In my writer's craft course I am currently taking in high school. We were asked to make a short story using our teacher's desired beginning and ending. She would also, randomly, write words on the board and proceeded to say that in our next sentence we needed to add in that particular word. After twenty minutes of writing, here is the result of such an exercise.
You would never have guessed what happened when I went to go beach combing the other day… I woke up at 6 a.m. as if it was any other day. Suddenly the phone next to my bed began ringing. I went over to the phone and said, “Hello? Who’s calling?”
“You know…” said the voice on the other line.
“No I don’t! You better tell me who this is right now or this conversation is over!”
“Take a look at the photograph beside your bed.” the voice replied again.
I looked behind myself at the desk where a photo of a couple sailing happily resided. This photo was one of my former wife and I. The only reason that she was former was because twenty years ago she was brutally murdered. As I was about to reply, my iPod from across the room began to sound off the song that was playing when I walked into our house to find my wife’s body. I should have taken that as a sign of the terrible day that was to come, but foolishly I did not. I went back to the phone and said with a stuttering voice, “Who the hell are you?”
“Go do what you usually do and you will know…” the voice said aggressively as the line cut out. I went over to grab some grubby clothing to put on, and did not bother to shower since I was extremely scared as to what was happening. I went over to my doorway, and hurriedly put on my bright blue shoes. When I walked out I realized I forgot to grab my keys, but thankfully I forgot to lock the door as well. I then opened the door and looked to the left where I found my keys on the shoe rack. I went down the street at a running pace, but was soon distracted by a McDonald’s. This was not because I was hungry, which was true at the time, but because there was a man in a black coat staring straight at me.
I went up to him and asked, “Are you the one who called me? And if so why go through this fuss?!”
He looked me deep in the eyes and said, “Yes…” he then proceeded to pull out a gun and say, “and to finish the job.”
That was the day I died and it was probably much more outlandish than most deaths you would hear about in your local newspaper… and I swear to you, that is exactly how it all went down.
-Dave
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This story was a lot more funny when it was presented orally. In writing, it just seems very creepy. It is surprising how disturbing such a short story can be. I'm curious to know what it was the character usually does, which he didn't do because he was sidetracked by the McDonald's restaurant. I hope he doesn't normally get shot.
ReplyDeleteDoes that mean that this story was written from the grave? Are you dead?
When I was writign it I was planning out a creepy story but did not know where to end it. Thanks to Ms's words though I was able to compile it together quite nicely. He was a beach comber and a quiet one at that. He lived in isolation but found conversations with strangers quite becoming. The story is, in fact, written from the grave much like The Lovely Bones is.
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