October Night

• Calum Davis, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2021

He threw his long firearm to the ground, barely visible against the shadows of that late October night. His gaze slowly rose from the glossy cobblestone pathway. There he was, finally after all these years. Except, he never thought he’d come here because of this. In front of him, on the corner of Arnold st and Carol st was a small white building, made from old bricks and faded wood, peeling away from years of termite damage and rainfall. Hanging above the rain speckled window was a small white wooden sign, swinging and creaking in the smooth breeze, with the text ‘POLICE OFFICE’ printed on the front in blue, barely visible from the same years of erosion. His gaze cast down, further into Arnold st, towards a small, shady alleyway. Leaking out from the corner were bloodstained puddles, splashing and turning fainter from the downpour; the rain that could drown a thousand cities. The rain started to pelt down harder, drenching his trenchcoat. His clothes were becoming heavier, similar to his feeling of guilt, pressing on his shoulders and squeezing his chest, making it harder and harder to walk towards the Police Office. He could run away. No one would find the body till tomorrow, he would be halfway to France by then. Similar thoughts began flickering across his spinning head, almost causing him to double over, but one thought stayed still, solid and constant. He unintentionally killed an innocent man, a young man, a boy even. He probably hadn’t even left his family home, or found true love, or felt true hate. The kid was scared, confused and alone. Unaware that his life would be taken away by a trigger happy low life, a crook, a coward who only lived up to his selfish and personal demands. The image of the kid's last expression was burned into his skull, like ink staining paper, unable to remove or ignore. He couldn’t stare into the shady alleyway any longer, his guilt and shame were building up too much. He felt as if he was a cork, ready to explode at any moment, hoping that all of his guilt and shame would fizz, spray and hopefully die out, solving all his problems. Even so, he couldn’t escape this, he had to confront it, for the kid and for himself. So, without any other crafty schemes, wicked thoughts or ulterior motives, he knocked on the rigidly thin wooden door and walked in.