Short Story Number One
For anyone out there that's interested (or needs a quick distraction from other stuff), here's the first draft of my first story for my short story class. The prof limited us to 500-1000 words so it is short.
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“Everyone get down!”
Andy was one of those kids that everyone liked but no one really knew or spent time with. He would float around under the radar, but would do his best to help anyone that asked. He never did anything against someone and seemed to have helped everyone at one time. A sweet guy if you could catch him.
“You three: suppressive fire! Everyone else on me! Move it!”
I knew him because he lived next door to where my family moved into a few years back. I quickly noticed the intriguing kid that lived next door, and I have to admit that I found his mysteriousness strangely appealing. When I was finally able to meet him I was pleasantly surprised by his kindness; and I think he was taken aback by my openness. Although we did not interact all that much I think I was the closest he had to a friend.
“You four go around on the left, you guys cover me on the right. Stay low and watch for crossfire.”
He abruptly showed up at my door one summer evening - something entirely out of character for him - and said that he wanted to show me something. I did not have anything else to do so I said sure and we started walking. After following the road for a little we turned onto a small path made by runoff water that led deep into a thick forest. He was mum (unsurprisingly) about where he was taking me, no matter how much I asked.
“Machine gun ahead!”
“Keep it moving!”
It was dark by the time we stopped but I think that was intentional: he stopped us at the edge of a surprisingly large clearing in the forest. The air in the clearing was filled with glowing fireflies that seemed to extend the star field in the sky down to earth. Sitting in the middle of the clearing was an old, matriarchal tree that was easily the largest in the forest.
I said it was beautiful, but the word could not do it justice. He said that he thought I was now the only other person to know of the clearing. He had been going here for years whenever he needed to get away from life. It was his own world where he could be whatever he wanted to be. I looked at him - he was staring off into the clearing, a look on his face that was calmer than I had ever seen on him - and asked him why he brought me here. He was quiet a moment before he looked down at his feet and said that he did not want it to be forgotten.
“They're everywhere!”
Later that week he packed up a bag and took a bus out of town. The army had called and he answered, telling me that he hoped to find something out there for him. His mother said that he was shipped off a few weeks later, but he had not been writing much.
Later that winter I was surprised when a letter came from him for me. He had included a small photograph of a weathered tree, much like the one in the clearing. On the back of it he had written a simple message: “I think I've found it.” He did not say much in the rest of the letter, other than he was in charge of his own squad and that they had already seen a lot of action. He also joked that he hoped I was able to survive without him.
“Get out of here!”
“Grenade!”
“Sarge! Medic!”
I was sitting out on our porch when a black car pulled up to his house and two men in military dress walked out. They were quickly let into the house. With my stomach starting to turn, I went into my house and told my mom, and she went over after the men left. They had been ambushed and he had run right into it. The men said that he tried to cover their withdraw but was hit hard by a grenade. By the time they got out it was too late for him. His belongings arrived a few weeks later, and his mother thought I should have it. It was a picture of me which he had cut out of his yearbook. He apparently had it on him when he was killed.
That evening I walked down the road and turned off onto the path and walked until it was dark. The fireflies were not out and the trees, including the matriarch of the clearing, were still bare. The stars were still shining, though, and the moon was bright enough to illuminate the whole clearing. I stood there looking around for a few minutes before I walked over to the base of the tree. I pulled out his two pictures but only pinned the yearbook one to the tree.
I kept the other one so I would not forget.
(833 words)
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I'm not sure quite what I think of it (it was a bit of an automatic writing); while I think I might have a good idea I don't know if I executed as well as I could have. Of course, any comments/suggestions would be appreciated :)
------------------------------
“Everyone get down!”
Andy was one of those kids that everyone liked but no one really knew or spent time with. He would float around under the radar, but would do his best to help anyone that asked. He never did anything against someone and seemed to have helped everyone at one time. A sweet guy if you could catch him.
“You three: suppressive fire! Everyone else on me! Move it!”
I knew him because he lived next door to where my family moved into a few years back. I quickly noticed the intriguing kid that lived next door, and I have to admit that I found his mysteriousness strangely appealing. When I was finally able to meet him I was pleasantly surprised by his kindness; and I think he was taken aback by my openness. Although we did not interact all that much I think I was the closest he had to a friend.
“You four go around on the left, you guys cover me on the right. Stay low and watch for crossfire.”
He abruptly showed up at my door one summer evening - something entirely out of character for him - and said that he wanted to show me something. I did not have anything else to do so I said sure and we started walking. After following the road for a little we turned onto a small path made by runoff water that led deep into a thick forest. He was mum (unsurprisingly) about where he was taking me, no matter how much I asked.
“Machine gun ahead!”
“Keep it moving!”
It was dark by the time we stopped but I think that was intentional: he stopped us at the edge of a surprisingly large clearing in the forest. The air in the clearing was filled with glowing fireflies that seemed to extend the star field in the sky down to earth. Sitting in the middle of the clearing was an old, matriarchal tree that was easily the largest in the forest.
I said it was beautiful, but the word could not do it justice. He said that he thought I was now the only other person to know of the clearing. He had been going here for years whenever he needed to get away from life. It was his own world where he could be whatever he wanted to be. I looked at him - he was staring off into the clearing, a look on his face that was calmer than I had ever seen on him - and asked him why he brought me here. He was quiet a moment before he looked down at his feet and said that he did not want it to be forgotten.
“They're everywhere!”
Later that week he packed up a bag and took a bus out of town. The army had called and he answered, telling me that he hoped to find something out there for him. His mother said that he was shipped off a few weeks later, but he had not been writing much.
Later that winter I was surprised when a letter came from him for me. He had included a small photograph of a weathered tree, much like the one in the clearing. On the back of it he had written a simple message: “I think I've found it.” He did not say much in the rest of the letter, other than he was in charge of his own squad and that they had already seen a lot of action. He also joked that he hoped I was able to survive without him.
“Get out of here!”
“Grenade!”
“Sarge! Medic!”
I was sitting out on our porch when a black car pulled up to his house and two men in military dress walked out. They were quickly let into the house. With my stomach starting to turn, I went into my house and told my mom, and she went over after the men left. They had been ambushed and he had run right into it. The men said that he tried to cover their withdraw but was hit hard by a grenade. By the time they got out it was too late for him. His belongings arrived a few weeks later, and his mother thought I should have it. It was a picture of me which he had cut out of his yearbook. He apparently had it on him when he was killed.
That evening I walked down the road and turned off onto the path and walked until it was dark. The fireflies were not out and the trees, including the matriarch of the clearing, were still bare. The stars were still shining, though, and the moon was bright enough to illuminate the whole clearing. I stood there looking around for a few minutes before I walked over to the base of the tree. I pulled out his two pictures but only pinned the yearbook one to the tree.
I kept the other one so I would not forget.
(833 words)
----------------------------
I'm not sure quite what I think of it (it was a bit of an automatic writing); while I think I might have a good idea I don't know if I executed as well as I could have. Of course, any comments/suggestions would be appreciated :)