A Shot In The Night

This was an english asignment that my english teacher didn't quite know how to handle since she is used to happy feeling stories with bright colors and butterflies...

A shot rang out in the silence of the night startling the small farming community near by. It was a peaceful town, with striking similarities to “Pleasantville”. It was like time stood still in this town, all shops closed just before 5 pm so all was home for supper on time. And all turned in at 8 pm sharp. The biggest problem the only police officer ever came across was the occasional little kitten in a tree.

So when the reverberation of the ominous gun shot reached the quant town, it came as a jolt of complete confusion. Every “man” of the house was found in the street with feverous curiosity. The question on everyone’s mind and tongues was “who was out in the dead of night? And what or who did they shoot?” And their dark questions were soon answered, as a pale and shaking figure was spotted off in the distance slowly making their way back into town.

As the figure grew closer the stereotypical men could make out that it was a women clothed in a white nightgown that had been tainted by a dark substance. All teemed with batted breath, and were becoming high with all the curiosity. Who was this figure, what had happened, where was she coming from; all these questions keep the men waiting with ominous anxiety. Just when they thought they couldn’t stand the wait any longer, one of the men finally recognized her.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Isn’t that Clara, the sheriff’s wife?”

“Yeah, Yeah, it is her, what’s she doing out here all by her lonesome?” shouted another inquisitorially.

The town Pastor went out to meet Clara and was shocked to find her badly beaten and covered in blood.

“What happened Clara? Who did this to you?” said the perturbed priest. Clara just stood there and quivered worse then a leaf in a fall wind storm. But with a little prompting she began to answer the horde of questions in a pale meek voice.

“I promised myself no more and I meant it.” “promised what, Clara?” cooed the priest. “No, means no. Don’t touch me!” she said in a crazed shout. “No one’s near you Clara. What’s wrong?”

Clara now stared blankly out into space. She looked so cadaverous it was scary.

“Father.” said a by stander in a timid voice. “Father, I don’t believe she’s with us anymore.” “What?” stammered the priest. “She’s still alive!?” “NO, not mentally. I think she’s flown to high over the coo-coo’s nest.” “No, she’s fine, aren’t you Clare?” now the Father had a unnerved attitude in his voice.

“Clara, we’ll take you home, and your husband will take care of you. He must be worried sick.” Now the priest was praying for her sanity.

“No. No he wont be worried. He’s not even home.” she finished with a malevolent smile.

“of course he is. He always is.” even the priest didn’t believe himself.

Clara responded with a quote by Hughes Mearns, her favorite poet. “Yesterday upon the stairs. I met a man who wasn’t there. He wasn’t there again today. Oh how I wish he’d go away.” These words were to last words she ever uttered.

Reviews

[Nicole]

I liked this. I don't get why the teacher didn't know how to handle it. My english teachers always seemed to take such glee in asigning the most twisted stories they could find. People seem to remember the disturbing stories better than the happy-butterfly-and-sun-shine ones. Like that damned story about the fool girl that got on the space ship and had to be thrown out the airlock in the end because the ship didn't have enough fuel to land with her on it....

[Katrinka Johnson]

"This was an english asignment that my english teacher didn't quite know how to handle since she is used to happy feeling stories with bright colors and butterflies..." I disagree with this factor because my story for creatived writing had that starter too, and mine wasn't so happy with bright colors and butterflies. To be truthfull i think you scared the living hell out of her with this to 100% honest it's not ever day she gets a story like this that has a lot of, well shockingness to it. Yes I know Shockingness isn't a word but I couldn't think of anything else. I liked the story though and it only proves what happens when something this big happens in a small town like the one we live in. It Practicaly changes the way we live our lives! Hasn't happened to but we all know their are people out there that are like that.

[Silent Pacer]

lol, well I agree completely with you. The small towns are way more likely to have something like this happen, and I even live in a small town, infact, it's actually a village. But my english teacher has to have things a her way, hence why she doesn't like my style of writing, to dark for her taste.
Oddly enough, one of the things I have been debating on becoming is a social worker, but my passion for art is pulling me in a different direction. Thank you for your opinion that I fully agree with.

[alternative_be]

What do you mean? Your English teacher didn't know how to handle this? I don't know what the initial assignment was, but I like the way you have built up this story with a classical beginning, a middle part and a climax...
Technically I don't see many flaws. It's the kind of event that can happen everywhere, even in the smallest of towns where so to speak nothing ever happens. Let me tell me something: in my view this kind of things do tend to happen more often in smaller towns than in big cities. In Europe we would call them family tragedies. What we mean by that is, a crime where we never would expect it, by a culprit we would never have expected to become a culprit. This often happens in very quiet communities where nothing ever happens and all misfortune is kept behind doors till it explodes.
What you have written is a very accurate description of reality blowing up in your face.
You cannot always write happy stories with colours and butterflies and all that.
You can read from my bio, at one time in my life I wanted to become an English teacher. I studied for 2 years at university to obtain a near to Bachelor level but left it at that to become a social worker. My English may have become rusty at some occasions, but now I feel like contacting your English teacher!