One Shot Writing Novels & Stories

I closed the document. Opened the manuscript instead. Wrote the villain a scene where he finally made a mistake — small, almost imperceptible, the kind you only caught if you were paying the right kind of attention. I wrote it in one take.

The First One sat on the beach and stared at the violent waves of the ocean as he deliberated. The killings had stopped but not for long. Officer Muhammad and Maryam must die in order to protect his real identity. The trip to Lagos had been taken for the main purpose of relaxing and approaching matters from a psychological point because where violence fails, logic is born. It had not been easy approaching the men running things at work and asking for some few days off but the greatest weapon in The First One arsenal was the power of persuasion.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up. My finger squeezed the trigger. The gunshot exploded through the room.I kept the ending as the cliffhanger, because that final shot hits harder if we don't immediately tell the reader who was hit.

I lined up my shot, finger hovering over the trigger, heart pounding violently in my chest. A lifetime of pain, of loneliness, surged forward—every moment I’d suffered because of Howard Whitehill fueled this single instant. I squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed, ringing loud and clear through the still air.

I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say. He tilts his head, his eyes flicking between mine. “You don’t have to say anything,” he tells me softly. “Just… be here.” So I do. I let myself be here. Just for now. Just for this small piece of time that feels untouched by everything else. Then it happens. The first shot cuts through the air like a crack in glass. Then another. And another. The sound echoes across the cliffside, sharp and violent, and the quiet we had just seconds ago dies in an instant. My body stiffens before my mind even catches up.

Instantly, I grab my remaining stars and chuck them one after another killing five vamps. When they continue pouring in I pull out my guns and shoot them all anywhere I could one by one. It feels like I’ve been standing here shooting them down for hours, but in reality it was only ten minutes. I’m also extremely thankful to all those hours I dedicated to playing shooting games. If it weren’t for that game I would’ve lowered my weapons after the first break in men, but I knew they never send only one wave so I was prepared when the second came in.

I am fucking sure of it! Third Person's Point of View Shin started firing at the enemies. She started aiming at the enemies and she made sure that the bullet would hit the middle of both eyes of the enemies. In other words a clear headshot. Shin first killed the enemies who were on the top of the building, on the rooftop. The snipers were stationed there and he was sure that if he didn't knock him out first he would be the first. He carefully studied the information his computer had gathered about free souls.

Her pupils dilated snd she panicked if Carson saw those reporters she had arranged to click pictures of them. She signaled them to not let themselves out of there. They settled themselves behind the bushes, where no one would see them. The waiter came with their orders. “Enjoy,” he said. After they were done with the dinner, Carson wanted to leave as soon as he could. Amanda tried to act close as they got out of the restaurant. She signaled the reporters to start their work. “Ah!” Amanda pretended to twist her stumble and fell but Carson caught her. A picture was clicked. She leaned closer but Carson told her to stay within her limit. He was displeased. Amanda ground her teeth together in an

] Her hand hovered over the mouse, her whole body trembling. "Click confirm! Hurry!" Edward roared behind her. Alicia shut her eyes, steeled herself, and pressed the button. "Confirm." When the record showed as successfully modified, both Edward and Alicia let out long breaths of relief. Smiles spread across their faces, the kind worn by people who believe they've just survived disaster, convinced they've wiped their hands clean and shifted all the blame elsewhere. What they failed to notice was that I had been standing behind them the entire time, holding a body-cam recorder.

He took a somewhat worn-out wallet from the inner pocket of his black suit. In the wallet's lining was a yellowed photograph. In the photograph, I was fresh from my wolf awakening and was wearing a white dress. My eyes were shrunken up from smiling as I held a sunflower windmill. My background was the tree-lined path of the werewolf academy. It was taken on our first date. He kept it close to him but never admitted to me that he cared. He reached out his hand, covered in horribly scarred burns, to touch the inscription on the tombstone, but his fingertips trembled violently in mid-air.