An Untitled Story

[koolest666]

Once upon a time, there was a baby. Not just any baby; this baby was a hero. He lived a regular life until he was seven years old. At this time in his childhood his destiny unfolded. Something terrible happened.
The child was at school as his parents were murdered. As he was making a mess at lunch, his parents' blood and such was making a mess. Why were his parents murdered? Well, I haven't the slightest clue.. When the child arrived home at 2:53 on the dot, his elders were sitting at the dining table, observing the mess silently and with a smile. The elders knew of this child's destiny. This grand act began the hatred for all things humane.
He, however, was neither angry, nor happy. The elders took him and raised him as their own until he was, as they deemed, of age. At fourteen the child raised himself as he pleased; he simply lived with the elders. His hatred always filled because they had taught him how society and goodwill could forever fuel his hate. That year passed smoothly until the last day of his fourteenth year; that was the most fitfully the child had ever slept.
When the hero awoke, the elders were standing in his doorway with their ghoulish grins. His caregivers got him only one thing for his true Birthday. He began to rise; the elders shook their weak heads and made their way to his bed. They set his present on his nightstand and left. The child's curiousity grew as time lingered slowly by, for he wanted to open it at the time he would actually turn fifteen. The clock ticked by slower than slow. The child grew very impatient, however, he pushed through. It was now 2:53 on the dot; he opened his present.
It was just what the child had always wanted. He looked at his doorway only to see the elders, grinning their familiar grins. The child looked back down at his beautiful present. He couldn't believe it! It was just like the one his father had had locked up in his desk safe. He held the cold, familiar metal in his hands and whinced. It was the same one. He looked in the box, and there were dozens of full magazines, and a specialized belt for carrying them. Tears swelled up in his eyes, hastily he blinked them back, he didn't want to seem like a baby to the elders.
He stood up holding the lump of metal in his hand and looked questioningly at the elders. The male elder nodded. The child took aim and shot twice in the chest, three times in the arms, and three times in the throat. He looked towards the female elder who viciously shook her head in anger and held up one finger and pointed to her forehead. The child nodded and shot only once into her cranium. The child looked in the elders' room and found a note which said:
"Dear child,
We know of your destiny, and unlike your parents, we embrace it.
You are our savior. We appreciate you not being mad at us.
Killing them was a crucial step in unleashing your needed fury.
You know what you need to do, so do it, and make us proud.

Signed,
Ed and Agnus."

The child tried to hold back his tears, but he could not. He sat in the elders room cried like a small child. He straightened up, and headed out the door. He was as ready as could be. He went through his small town of now 251 people and over the course of the day killed 250 of them. The child, realizing what he had just done, knelt down in the middle of the street and began to pray, "Hey God. How've you been? It's me Todd. Sorry for all the sin. God, if I repent, do you forgive? I don't want forgiveness. I hope you have none to give. I have no reason for bliss. God, why'd you make this wretched Earth? All we do is destroy it. God, why'd you give us birth? All we do is end it. God, are you still there? Thanks for hearing me out. Your silence I just cannot bear. I will soon see you God, without a doubt. God, I am killing myself for you. I am doing it tonight. God, I deserve this because I haven't been taught wrong from right. I hope you think my word true."
The child, keeping his word to God went to his room and waited until nightfall. To occupy himself the child dug into to floorboards with his bare fingers, "Here lies, the Angel of Death." Time lingered on for the child until it was 2:53 in the morning. The child put the last bullet into his cold, dead heart.

[koolest666]

I wrote this story a month or so ago, but it was smaller, so I rewrote it and put a poem I also wrote a month or so ago in there, which would be were he's praying.

[BrianEtrius]

It's a good start, but things are paced horribly. The sentences are too choppy, making the story flow terrible for the reader. "Once upon a time"-leave that crap in fairy tales. Flesh out your characters as well; they're way too one dimensional, if that. Name your character earlier; it helps your reader.

[Jessprw]

Just edit it a bit more. It felt a bit rushed as well, you should try explaining stuff more and lengthening it out a bit. Make the character develop cause I didn't care or sympathize with him at all.

P.S. whats the significance of 2:53? or did you just want some kind of arc-number thing.

[koolest666]

I don't know why I felt 2:53 to be important, I guess I was going for when he was born? I really don't know.