Betta Fighter

Missy-Moo asked:


i know its bad grammar and hard to follow because yahoo does somthing to paragraphs nd talking sentences. my book is set in a post apocolyptic world were creatures that were once human roam the street’s at night. kinda like i am legend with will smith. not going into details, the only people not infected were kids under the age of 15 and a few imune people, kids because they werent born when the virus wasreleaced.
please be honest. tell me your thoughts.

Tyrone Reece sat with his elbow’s on his knee’s, looking at his weapons as if they were his children. A fishing knife, a flare, numb chucks, and his most prized position. An air soft Izraeli Uzi. A machine gun terrorists used.
Tyrone was a fighter, he had the scars to prove it. The most prominent one was a long, pink-ish streak that cut his right eyebrow in half, then trailed all the way to the bottom to his right ear lobe. He liked his scars. It made him look like a serious contender.
He valued this gun more than his life, holding it made him buzz with excitement. The gun was deadly. Specially designed to kill people.
He figured infected were much the same.
Today was going to be a fun day.
The black leather couch were he sat absorbed the heat streaming in from the giant bay windows. He liked the idea of a giant window replicating were a wall should be. It took up the whole space, curtains on a remote control because it was too long a distance to close them manually. It made him feel rich and provided great access to view the city.

A cream brick electric fire place blocked the view of the stairs so when someone walked around the corner, he purposely picked up his gun. Aiming it at Yumi.
The look on her face was priceless at first, then turned into a threatening scowl. She wore a tight black singlet, Tyrone couldn’t help notice how fit she was. He wolf whistled.
“You know, your pretty hot for a Japanese girl.” Said Tyrone flirtatiously.
“Chinese” She corrected firmly.
“Same thing.” He said dismissively. Yumi looked offended.
“Uh, no. Not same thing. Japanese live on small islands, you could fit, like, a gazillion of them in china. Chinese people-” Yumi stopped herself right there. She wasn’t going to waste her breath, Tyrone was satisfied he got a rise out of her.
“Why don’t you bring that sweet thang over here and sit it on my lap.” Tyrone leaned back, gesturing her to sit.
“Why don’t you grab a crazy straw and shove it up your *** hole.” Replied Yumi using the same tone Tyrone had. He laughed.
“Oh, so your into that kinda stuff? That’s cool. I like em wild. Better in bed.” He laughed at his own joke.
“You are so insanely disgusting! See, this is why I don’t trust black people!”
“So you don’t trust Rhianna?” He asked skeptically.
“Oh, I’m sorry, let me rephrase, I meant I don’t trust you then.” She crossed her arms.
“Girl you just shot me, shot me in my heart!” He made a show of having a heart attack. Yumi stomped across the room and grabbed her weapon, an assault bow. Slinging the strap over her shoulder she turned without another word and walked out of sight. “You know what they say Yumi, once you go black, you gonna need a wheel chair.” He called out after her, knowing she could hear. The use of the line from ‘white chicks’ made him feel like a comical genius
“I **** you.” Called Yumi in the kitchen.
Tyrone smiled to himself. She so wanted him.
He looked back to his dangerous array of weapons, the mere sight of them revved him up, encouraging him to get out there as soon as possible. As if on cue, Blaire Huston walked around the corner. Tyrone raised his weapon again.
“If you were one of them thing‘s, this gun would have shot three bullets into your head in half a second.” His voice was thick with passion.
“That pretty sick Tyrone. Put a top on, we’re leaving in ten.”

natala