Last Stand

• Isaac Foo, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2010

“Killing spree!” The man in his army suit blended with the tall grass and the thick smoke bushes. His patience was a duplication of a cat squatting outside a mouse hole getting ready its claws when it heard something. The naïve mouse crept out, unaware of the dangers that encompassed it.

The man was well prepared and he let out the first shot, forcing the bullet into his target. The second landed on the right arm while the third cushioned itself in the heart of the victim.

This brought about success and triumph to the seventeen year old. He yelled out in exhilaration and celebrated for having such astounding abilities to watch the screen and click the mouse, which amazingly, pumped a bullet out from an assault rifle.

After a straight twenty-nine hours of practice, the kid felt invincible. He opened the main door and walked out of his house. It was a typical Saturday morning in Sydney Central. The streets were serene and were even accumulating dust. Fifty years ago, this was considered not normal. Cars and buses would be supplying a continuous flow of carbon monoxide and tranquillity was unheard of!

The Opera house started to turn grey and it bore a slightly rough surface but nature’s remarkable works didn’t just stop here. The Royal Botanic gardens was flourishing with a green piece of art. Grasses of all types overshadowed the footpaths while smoke bushes provided a blanket for the red roses.

Up high in the buildings, where people once used to consider a ‘workplace’ had been all emptied except for the lights and carpets. Wherever the teenager went, these buildings had a “for sale” sign placed in front of the grand, manual sliding doors. It was close to six in the morning.

On the spur of the moment, the teenager’s knees came crashing to the hard concrete. His eyes were red and swollen from fatigue while his stomach seemed to be an exploding grenade. After those twenty-nine hours of practice, he now felt vulnerable.

The short needle on the huge clock struck six. The first bell went. He tried to pick himself up from the floor but his muscles just burned away in a raging fire that inflicted an excruciating pain. The second bell went. He gasped for a breadth and squalled silently. He struggled for a second breadth but the screams just seemed to be of a diminuendo. Just across the street, a person was playing ‘blood strike!’ The power of his click sent a man in the game down and blasted.

The third bell saw another person in another house unleashed rage through a click. The fourth bell went and in a different house, there was a cry of “killing spree!” The fifth bell accompanied the gunshots but they gradually faded away. The sixth finally brought about the obliviousness to the teenager, a sense of restlessness. As the sounds faded away, so were the memories, memories that were once seen but now lost.