I, Writer.

Chapter2: The Note

You may think being a writer is easy but you're wrong. One of the many things that I face on a daily basis is, of course, supposed 'visits' from my enemies. These so called 'visits' are merely the arrival of my enemies in front of my house with the intention of swearing and insulting me from outside. Well, that's normal when you live in a town like Elderwick. Then, the phone rang. I picked up the receiver. "Hello?" I answered. "Good morning, Mr.Gray." Said a feminine voice. I recognised it immediately. "Ah, Vasilisa. So, any good publishers?" I asked the Russian born agent. "Not yet, sir. But that is not what I wanted to talk about, sir." She said. "Then what is it?" I asked. "It's a note, sir. For you. A very disturbing note." She said. "Well read it out to me, then." I instructed her. "Very well." She cleared her throat. "Hello, Jacob," She read. "I assume you've received this note. I do not have much to say except for this: Your blood shall soon be my ink in which I shall write the history of the world with. Not tomorrow, but soon." She read. "Who's it from?" I asked her. "It doesn't say. And this note was typed." She said. "But there is one more strange thing to this message." she said. "It came with a wolf claw."

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That night...
I told Vasilisa to try to track down the sender of the note. After that, I kept on writing until 8.00 p.m. I decided to stop working and get some sleep before I fall asleep on the chair again. I moved away from the writing desk, walked toward my bed and lied down there. I pulled the covers up to my chest. I clicked off the light and fell into a deep sleep.

2.00 a.m.
I was awoken bythe soft click of my door knob, but then I decided it was only the wind pushing my door open. I was still tired, so I went back to sleep. I didn't wake up again until 5 seconds after I had fallen asleep. Only this time, I was awoken by the feeling of a knife being placed at my throat.

The Story.

Chapter 1: The Writer

Elderwick town, America
3rd September 2005
1030 hours

It was a particularly cold autmn morning when I awoke from a very deep sleep. My name is Jacob Gray and this would be the third time I have awoken from a deep sleep on a chair at my writing desk. As you may presume, I am indeed a writer. If you live in Elderwick, you'd know me. My back felt sore and this is one of the things that have an effect on my work in the day. I once considered leaving the habit of working at night, but then I came to the conclusion that there is no problem with it. But it does come at a price. A sore back every morning. I got up and stretched. After a few moments of stretching, my back pain receeded. I proceeded to the next part of my morning routine, which is to take my bath and get dressed. No need for details on that, of course. So now we move on to the next part of my routine. Breakfast. I took out a left over slice of pizza from the refridgerator and a can of soda and went upstairs. I went back to my writing desk and sorted out today's mail. "Hate mail, hate mail, hate mail, and oh, what a surprise, more hate mail." I said, tossing the envelopes out an open window. I always receive mail from enemies. I call those letters, 'hate mail'. With those out of my way, I began my work

Begin.

Prologue : Events of the Past

Yaroslavl, Russia.
12th June 2000
1200 Hours.

We begin with the Russians going through their daily work. Well, not all the Russians at least.

A warehouse stands at the edge of the city. One swift look may tell us that it is empty and uninhabited, but of course, we ignore some of the most important parts of life. Inside the warehouse, a boy is at work. He is dressed in the type of business suit that is normally worn by businessmen. Yes, this boy had business. But it's definitely not the sale of insurance or cars. In fact, there is no selling in his business. For he was constructing a bomb.

Outside...

Three men in overcoats approach the old warehouse. Among those men was a translator from America. He spoke to the other men in Russian. The men nodded and spoke to him. Then, they each pulled out a Glock18 from their overcoats and kicked the door down. The two Russians shouted something in Russian. "Freeze! Police!" Shouted the American. The bomb maker did not turn around. "Ah, so the police finally found out about my bomb. Well, what shall it be? Lethal injection or the gallows?" Said the boy, raising his hands to his head. "Neither,Wolfe. You're doing time. Hard time." Said the American. The American walked closer. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Said the bomb maker. The American took another step. Then the bomb maker slid two knives from out of his sleeves. He turned around and stabbed the translator in the throat. The man fell, dead. The policemen fired their guns, but it was no match for the bomb maker's speed. The boy dodged the bullets and threw the knives at the policemen. One knife hit the first man in the throat. the second man was hit in the knee. He fell to the floor in pain. The bomb maker walked toward the injured policeman and grabbed his gun. He aimed the gun at the policeman's head. "Do svidanya." Said the boy in Russian. Then, he pulled the trigger.