Conspiracy

• Rebecca Nguyen, Grade 10, Canley Vale High School
• Short Story
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

Danger, sorrow, probably the two most accurate words describing his emotions as he sat in the motor car, driving along Elm Street. Circulating blood pounded in his head, causing another painful throb. The headache was best represented as stretched elastic bands releasing inside his head. The two sides of the band would collide, sending echoing eye squinting loud snaps, while the sides wobbled from the vibration of the sound. As the snapping inside his head continued, he couldn’t help but think about all the greetings he’d received today.
‘Good morning sir, how are you?’
‘Good morning, I’m fine thank you,’ was the answer he gave to each greeting despite feeling nothing close to fine. Finally the annoying beating drums in his head diminished gradually, fading into his tangled web of his thoughts.
Crowds chanted his name; while cameras flashed into his eyes, leaving him temporarily blinded. As he opened his eyes a bright red circle was left blurring his vision, drifting wherever he looked, as though teasing him in a joke he couldn’t understand. Slowly, with each blink, the crimson splotch faded, first into white before disappearing completely.
‘You can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you,’ she laughed, waving and greeting the exuberant crowd. His wife was right; Dallas did love him, but perhaps, in the crowd was a person who hated him.
A worried face in disguise, he concealed his growing concern with a grand smile and continued to greet the vibrant crowd.
Camouflaged among them, Oswald waited for his arrival, shuffling for the best view of his subject. Digging his hand into his pocket, he felt the cool metal object sitting comfortably, waiting patiently to be exposed. As the limousine passed Elm Street, his firm hands tightened around the object, swiftly pulling the weapon out of his pocket. A single fragment of burning metal escaped the barrel, emitting a clear crack of thunder vibrating the air.
Despite his careful precision the bullet missed, only to be forgotten and lost in the loud, screaming crowd. Amongst them was the sense of hesitation and doubt, soon removed by the assumption of an exploding firecracker as they continued to celebrate the invited guest. Perspiration clearly showed on his face along with the pressure of succeeding his mission. Eye targeting the victim, he once again pulled the trigger and the bullet raced towards the man in the limousine…
Never had he been more aware of mortality, as the metal piece burrowed and exited his throat. Oswald, completely alert of his target’s location, despite chances of getting caught, did not miss the opportunity to fire one last shot, this time with more confidence and accuracy, before quickly escaping the scene.
The last bullet would be the last thing to be on the mind of the man visiting Dallas. And this was meant to be a good day.