Victory

• Amelia Gill, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2017

The frosty, cold air bit my nose as I walked down the dark alleyway. The stench of rotten garbage filled my nostrils like a poisonous gas seeping through every crack and crevice it could find. I made out a glint of light on the frosty path and crouched down. I picked up the object and tossed it into the chilly air before catching it. I turned it over. A two dollar coin. I stuffed the coin into my ragged trench coat and continued walking. As I walked out of the alleyway, I stared at the building before me. The smell of warm coffee and sweet delicacies seemed to call me. My old shoes crunched in the silvery snow as I approached the glass door to the café. A rush of warm air wafted around me like a wave of heat. I pulled out a couple of dirty, copper coins out of my pocket. I looked up at the counter.

“And so we meet again,” The voice of my worst enemy rung through my ears like a never-ending echo.
My step-brother. We were both orphans now. A couple of years ago, he tried to kill me, but I escaped. I slowly lowered my hand into my coat pocket, grasping the grenade I had stolen. My eyes narrowed and the corners of my lips spread into a scowl.
“Curse you,” I whispered irritably to him.
“Why don’t we settle this outside?” He ignored, smiling sinisterly.
He left the counter and stood at the door, his blood-red eyes staring menacingly at me.
“After you,” he snickered, holding the door open, releasing the cold air into the café.
I pushed past him and walked calmly outside. He followed me, tossing his work apron effortlessly onto the counter, which somehow landed in a neat pile. I crossed my arms, ready for any sudden movements. He reached into his pocket and threw something towards the snow-covered park. My eyes darted to the object. When I looked back at him, there was a pistol in his pale hands, the trigger about to be pulled.
“You can’t shoot me in public,” I sneered.
“Oh, did you forget? Dark magic, sis. It can hide anything from those foolish mortals,” He chuckled.
I tried to think of a way to stop him. I knew him well. I needed to take him by surprise… My hand went back to the grenade. The only way to kill him was to kill both of us.
“You’ll kill yourself,” He said, grinning with satisfaction, knowing about the grenade.
“Exactly,” I whispered before drawing my grenade out of my pocket quickly and pulling the pin. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as I threw it on the patch of snow between us, sending a massive explosion through the suburbs, no dark magic concealing the flames. He was… dead.
As the smoke calmed down, I lay limply on the hard dirt, knowing every breath would be my last. Victory, I thought to myself. Victory.