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Cook
02-28-2010, 11:51 AM
this is what i got so far. C&C please.

Brett sipped again from his mug as he sat down in front of a folded-up newspaper on his kitchen table. He set the cup down and flipped the paper back.
MAN KILLS THREE IN BUS DEPOT SHOOTING. The words had been imprinted on the top of the thin page, blurry pictures below of the crime scene. Multiple police officers were gathered around four bodies under white blankets, bullet casings on the ground with neat, numbered signs above them. The police were heavily armored, silenced Semi-Automatic Guns in their hands. The picture painted the scene perfectly, but didn’t carry a story.
Brett analyzed the miniscule words that made up the article. The sentences were broken into sections by neatly arranged pictures of the victims, relative’s testimonies under their names. At the end of each sentence Brett would drink once more from his cup, the name “Chun” engraved at the bottom. Brett would’ve favored a better gift, at least a cup with his first name on it, but according to his friends, his last name was the only one available.
The paper was readable until the third paragraph, a large coffee stain on it. Brett folded up the paper, which he had read several hundred times, and put it back on the wooden table, so that he could read it again tomorrow for breakfast.
As Brett walked back across the living room back into the master bedroom, he re-checked the pallets on the windows and doors, making sure the screws were tightly in place. Approaching his chimney, which was halfway between the kitchen and the front door, Brett picked up a can of air freshener and briefly sprayed the smoldering coals, bringing the fire back to life. Electricity was the first of many things Brett had lost, denying him the luxury of a warm home. Although it was important to keep his house comfortable and heated, the occasional breeze was nice.
The can was nearly empty, a bittersweet reminder to get out of the house and scavenge for supplies. Brett always preferred the safety and comfort of his home, but he couldn’t live there forever. Frozen chicken patties lost their flavor over time.

Brett zipped his school bag open, stuffing a variety of items and weapons into his bag. Inside his bag, there was a change of clothes, a pair double-A battery packs and flashlights, several handfuls of canned beans, and a hunting knife. He usually filled his bag on his way home. In his first couple of months, when Brett was still desperate, he had looted a wide assortment of videogames, movies, and electronics, hoping to sell them back when it got better. When his first Christmas passed and the roar of jet fighters passing overhead became fewer and farther between, Brett reasoned that he wouldn’t be rescued. Now, a year later, he was at terms with his home.