He checked under the bed and found a 9mm pistol with a full clip, the firearm that the BNP had given out to every British citizen over 18. He opened the door and found himself in a lounge there was a rotting sofa which he carefully avoided. The other furniture in the room solely consisted of a bookcase and a desk. On one of the bookshelves he found a map of the United Kingdom. He crouched down by the desk and plotted his route out of England. France would be easiest but further east would be more preferable. 5 years ago this would have been simple but since the country went into lockdown all boats and planes out of the country had been suspended and the Eurotunnel had been demolished. He had never learned to fly a plane which left hijacking a boat or swimming. Either way the best place to make for would be Dover. A small noise startled him in the bedroom, but it was only a mouse. His mind was made up he would travel to Dover. The light outside was beginning to fade. Jimmy left.
   The journey to Dover was only a day’s walk away, but it was getting dark and Jimmy needed somewhere to stay the night that would be safe from the police. He was walking through an empty park with a breeze gently blowing through his hair and unidentifiable objects crunching under foot when he had an idea. After double checking the map he headed towards the woods in the centre of the park. As he approached, he could see a body of water past the large tangle of brambles and weeds. He clambered over a tree and found himself in the small space between the huge wall of greenery and the water’s edge. After ten minutes frantic search he found what he had been looking for, an old rowing boat. He gingerly sat in the boat and found that it still took his weight. He rowed out into the middle of the pond where he knew he would be virtually invisible and slept. Jimmy had come here as a child and slept under the stars, it had been his secret hiding place, but he hadn’t been here since he left to go to University.
   He awoke to a chorus of bird song. A glance at his watch told him that it was 6:34, he’d never been one for early mornings and groaned as he sat up, rocking the boat in the process. In the daylight he could make out the details of the forest. The pond was no more than a large pond, about thirty metres across in both directions. The trees surrounded it on all directions and domed in wards meaning that daylight only really reached the surface of the algae covered water in the middle, where he was now. In all the years since he’d been here something had changed, before the place had been littered with empty bottles and dog ends of cigarettes. Now he realised what the objects he had been walking on last night were. The area was littered with shell casings, the true evidence of what had happened when the riots had put the country on the brink of civil war.
He rowed to the nearest bank and clambered out. He heard something coming from the other side of the pond beyond the undergrowth. It was a number of voices. One talked with a sense of authority. Jimmy froze and held his breath with his mouth open to make as little noise as possible. There was a gunshot; the Police had found him again. Thrusting his way between plants he made his way into the open, as he came into the field he broke into a run, his eyes frantically searching for any cover. There was nothing. Spurts of dust sprang into the air around him as the mechanical explosions of gunfire started. After covering 5 metres he felt something smash into his back, he was thrown forwards onto the ground and the gunfire stopped. Nothing but his breathing was audible to Jimmy. He felt his back; it was covered in sticky liquid. Then the pain hit him, he desperately tried to crawl but he couldn’t move his arms from underneath him. He couldn’t understand how had the police found him? For some reason this was all that was important. Using all his effort he rolled onto his back. He screamed in pain as his wound touched the ground. But now he had the answer. On his right shoe was a green sticker, a tracker. Obviously the police had found him in that apartment.
Now he had solved the riddle Jimmy felt better. He was pretty sure the bullet hadn’t hit his spine, it wouldn’t kill him. A policeman was approaching but this didn’t scare him, he wouldn’t kill him. The police had kept Jimmie alive before, apparently he was useful. He first began to doubt this when the officer pulled a handgun out of his vest. Suddenly every sense sharpened itself. He could hear birds in the distance and the chatter of the distant policemen. He could smell the dampness of the forest just a few metres away. He could feel the long grass prickling his arms. He could taste the mud in his mouth from when he fell. And lastly he could see the determined expression on the man approaching him; he could see the words on the side of his pistol. The approaching man stopped and cocked his weapon. Jimmy became aware that he was speaking, he could hear them but they didn’t seem to make any sense. The man stopped talking and pointed the gun at his head. Time slowed down. He thought back to the men he had killed. He was surprised to find that he remembered the face of every single one. Suddenly his eyes focused on the gun. They zoomed in like binoculars on the finger on the trigger. He saw it pull back. And that was the last thing Jimmy ever saw.
Chris was bored. The museum was boring. Due to all of the wars in the last 200 years mankind used similar technology to that of the early 21st century. This meant that while everyday objects from 500 years ago were artefacts. Everyday objects from 2015 were still everyday objects, the only things that had changed was style. And Unfortunately for Chris recent wars hadn’t really occurred with the preservation of historical artefacts in mind. He had already visited the exhibit of vacuum cleaners and had realised that if you look really, really closely you can just about tell the difference between a modern vacuum cleaner and one that was 200 years old. However this particular exhibit seemed more interesting. “Criminals of the 21st Century”. As he walked in he was disappointed and turned to leave but one name caught his eye. “James “Jimmy” Daws”. Chris approached and read the information underneath. “Jimmy was the leader of the revolutionary militia which organised the Mayday riots. Jimmy himself was caught and jailed for this offense. Ministers called for his execution but as he pleaded guilty he could not be given the death sentence. However after 2 years of imprisonment he escaped with many political prisoners. Luckily within months a crack squad of secret policemen hunted him down and executed him. This prevented him from overturning the government with exiled rebels. He was considered the BNP’s biggest threat in its early years. Following Jimmy’s execution the police were able to hunt down the last remaining members of the revolutionary militia and UAF (United Against Fascism) and dispose of them.”

[Kuhns]

Well, I can see why you only got a B.

*Elaboration (): The whole story is choppy and doesn't flow from one action to another smoothly. I found myself tripping on some of the words/phrases you used and where you used them.

Much of what you wrote is superfluous, although I could understand needing to squeeze a couple extra words in here and there--if there was a minimum word count you had to reach. The prose is littered with cliches, and it would have been much stronger had you written more in active voice instead of passive. (Especially when Jimmy was killed.)

 I think two of the most damaging parts of your story are at the beginning and end. Your opening paragraph was weak, and your ending paragraph jarred the reader from the first point-of-view and the time line originally set.

  That's my take on it. With all that I stated above, I don't think it's a bad story--it just needs a lot of work.

[Mr_Dark]

Well, I can see why you only got a B.

Please elaborate on your answer otherwise it's just a waste post.

[Declan_23]

Cheers for your input To be perfectly honest I'm not really into writing stories and maybe if I had had more practise it would've turned out a bit better. I'll be sure to keep it in mind for next time though.

[Kuhns]

Just remember: Start with action, end with action.  ...And beat the crap outta every 'was' you find.