Bang! Your dead.

A Story by danluvmag

Following a murder in his home-town twelve-year-old Will discovers a loaded gun on the side of the road. He no longer fears his school-yard tormenters.

In the darkness we hear the sound of a tractor throttling in the distance. As our eyes grow acustomed to the low-light we begin to see that we are standing in a cornfield, among a thicket of stalks. When the sun breaks we notice a small white cottage about a mile north-east of us.

Something is wrong here. At first it was only a feeling... But what about crickets or birds? Shouldn't we hear something else? Anything else?

I can only hear the sound of that damned tractor plowing through, and its getting louder now; closer.

I wanted to ask a question but I can't remember what it was. That tractor is so loud. Can you even hear me?

Wait. Don't answer now. Something is happening. Can you hear it? The tractor has stopped, and now we can hear foot-steps comming our way.

Hide!

A man appears among the husks. Can you see him in his red flannel and blue jeans? This must be the farmer.

He brushes past us without ever knowing we were there. He had a look of deep worry or serious concentration, didn't he?

He pauses about five feet to the left of us. A twig snaps underfoot.

"Dear Jesus!"

The farmer turns to run, and as he does so the stalks snap back into place, obscurring the view. So we can't see what he saw, but we do see the look on his face.

"Martha!" he shouts. "Martha!"

His eyes. Did you see his eyes? I have never seen such eyes in my life; as big as f*****g saucers.

A moment goes by and we can still hear him shouting, but from far off now. Soon the sound of his voice won't be able to reach us, and all will be still. All will be quiet, except... except I wonder what he saw.

Are you curious at all?

I'm going to go see. You can come if you want...

***

As we creep closer a pungent smell fills our nostrils. I don't know why we didn't notice it before?

The greens snap and break around us. The sun is up by now, and it's shinning hard, beating on the backs of our necks.

Up ahead, the way clears a little. The stalks grow thin.

That's where the farmer was standing.

We're getting close.

Don't be afraid.

I bend the stalks so we both can see what lies beyond the clearing. Are you ready?

The first period bell rang, and the students took their seats. Their teacher, Mrs. Blackstone, had not yet appeared.

"My mother says that if you pick on me I'm allowed to hit you," she said.

"Well I'm not asking permission, but if you touch me I will hit you back."

The bohemoth said nothing. She just stood up, came to where he was sitting, and grabbed a hold of his neck. Her grip was strong.

In a flash his face struck the desk. His lips throbbed. There was the taste of blood in his mouth. He had not expected her to do that. He thought she would have swallowed it, and done nothing, as she had a million times before.

Without hesitation he was up and out of his seat. He allowed the chair to grind across the floor, and bang into his desk, creating as much clatter as possible. Then he assumed a fighting stance.

He wouldn't have known what to do if she hadn't jumped back. He might have just stood there, like a statue, ready to strike.

But she did. He had frightened her, and she had cowered.

"Now," he pointed to her and back to her own chair. "Sit your a*s down!"

Had he been menacing enough? He didn't know. He hoped that she would not attack instead. He hoped that she would do as he had demanded. Then he might not have to fight later on. But he doubted it.