Oisin's holiday writing

The yellow jacket wasp! by Oisin

I put poop tons of effort into this and I hope you enjoy, blog ya later!

THE FUGITIVES (also not done)

CHAPTER ONE

Arizona, 1995, Tuesday

“Damn, Bill.” Said Kevin, as Bill zipped open a black duffle bag full of guns. “Wadda ya gonna do ‘widall a
these?” “Well, my friend...” said Bill, in a fairly evil genius like accent. “We, are going on a trip.”

A black van with “BILL ‘N KEVIN’S GARAGE REPAIR” scrawled on the side was parked in the gravel
driveway. Bill said that the writing on the side would “Keep out unwanted visitors” what that meant, we
were just about to find out. Kevin was bobbing about in his car seat like a soccer ball with a fully
automatic machine gun and more than 5 multiple military grade gun attachments. Such as a custom
made stock that Bill bought off the black market, and a bright red laser sight capable of temporarily
blinding a deer before the high powered rounds the gun was stuffed with turned its frontal lobe into
mincemeat. They came off the highway and down a long stretch of road.

HOTLINE MAIMI: STRANGERS (not done)

CHAPTER ONE

BRIRIRIRING! BRIRIRIRING! The telephone rang across the room erupting the vast silence of the
rickety apartment. A man was sitting on a old recliner in a lounge full of cobwebs. Dirty dishes lay strewn
about. Bottles of beer and whiskey littered the floor. Old takeaway containers were stacked up in piles.
A loaded pistol was on the coffee table. An old M1911 model in alright condition, next to the pistol was a
rubber lion mask. BRIRIRIRING! BRIRIRIRING! A dirty hand went for the phone, he picked it up and
held it to his ear. “Hi, this is Dave from the shop. Can ya come and return the hammer
you borrowed last week, thanks!” “I didn’t borrow a-” said the man. He had hung up.
That night he went up to the old convenience store across the road from him. He had the rubber
mask in his red jacket pocket. He knew the drill, mask on, gun loaded, kill everyone. He could hear the
people talking on the other side of the back door “Человек, у тебя есть наркотики?” mumbled a man.
“No, not yet” said another person in a thick russian accent. “Хорошо, тогда жопа-”

The man in the mask kicked the door down effectively stunning the man leaning against it. The one that spoke english came at him with a baseball bat, missing twice and getting his head pounded against the wall, he slouched down onto the floor and was shot in the head. He was curled up in a ball like a cat in a pool of blood. “Что это было!” people were coming, and fast, the man in the mask put his back up against the wall and checked his gun. “Okay…” he spun around and shot five rounds into the man that was looking for the source of the sound, the bullets spat out of the gun and into the man making five big bloody patches into his white suit. In the commotion a guard dog sped through the hallway and into the man in the mask, tearing his jacket, just in time he pulled out his gun and blew its head off. He stepped over the bodies and blood and into the next room. He had blood all over his mask and his jacket was ripped. His gun was empty. He picked up a old shotgun lying against the wall and opened the door…