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TITLE (EDIT)
Gunning Down Romance |
DESCRIPTION
The story is tragic and has a moral parrallel with the current high- profile topic of teenage gun crime yet has romantic undertones. Personally, I think that it is too fast moving as I had to try and keep it as short as possible for the project, yet friends told me that they enjoyed it.
[1,425 words] |
AUTHOR
Emma Roberts |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I'm only 14 and am considering having a future in writing.
[July 2003] |
Gunning Down Romance
Emma Roberts
I sat and gazed on the smooth, white curve of his cheek and his blue eyes, once so vibrant and alive, but now so dull and peaceful. I couldn’t take it any longer; I wanted to wake him up. But I couldn’t. Dead at 17. It seemed such a waste, a waste of life, a waste of opportunities and a waste of spirit. I couldn’t believe that someone could take all that away in a second, without thinking or caring. An icy finger ran down my spine and I shuddered to think that it should have, would have, been me lying there. He had made the ultimate sacrifice for me and I didn’t even have a chance to thank him. I gently touched his forehead and left.
You would never think that cowboys and Indians and doctors and nurses would be a great basis for a friendship, but James and I had been best friends for, well, forever. We had been through school together, ventured into the dangerous, barren wasteland that is the school playground for the first time together and watched each other grow and change over the years. People never seemed to be able to accept our friendship, though. When we were young,, other girls couldn’t understand why I would possibly want to play with an “icky boy”, and when I was older my hormonally- charged girlfriends couldn’t see how a boy and girl could be so close and spend so much time together without exchanging bodily fluids. But, whatever people said, to me James might as well have been gay he was that out of bounds to me, and I saw him, and pretty much treated him (much to his disgust) as an honorary girl. Yet here we were, in our last years of school, everyone embarking upon post-exam high spirits; you could almost feel the buzz in the air. Walking down the corridor one afternoon, I felt an arm snake around my waist. I jumped and spun round, instantly recognizing the cheeky, vaguely crooked grin emblazoned across the face I was confronted with. “Jamie” I said in the manner of an exhausted mother whose child has drawn on the wall for the umpteenth time, “You said that in a very condescending way” he said, beginning to pout a little, “Anyway”, the smile sprung back to his lips, “you know it’s the end of exams and, well, it’s almost customary for someone to have a party to celebrate…” I immediately jumped in “Oh no, no, no. You know how much I hate parties. The girls just bitch about what other girls are wearing, the boys have some kind of weird mating ritual where they try and out drink each other, but it doesn’t matter because they just throw it back up all over each other again five minutes later and you spend your whole time either with your hand over your drink because everybody feels an insatiable need to drop something in it whenever they walk past, leaving your more stocked up with drugs than Boots or hiding in the toilets from someone’s recently divorced, letch of an uncle, who nobody knows why he’s there or who he belongs to. It’s not happening. No way. ”
I’m at the party. I don’t know how James did it; he had some kind of irresistible charm (my theory was reinforced by his incredible luck with girls, of which I was regularly told about in excruciating detail) that could make anyone do anything. But I was surprised to find that I was quite enjoying myself, with not as much as a glimpse of strange substances or hairy relatives so far. I could barely move as it seemed as though most of the young population had been crammed into the bottom floor of some unfortunate girl’s house, yet the red walls and soft lighting made it feel cosy rather than claustrophobic, yet with the smell of hot bodies mingled with cheap perfume feeling almost overwhelming. I saw James come bounding up to me, “Don’t even bother pretending that you’re not having fun because I know that you are” he said with a smile. I smiled back “I’m quite worried that you know that, I think that you should get some outside interests. Knitting perhaps.” We sniggered amicably. “You know what Sarah” he began “I feel really happy. My life’s sorted as well as the future. I know where I’m going, I’ve got my family, friends, you”, I was surprised to find that my heart skipped a beat over the way that his voice lowered and lingered over the last word, but I quickly hurried that thought out of my mind, “glad you feel that way”, I raised my glass, “to life”, “to life” he repeated, his glass held high in the air, “now let’s dance!” So we did.
I had seen him out of the corner of my eye a few times during the evening, each time growing ever more concerned. I didn’t trust him. He looked a bit dodgy, like the sort of lad you would expect to see standing on a street corner hurling abuse and picking fights, the sort of lad who would sell his granny and little brother’s gerbil for drugs. You know the type. He stood out like a glowing beacon, his raw, volatile anger juxtaposed against a backdrop of happiness and goodwill engulfing the rest of the room. He was shouting violently and frenetically at another boy, whose body seemed to be decreasing in size and face steadily draining of colour as he shrank into a corner. Despite my best efforts, I could not pick out most of the conversation from the flurry of music and voices, but by piecing bits together I concluded that it was something concerning money, owed money, and I didn’t think that the debts were accumulated due to entirely honest, or legal, means. I was relieved to see the boy leave, albeit in a cloud of animosity whilst pushing people out of way. My relief was short-lived as a few minutes later the front door burst violently open. A tense silence filled the air as in strode the lad from earlier, only this time surrounded by a large group who did not just look as if they would consider selling their granny, they looked like they had done it a long time ago. The congregation of people studied them for a moment, and then slowly began talking again, the sound building up in layers. I remained silent as I felt the sweat begin to prickle on the back of my neck as I realized that we were standing very near to the group’s target, the horror struck boy from earlier. The gentle at being emitted from James’ body was my only source of comfort, although he was completely unaware of the situation as he talked animatedly to a friend. The gang was getting increasingly nearer. The look of malice on their faces grew. I was breathing in short sharp breaths. The boy in question’s face was as white as his shirt. One of the gang raised a gun. I couldn’t help it. I yelped. He turned. The sound of a shot resounded off the walls. The room plunged into to silence. I screwed up my eyes, awaiting the pain. It never came. I slowly opened my eyes. The gang had gone. First I saw a blur of crimson, then among it, James. He had jumped in front of me. I fell to my knees and gently lifted his head. His face swam beneath the wall of water slowly covering my eyes. His breaths were short and raping. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with fear. He swallowed and quietly said, “Tell my mum I thought of her, I love her and that it’s ok to be sad, but learn to laugh again and never feel guilty about it”, I felt the lump move higher in my throat, I could almost feel the life slipping out of his body, “I need to tell you something”, he said, his voice getting quieter and hoarser, I struggled to speak, “shhh, it’s all right”. He slowly shook his head and spoke so quietly it was barely audible “I love you”. I felt the weight on my arms increase as is body became limp and his head rolled. I single tear fell from my brimming eyes and slowly rolled down his cheek, it almost looked like his own. I hugged his head against my chest and whispered it back.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2003 Emma Roberts |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
July 2003 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2143
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