He Heard Me- Creative Writing

He Heard Me- Creative Writing
It was a dark, dreary, damp, November?s night; the only light was the
flickering street lamp down the winding road. Invisible Owls were
hooting in the trees, louder than normal. The sky was eclipsed with
speedy, black bats. Harsh rain was bouncing off the pavements in a
rhythmic pattern drip?drip?drip. The bitter splashes came up to my
knees. From the drizzly rain I could taste the invigorating air and I
could see the autumn damp leaves on the floor. As I walked further I
could see and smell the smoke from the chimneys. I inhaled deeply to
smell the burning paper and coal, the smoky, musty smell was
reminiscent of bonfire nights as a child, evoking feelings of
excitement and security.
I had a sudden urge to look behind, I could hear something. My heart was racing like the clouds on a blustery day. My footsteps became faster. Before I knew it I could feel the soft grass beneath my feet. I was at the unoccupied mansion. I walked up to the big, brown, bulky gate which led to the garden. I climbed the uneven steps to the shed. Often I came here when I wanted to get away from the malicious world. I crouched down to sit in the shed, I propped the door open with a sodden brick. I sat there like a leaf, shivering in the wind. I was looking around when suddenly I heard a huge slam. It sounded like a door. I sat their nervously waiting for something else to happen. It did. A light from the house went on. Maybe I was wrong, did someone does live here. I stood up steadily to peer in the window. As slow as a snail I crept up to the window ledge to get a closer look. It was a man; he had something clenched in his right hand. It was in a white cloth in the shape of an ?L?. I wondered what it was, I moved up from the muddy, damp leaf pile to have a closer look. I thought I had been spotted when he started to purposely stride over to the window but he just grabbed both curtains and pulled the shut. I wanted to know what the mysterious man was up to. Quickly but quietly I ran round to the side window, he pulled the ?L? shape object out of the dirty, white bag. I saw what it was. What should I do, where shall I go? Do I tell someone? A little tear trickled down my long, pale, cold cheek. I sat there staring at the object he was holding. He started talking; my heart was beating like a fast tempo drum. He started to shout louder and louder becoming angrier with every minute that passed. I felt he was going to use it, but I asked myself what on? I then realised there was a small, dark haired women with soulful brown eyes sitting in the corner of the room with her fingers in her ears. The irate, irrational man was holding a gun. He was pointing it at the terrified woman. My skin crawled and I could smell my own fear. He squeezed the trigger and the noise was deafening. He had shot the poor defenceless lady. I didn?t know what to do at 12 years old how was I supposed to. I know now what I was so anxious about, what I got fearful of. It was a gun. That ?L? shaped object in the little, white, dirty bag was a killing gun. He used it on the helpless women. I heard a car whiz past but my brain was like a clock without batteries, I just wouldn?t think. My eyes flooded with tears. I wanted to cry out but I knew if I did he would hear me. The only reason I was here was to get away from my dad who had been moaning at me again. This was my usual place of sanctuary when he was in one of his moods but home didn?t seem such a bad place to be right now. As I moved away from the window I tripped over some bricks which had fallen from the old garden wall. Light flooded the garden from the window as the curtains were thrown open- the man with the gun had heard me.

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