Another writing excerpt

There were a malady of sounds glaring around Sarah Silverman. This was not the actress Sara Silverman but she was still as obscure to the public eye. From the high pitched squeals of terrified people to the emergency sirens blaring all around, Sara could only focus on one sound, the sound that resonated in her mind constantly all day, everyday.

They say breathing is a natural, automatic response. That even if you "forget" to breathe, you still do. As was this sound that had the same persistent qualities that your brain does to breathe. It had literally driven her mad over time.

It started small and infrequent. She would hear a faint hum or ding. Sara thought this odd as one would a homeless person sleeping in a dumpster, strange but you know these things are bound to happen and, until you experience it yourself, you never really worry about it.

These beeps and chirps slowly evolved to the point Sara could hear muffled voices, nearly inaudible and blurred. She couldn't understand what they were saying but they voices reflected both male and female, young and old, English and foreign. This change in intensity is what started to freak Sara out.

She had lost ties with her friends and family over the last few months after the sounds stated failing to subside even for sleep. Sara probably hadn't even seen another live person for some time. That was, until now.

Sara fell to her knees, hand clenched to her head. A numbness swept over her body as if she was being filled with molten lava. The kind of numbness you feel having muscle and nerve tissue melting from the sheer heat of an inferno. A scream overcame her and the world outside her mind. Was it her screaming or one of the voices lost in her mind? She was unable to make that distinction anymore.

An attempt at action writing

A masked figure appears from around a blind corner to Alice.  She spins, forming her arm into a war hammer and clobbers her foe, striking him in the right temple and folding him permanently.  A second attacker, also shrouded in black clothing, lunges from a hanging posture in the rafters legs arched and locked in a deadly formation.  Alice effortlessly slides a few inches to the side, just out of reach of the kick, and slams him with a devastating blow knocking the assailant to the ground.  A quick snap of her foot breaks his neck leaving one less person after her.

Without warning, the click of a handgun echoed in her ears from behind her.  She pivots to face her attacker.  The man has a .45 caliber twitching nervously at her forehead.  She tries to speak in an attempt to disable him but before that can ever happen he launches with an opening round.  At this range, the fire and black smoke exiting the camber of his gun look reminiscent of a battleship cannon firing.

A shimmer of light trails along the area where the bullet strikes Alice.  She stares at him with ominous intent unscathed by his attack.  Raising her arm and grasping her fingers together slowly, her victim writhes in agony his eyes red and glazed from the searing pain.  At this point this guy's mind is totally fucked.  I feel it necessary to be frank here so I'll repeat that for emphasis.  This guy's mind is totally fucked.  He's thinking about prepubescent half-children, half-demon horse creatures prodding his asshole with hot fiery pitchforks while the pipe that connects to the entire world's sewers and empties right into his mouth.  It's the worst possible thing that this particular person can imagine happening to them.  And he's now in that shit infested hellhole because she put him there, all with just a twist of her wrist and her will to do so.  The relief for him will come when this process kills him in just a few seconds.  That is unless real hell is worse than anyone can imagine.  Expired, his body falls as a lump to the ground, his head now ablaze, smoldering. 

With all the assailants incapacitated, Alice starts down the corridor.  She has to keep moving.