1000 word story

Tim Smith hopped off the crowded number 16 tram at stop 39 every day, and today was no exception. He walked to the shelter first, as it seemed like it was going to rain, and pulled out his headphones. It seemed he had no time to listen to The Clash, as he had to think about more important things. He would have to take his half an hour walk home quicker today, as he was sure, by the dramatic change in temperature, and the dark muggy clouds looming around in the atmosphere, that a storm was due. He slipped his iPod into his pocket, and took a step out of the shelter. Suddenly, a young teenager, wearing a black hoody, a black skirt and black shoes, bumped into Tim, and his iPod slipped out of his pocket, and fell to the hard asphalt. He heard a crack, and before he picked it up, the teen ran away, shooting in front of the tram, obviously grinding the driver’s gears, represented by the seemingly endless ding of the trams bell. He looked down at the iPod once more and picked it up. It was broken, no doubt about it. Stuffed. He groaned, and as the tram set off for the rest of its journey, Tim was left there to wonder at his luck. It couldn’t get much worse. Wrong. A drop of rain landed on his left shoulder, and that was his cue. He started running home.

After 5 mins of a slow jog, he grew tired, and looked down the endless road. He soon stopped by a bin, and decided it was time for a new iPod. He placed the iPod in the bin, and kept walking. He still had about a good 20 minutes of walking left, and he had no AC/DC. Suddenly, Tim felt as if he was being watched. He stopped walking and turned around. Nothing. He was so sure that he was being watched. He turned back and started walking again, getting even more scared with each step. The street seemed enormous to him, and the constant walking, without the iPod, enlarged the fact that he had a long time to go. Suddenly, to his right, a large black van entered his view. He stopped confused by the sudden movement, and all of a sudden the door opened. Tim Smith was grabbed by 2 masked men, and thrown into the van. The van sped off. Two witnesses were present.

Gladys Gardiner was watering her garden at the time of the kidnapping. She had lived in the same house for 40 years, and she had no intention of changing that. Her husband, George, had died 10 years earlier of a heart attack, but the constant surveillance by her daughter kept her feeling safe and set. When she saw the black van, she didn’t know what to think. The first thing she thought was ‘oh, how cliché.’ Little did she know, that this action would be on the news the next morning, and also all over the papers. When questioned by police, she told them about the black van, and nothing else could be said. She wasn’t much help to the police, and she felt bad. But what was she supposed to think?

The other witness was a lot more interesting. Alice Robertson, a 16-year-old girl from Richmond was on the way to her boyfriend, Todd’s house. An interesting point about Alice is that she was following the latest wave of Goth. She listened to Goth music, and she wore black. She told the police this, and they added this to their notes. When asked if she had seen this man, Tim Smith, she blushed. When asked ‘why are your cheeks so red?’ She hesitated before answering ‘I think I bumped into him.’ The policemen looked at each other, stumped. ‘Anything else happen?’ The girl blushed even more. ‘I think, when I bumped into him, I broke his iPod, or something. I was in a rush, I thought that Todd thought that I was cheating on him. I didn’t think to stop. It only sunk in a few minutes after, so I ran after him to say sorry. I finally found him, but as I walked up to him, the van came up and took him’. The police sat there, desperately trying to write down the information just uttered. The girl placed her hands on the smooth table, and started to cry. ‘It’s alright Ms. Robertson, it wasn’t your fault’. She replied, ‘I know, but I saw someone being taken away, a life being taken, and in the process, other peoples life being changed forever.’

Tim Smith was running. The hard asphalt slammed against his feet, bare and blistered. He had his work shirt on, and his pants, but no socks or shoes. The slap of his feet in the night broke the silence, as he finally veered down his street. He had evaded death; he had escaped the van, and the conspirators looming inside it. But he was sure they knew where he lived. He finally reached his front gate, and after 2 hours of running, found the spare key and ran in. He needed protection. He then thought of his wife and his child, on holiday at the family farm, but due back this night. He was determined not to leave them anytime soon. He ran to his cupboard, and climbed the small ladder to the second level. Suddenly he heard the door slam open.He heard fast running, he had no time to waste. He found his gun cupboard; he was an avid shooter. He found the key beside his bed and opened it. Inside he saw his shotgun, and immediately grabbed it. He pumped the gun, and it was loaded, ready for whoever it was. Suddenly the door opened, and in the heat of the moment, shot the gun.

Tim Smith went pale, before falling to his knees, and fainting, his head slamming against the ground. For before him, was his wife, who was running to him to give Tim some good news. She was pregnant. The door opened, and the young child opened to door to the bloody scene.