Fiction

This is a little piece of fiction I just wrote for Nixy Valentine’s Writing Adventure Group. I was going to follow the guidelines, honest, but once I started things just flowed and this was the result.

The assignment for this WAG was to observe someone, imagine their background, and come up with a secret for them. I really did observe the boy in my story, the rest is pure imagination.

This is my first ever attempt at writing fiction that I’ve showed to anyone outside my closest circle of family and friends, I hope you like it.

I’ve decided to call it “One down“.

For details about WAG #7, and the other participants’ entries (as they become available), please see the end of this post.

One down

The boy opened the passenger side door of his father’s car and started to get out. Cerebral Palsy made his movements clumsy and jerky, but as usual he declined help.

With his father and brother in tow he started walking, his knees scissoring for each step. It was almost painful to watch, his progress slow and his birdlike arms extended out in front of him, wrists limp. Even his head was birdlike, small and tilted to one side.

The most remarkable thing about him though, was his smile. People around him responded to it, smiled back, overcoming their feelings of awkwardness in the face of his handicap. With each genuine smile from a stranger, the boy’s own beamed even brighter.

St John had seen it before. Every week it was the same routine, the boy and his family entered the little antiques shop across the street from the coffeehouse, where he was always in place, observing them.

The handicapped boy had a passion for old religious artifacts and was already a seasoned collector. St John had followed him online for months, learning as much as he could once he discovered the boy’s true identity, his dark secret.

He looked around, casually. The little café was filled with weekend shoppers, loud and happy people who didn’t notice the beautiful wooden floors beneath their feet or the ornate chandelier hanging above the counter. Nor did they consciously notice the noise level inside the small room, incredibly loud considering it was all created by voices.

St John did, he felt separated from the other patrons by the wall of sound they created, and by the fact that he noticed so much about them and their surroundings, but they didn’t seem to notice him at all. Which was perfect.

He finished his coffee and looked at his watch. He allowed 12 minutes to pass, then got up, paid and left. He started walking towards the intersection at the end of the street, before crossing over. He glanced at his watch again, 17 minutes.

He knew what he had to do, it was necessary, vital. Besides, he didn’t have a choice. He put on a pair of gloves and felt the cold, hard metal in his pocket. Reassuring. Ready. With his eyes fixed on the door of the antiques shop he continued towards it, waiting for it to open any second.

When it did, and the dad peered out, St John was ready. His mind altered state, he acquired tunnel vision, his hearing dropped away and his muscles tensed. When the boy appeared in the door, St John was only 10 steps away and closing rapidly.

He pulled the gun from his pocket, aimed it at the boy’s chest and fired. Three shots in a tight grouping, near the heart. The boy looked surprised for an instant, then his face crumpled and he fell to the pavement. St John stood over him, and feeling nothing, delivered the kill shot to the head.

Time stretched. The voices inside his head fell silent. For an eternity he stood and watched, trying to reconcile the sight of the dead handicapped boy with the demon he knew him to have been. St John knew himself to be an angel, a soldier, and it was his unpleasant job to kill demons.

Suddenly his hearing returned, his ears were ringing and people were screaming all around him. He could smell the blood pooling rapidly at his feet. Without looking up he dropped the gun and headed for the corner, and into the side street. He got on the stolen scooter he had parked there, put on the helmet and sped away.

Two hours later he was by himself, anxious to complete the final step of his task. He was enclosed from the world in his dark apartment, sitting in front of his computer. He went online, logged on to Twitter and updated his status with just five words: “It has begun. One down.”

No one among his followers believed him. Yet.

Here are Nixy’s instructions for this WAG:

“WAG #7: Imaginings” This one is people-watching with a twist.  Observe a stranger and sketch a brief background for them, including a secret. Then describe why they are in that particular place at that particular time (where you ran into them) and how it will affect their future. Feel free to be creative, but don’t forget to describe the concrete reality that made you pick them in the first place! (Thank you to Christine Kirchoff for this week’s WAG topic!)

The other participants in this week’s WAG:

How to Join the Writing Adventure Group

Nancy Parra

Iain Martin

Cora Zane

Sue O’Shields

Mickey Hoffman

J.M. Strother – Mad Utopia

Sharon Donovan

Nixy Valentine

DMW Carol

Next week’s Writing Adventure:

“WAG #8: Rose Colored Glasses” Go out and choose an unfamiliar object (in other words, one you have no history with) that strikes you as ugly, repulsive, annoying, etc… some ideas might be: a wad of squashed gum on the pavement, a dead squirrel on the side of the road, an ugly sign, a loud construction site, a tacky sculpture in a charity shop… and write about it in such as way as to make it appealing to your reader. Really sell it! Use whatever words you want and cheat as much as you want, but do your best!