Jump to content

Creative writing


SpotSD
 Share

Recommended Posts

This isn't in the rp forum because, it's not rp, and it has nothing to do with the battlecruiser universe.

This is a creative writing project that's

due in english class in a few days. I thought I would post it here first and

you people could give consturctive critisim

(In other words don't say "yur story sux"

and leave it at that.) Please point out any gramitcle errors, spelling errors, and plot holes you find. Thank you.

Ps.

yes it is a western that was one of the guidlines.

The Alleged Robbery

By (you didn't realy think I'd post my name online Did you?)

It started on a dry humid day in the small prarie town of Dusty Springs. The air seemed thick and sticky; it was the kind of air that seemed more solid than it did vapor. A small squirrelly man named Joe Blake dashed into the sheriff’s office and in a broken voice that seemed to belong to a young man, he screeched “Johnson!” The sheriff bolted awake from his light afternoon nap. “What do you want?” he demanded, obviously annoyed by the rude awakening. A stage has been robbed about four miles west of town! Johnson all traces of annoyance suddenly gone “what was it carrying?”

"No passengers and the driver abandoned the stage when he saw gang coming” The small man said. “All that was on board was cargo.” The sheriff heaved a sigh of relief. For he knew the outlaws native to these parts were not known for taking prisoners. “I’m going to ride out there and take a look around for any clues as to who did this. Round up deputy Travis and have him meet me there as soon as he can.” Johnson

said as he headed through the door into the hot midday weather. Once outside he squinted into the sun starting to dip low in the sky, pulled down his hat to shade his eyes,

swung up into his saddle, and headed west.

In search of the deputy, Blake galloped up to the saloon, in his haste practically falling off his horse. Upon regaining his balance he whipped the harness around a post and ran into the saloon. Scanning the room he spotted the Deputy playing cards at a corner table.

“Travis!” Blake shouted over the din of the noisy room, “You sure are a hard man to find when needed.”

“I try” the stocky young man yelled back with a grin. Blake quickly replied, “This is no laughing matter. A stage has been robbed just west of town.” The crowded busy room suddenly became quite enough to hear a pin drop, all eyes turned to Blake, and the smile on Travis’ face faded like the last rays of sunlight just outside.

Sheriff Johnson felt great relief from the cooling effect of the sun slipping below the horizion. He was about a mile from where Blake had said the stagecoach would be.

When he saw another rider cantering along the road. Pulling along side the tall burly man, Johnson asked, “What are you doing along this road?” Ignoring the question the man declared, “oh good you must be the Sheriff” while looking at Johnson’s badge.

“Yeah I…” Johnson started when the man cut him off. “You must be out here about the robbery?” “Yes” the Sheriff replied, and then added somewhat suspiciously “how did you know about the robbery?” “Oh, well I’m the driver.” The man said in a condescending voice, like it was common knowledge who he was. “I’m just going back to the stage to see what the thieves have taken,” the big man added. There was a long silence filled only with the rhythmic sound of the horse’s hoofs. Until just for the sake of conversation Johnson commented, “for a fellow who’s just been robbed you sure are pretty calm.”

The driver became noticeably tense and snapped, “how would you know how I feel?”

This lead to another stretch of silence in which Johnson puzzled over the drivers sudden change in mood.

After what seemed like an eternity the driver said, “the stage is right up ahead.”

Sheriff Johnson looked up from deep thought… Sure enough the stagecoach was just coming into view, the four-horse team munching grass in the twilight. One of the horses lifted its head and perked its ears at the newcomers approach.

Johnson and the driver dismounted and tethered their horses to the branches of a fallen tree. The driver approached the stage and started rummaging around in the back

Cargo area. Johnson stayed back near the horses and surveyed the area. He was uneasy,

Something about the scene before him didn’t seem to fit. Then he realized that it wasn’t

Something that he saw that was bothering him… It was something that wasn’t there.

There didn’t seem to be any evidence of a robbery. There should have been more sets of hoof prints, but the ground was only disturbed where the team of horses and stagecoach was. Usually when a stage robbery takes place the robbers would carelessly throw unwanted items about and leave the stagecoach in a general state of disarray. Here every thing was neatly tucked in. In fact the only reason to believe a crime had taken place was when Johnson’s eyes probed the shadowy area behind the drivers seat there was just enough moonlight to tell that the strongbox was missing. He slowly started walking forward to get a closer look at the scene. With each step he took, a sense of dread within him grew stronger and stronger. Though he saw himself as very independent person now he felt like a child. He found himself subconciously reciting “Ye though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil for thou art with me.”

As Johnson drew up to the side of the coach he heard the click of a firearm being cocked. In that chilling moment the last peace of the horrifying puzzle that had been plaguing him snapped into place. The driver spun around in what seemed to be slow motion, the moonlight glinting off the barrel of a sawed off shotgun. In one swift motion Johnson threw himself backwards on the ground and rolled under the coach, just as the driver squeezed off a shot. The buckshot buzzed by Johnson’s ear shattering the right front wheel of the coach. The coach hung for a moment then gave a creak and collapsed, pinning Johnson's right ankle. The startled horses rushed a few steps forward sending paralyzing agony through Johnson’s right leg. After regaining composure Johnson paused, then called out “you know you can’t kill me,” as he groped for his sidearm finding it uselessly pinned under him. “Oh?” the driver asked, “why is that?”

Johnson thought a moment then replied “because you will be the first one they suspect.”

“I think not, no one even knows we met on the road,” the driver declared.

Then Johnson realized it was true, everyone would assume the robbers came back and found him there and that they were the culprits. Realizing all he could do was buy more time, Johnson asked a question that he already knew the answer of “there was never any robbery was there?” All that came back was silence. Speaking to the man’s feet, which was all Johnson could see from under the coach, Johnson accused “You hid the strongbox and made up the robbery story to make yourself look like the innocent victim.” There was more silence… then heard the driver mumble, “now to finish it.” He shoved a new cartridge in the chamber of his shotgun. All of a sudden like lightning in the night

A second voice reached Johnson’s ears. “Drop the gun now!” The pinned Sheriff taking advantage of the detracted driver, lashed out with his free leg, sweeping the drivers feet out from under him. The driver fell face forward on the newly loaded shotgun.

As he slammed the ground the firearm went off in a deafening blast. Johnson closed his eyes and cringed. His ears still ringing, he slowly opened his eyes to see the driver lying

lifeless on the dusty ground.

The next day found Johnson lying in a bed at the local clinic. His fractured ankle

Badly bruised and swollen was supported by a splint. There was a knock at the door that interrupted his thoughts of the previous days events. “Come in” he called. Nurse Anderson entered the room with a smile of greeting “How are you feeling?” she asked. “A lot better

He lied,” in reality it felt like his ankle had been through a meat grinder and looked hardly any better. The nurse loosened the bandage to get a look at the wound. “It appears to been only a slight fracture… You should be up and about in a few months tops.” “Oh goody”

Johnson replied sarcastically. The nurse laughed while heading for the door “I’ll check on you again in a hour” she said. The door closed behind her leaving Johnson alone with his thoughts of the still missing strongbox once again.

The End.

I thought I'd leave it open ended so I could use it for a future paper.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I think that was a good short story, it was a little hard to read becuase you can't tab.

The only thing was setting was classic wild west, which really isn't a bad cosidering that the era has been used in many movies, books, and TV shows. I will not try to correct grammer or spelling because they are not my strong suit.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

quote:

I think that was a good short story


Thank you

quote:

it was a little hard to read becuase you can't tab.

Yes, I hate that... I thought about (code) (/code)

But I think that makes the text annoyingly

small.

Let me make sure.

code:

uh... testing, testing, 1,2,3

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Please sign in to comment

You will be able to leave a comment after signing in



Sign In Now
 Share

×
×
  • Create New...