The Father That Did The Unthinkable

• Benjamin Arndt, Grade 5A, Chapel Hill State School
• Short Story
• 2016

Excellence Award in the 'Word Zone 2016' competition

He rested his soft and delicate hands on another gloomy page of his 64-page scrapbook. Pathetic, useless and weak. He had no parents or life. He was forced to stay at a poor and harsh boarding school on a remote edge of Iraq near Iran. Life was painful and Afta was falling extremely behind in his year 12 studies. It was just yet another day in the strict boarding school and what would happen next would change his life forever…
It had just turned 1PM and was now time for history. Then, suddenly a bullet came hurtling through the window landing violently in the centre of the teacher’s chest killing her almost immediately. A grey helicopter appeared outside the small window. It was small and modern. It could probably fit about four passengers and two pilots. There was a well-built man with black hair leaning outside the open door carrying a rifle.
Everyone burst out screaming, sprinting around the desks in horror. Suddenly a spray of bullets came out of the rifle hitting nearly all of the students in the head. Blood came shooting everywhere and the whole classroom was terrifying enough to make a senseless person faint. But for some reason Afta did not get hit. Were they kidnapping him and torturing him later? Or did they need him? It was all a mystery to Afta and he had to escape. He then turned around and headed for the door. A grenade then went off blowing a massive hole in the wall knocking Afta off his feet. The collision with the head and the hard colourless concrete floor had knocked him unconscious. What lay ahead of him was now a mystery and his old life had now gone. The helicopter had travelled 200km into the capital city of Iran, Tehran.
It had then landed into a large complex that was the size of a military base. Afta woke up in a small room about the size of a truck. He was sitting in a soft and cosy leather chair with two wooden armrests fitting his slim arms perfectly. There were many weapons ranging from Swiss army knives to sniper rifles. Each one of them was displayed perfectly behind a clear glass cabinet. They were meant to look horrifying and scare every single poor victim who had an unfortunate place here in the torture room. Afta was now petrified and his heart was thumping like mad. This was about to be the death of the poor slim boy with the black hair. Whatever would happen here it was definitely not going to be peaceful.
Then suddenly a tall man appeared wearing an expensive suit. He moved carefully and slowly not daring to speak. Was he afraid of Afta? Or was he acting to make Afta feel better? Afta knew who it was and the man knew whom he was too. His parents had not been killed. His father was a killer. This was the death of Afta Kolopos.