Here's a story that I wrote:
The Silent Witness
I looked up from my book, “The penguin history of New Zealand” to find that I was alone. My family had left the house without acknowledging the fact I was there. I didn’t like this book; I was only reading it because we had a history project due in a couple of days. However tedious this project was, I had to try if I had any hope of passing this year. I looked out the window to a completely miserable day, rain was pouring down and the clouds were growing darker by the second. I still puzzled over where my family had gone, perhaps to tend the sheep that would be dying from this extreme cold blast.
In the distance I saw a small movement, I ran over to the window and grabbed the binoculars. The movement had been nothing more than my brother jumping into a puddle. I zoomed in closer to find that it was not my brother, but a tiny little boy standing in waist deep water. I threw on my anorak and gumboots and ran out to him, the closer I got the further away he seemed to move, I reached the puddle where he was standing but nobody was there. Scared, I put my leg into the puddle to see if I could feel a body, nothing. Thunder tumbled through the darkening sky as my anorak could not cope with the immense volume of water and I started to get soaked.
I traipsed back into the warm of my house, shaken from seeing this tiny child. The boy must’ve just been the shape and shadows of the rain. I switch on the television to see a fashionable Japanese couple trying out the latest Mohave sunglasses; it made me sick to see such obviously preset infomercials. I couldn’t take the cheesy advertisements and decided to play on the computer: 3 new messages. All forwards. I checked them all; one consisted of a grey stepladder leaning against an equally boring wall. Pointless. Down the bottom was a lame poem about how bad it is to not send forwards on. I didn’t bother reading it but deleted it, next minute another message appears. A picture of the small boy in the puddle. What the?! That can’t be real. I delete it and try to call my Mom’s cell phone. It’s dead, no coverage.
A small pleading voice talks to me as if it were dying, I follow it in a trance. I have time to glance down at the morning’s paper and see a perfect square cut out. A coupon for Ordering’s, nothing significant. The voice comes back stronger and more malicious. It leads me out into the paddock. There I find my family, silent and helpless all lying slashed on the ground. I think nothing of it. I’m not me. I keep following the voice; it takes me further and further away from the house. I don’t want to fight it. Suddenly, silence...
The voice has gone and I am left on my own, in the middle of nowhere, I have no idea where I am. I know what I have to do though. I continue on for what seems like hours. I am finally at the destination. I run up and jump. Tumbling into the chasm. Falling until I reach the cold hard rocks and dirt. Death comes as fast as my life left. The innocent child looks down on me lying silent and battered.
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, its interesting to read, you should do more.
Good luck, John.
Originally Posted by MidnightMike
its been ages since i last wrote some poetry..also started writing a book when i was 14, when i was like 16 i re-wrote most of it, still got it, just havent had time to do more
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