Summary of Story I'm Writing

[kikistrike20]

This is the story I'm writing I want to work on this summer. It's called True Love Dies Hard.
It’s the year 2017 and religious warfare holds the world in its iron grip. Now, there are three groups left, each with their own secrets, each with their own spies.
The Christian- Gracie is the best of the best. Determined to escape the shadow of her family’s fame, she’s let the drive to prove herself propel her to become one of the best Christian spies in the business. But now she’s been caught.
The Atheist- When Jonathon captures Gracie, after a summer of deception, he expects it to be just another assignment. What he doesn’t expect is to fall for her, or for her God. And…
The Muslim- There’s something else, hiding in the shadows, and it threatens them all.
A woman with secrets, the man who grows to love her, and another who will stop at nothing to extract the revenge he desires all collide and explode in this story of truth, faith, deception, and betrayal, with only one truth remaining: True Love Dies Hard.

So that's it. If you would read and review I would appreciate it.

[Cricket]

Wow! I bet it'll be awesome.

I'm more of a mystery/fantasy buff, but this sounds good. If you want an editor I'd be happy to help. Its always good to have someone to read it over incase you miss typo's or whatever.

[kikistrike20]

that sounds cool. im working on the 2nd scene of the 1st chapter right now.

[Cricket]

Awesome. Well, when your ready for an editor send it my way: [e-mail]

[kikistrike20]

kk

[shadeofgray]

Huh. not really a religious person, but it does sound good. Post it here when you're done!

[kikistrike20]

October 15, Year 2017
I refuse to look around me, or at any of the faces, or anywhere but straight ahead. And I refuse to let myself think at all. If I do, I’ll feel and if I do that, I’ll break down, unable to go any further. No, best to just keep everything locked up in a box of numbness, making it so thick that nothing could penetrate it.
I stumble along, caught off balance by the ropes binding my hands behind my back. The calling of prisoners is distracting, almost tear worthy. The stick their bony rotting hands, the skin falling off in some places, through the bars, begging for food, water, relief, death. I know this is just a mild preview of what will happen to me, if I’m lucky.
I fall once, tripping over a rotten bone. I instinctively reach my hands out to catch myself, but they’re no good and I crash to the hard stone floor, feeling something in me snap. And, though I vowed when I came in here that I would not make a sound, would not give them the satisfaction, my cry of pain joins those of the countless others. This hurts too, hurts to breathe. As soon as someone yanks me to my feet, I look at my torso. One rib has caved in, probably punctured a lung from the looks of it. The guard behind me chuckles and I clench me teeth in an attempt to either stop from cursing him out, going kung- fu mode in a valiant but futile attempt to get out of this hades, or screaming again as my lungs stab against the broken bone. After that, I manage to lock the pain in the little box, too, refusing to feel it.
We finally reach a heavy wood door at the end of the corridor. The door is opened and someone shoves me in from behind. I twist my ankle, but this time I remain silent. I’ve had worse, much worse. I investigate the room in front of me. It is round and made of the same hard stone as the rest of this place. In the middle is a series of chains pulleys, locks and shackles, no doubt for torture. Imagine, all this for me, I think wryly.
I wiggle my hands, pushing and pulling with my arms until I hear the ropes snap behind me and my hands fly in front of my face, rusty from disuse for the last two days. I go up and touch one of the chains, iron from the feel of it. You’d have to be Superman to break free of these things. They’re not taking any chances. The feel of the cold metal in my hands wakes me up. The emotions that I’d kept tucked carefully inside of me, the fear, anxiety, pain and betrayal wash over me. I limp to the door as fast as my broken body will allow and grab the bars of the small window in the door. “You had better pray I never get out of here, you sorry pig,” I holler. My threat gets no response but I don’t care. I keep shouting. “I’m going to make you pay for this, someday, somehow. You had better keep looking over your shoulder as you walk, you had better keep your eyes open at all times and check you bed for snakes before you go to sleep.” My threats are futile, I know, but I need a mask, something safe to hold onto. I stop yelling for a split second to catch my breath. A mistake, it turns out, and not my first. In that moment, the mask slips off, onto the floor where it shatters into a million pieces; and I find my self, for the first time in a long time open and exposed. “Is there ever once you truly felt anything for me?” I ask, and my voice cracks. “Not even the love you claimed, but something slightly bordering on affection. Or was it all just a ploy? Was I just another enemy to be defeated, another game to be won, or was it, for just one hundredth of a second, something more? Did you ever feel halfway like I felt, ever?” the door opens, surprising me, and throwing me on the hard stone floor for the second time in ten minutes.
Before I have time to react a hand grabs my neck and lifts me up, so that we’re eye level. He’s considerably taller than I am and my toes barely brush the ground. “I never feel anything,” he hisses, and, looking into his eyes, I believe him. “Not until I get what I want.” There wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind to the truth of this, had I not spent the last summer in his arms.
“And what about the beach?” I spit the word out. “What then?”
He chuckles, a low, menacing sound, and brings his face closer so we’re staring into each others eyes, in a much different way than I was used to. “It was everything you said; a ploy, a game, a lie.” He throws me away, and I hit the ground across the room. The broken rib hits my lung again and I gasp, just before a stream of blood gushes from my mouth. I lay there for a minute, barely having the strength to turn onto my side, as I keep throwing up, the floor and me and everything within a five foot radius covered in crimson. After a couple minutes, it slows down and peters to a stop. Once the beating in my ears recedes, I can hear another sound, like the rumble of thunder. It’s a sound that I recognize from a long summer. He’s laughing; laughing at me. “I’m going to enjoy this, Gracie.” He comes over and lifts my chin almost gently, almost the way he had for the past five months, so that I’m forced to look at his face and repeats the same words he had said on the beach. This time, though, his tone is mocking. “We’re going to have so much fun together, you and me.” I turn away in disgust.
I look for something, anything, to say. Finally, I ask the obvious question. “What do you want from me? What could you possibly take that you haven’t already stolen?” It doesn’t matter what he says, not really. It doesn’t matter if it’s a ransom, a thrill, or secret information; I’m not giving it to him. What he does say though, surprises me.
“The Weapon.” When I hear this, I almost laugh, despite my current predicament. The Weapon? What is it with these government types and their cheap melodramatics? Of course I know what he’s talking about, but I know it by an entirely different name. Either way, I refuse to answer to him.
I try to look bored, “So, is that what you’re calling it now?” After I say this, all traces of lightness leave my face and I look him in the eye, throwing as much hatred and darkness into my glare as possible. “I’m not telling you anything.”
My expression and tone of voice hardly seem to faze him. He must be used to people talking to him like this. Lying to someone for five months and taking them prisoner in order to discover the location of a secret Weapon big enough to blow up a small country will do that to you. “You always were coy,” he mutters, interrupting my inner rant. “But, believe me; I’ll get it out of you.” Then, he comes up to me again and grabs my face, though this time there’s nothing gentle about it. I’m obviously wearing on his patience. Good. “You are an ignorant, inexperienced girl and you are no match for me.”
“Ouch, that hurt.” Before I can utter another sarcastic comment, a large hand reaches out and slaps me across the face. I reach a hand up to touch my face. Ok, that did hurt. But there’s no way I’m going to let him know that. “Is that the best you can do?”
“You’ll find out the best I can do tomorrow,” he promises, and leaves without uttering another word. I groan and fall back against the hard floor. I hurt in about ten different places, and I might just be sick with worry. I close my eyes, leaving behind all the pain, betrayal, and fear, and take myself to a happier place.

that's scene one