Saturday, September 11, 2010

Historical Fiction more or less

Hello again, this is Morgan.  I wrote this short story last year for an English class I was tacking.  The title of the story is Light, but I'm not sure about it, so if you have any ideas please feel free.  So here it is, part 1. . .

You don't see much of the sky in the forest under the giant trees, they are too thick, but once in a while there is a gap in the heavy canopy of leaves.  At one such gap, where a large branch used to be, you can now see the vivid blue sky of afternoon.  More than sky penetrates the dense foliage though, the sun also manages to send bright shafts of light filtering down through the deep green leaves.  The light creates a beautiful patchwork of gold on the dark forest floor, where the light of day is rare.  On that patchwork of light a boy of about seventeen years lies stretched out, a borrowed military jacket thrown around his shoulders and a dirty brown cap that is too big for him, pulled down over his eyes.  He lies with his back propped against one of the many giant pillars of the forest, that seem to be holding up the great green roof far above his head.  A late summer breeze is flitting through the towering trees, touched with the cold, forecasting the blue and icy winter months to come.

Peter pulls the jacket that Jim had lent him, tighter around his shoulders as the wind picks up.  It's well past noon, Jim should have been back by now; Peter wondered what Jim's commanding officer had wanted him for.  If Jack or Shep were here they would probably say that the Capt'n wanted to make things hard for him.  The Capt'n was always pickin' on Jim, probably wanted to gave him some extra work, cleaning out the stable or more drills or sometin'. 

A smile spread over Peter's face, nobody in the camp liked Capt'n E. S. Stage, he was said to have a passionate love for hard work and lots of it.  Shep and Jack, (two of Jim's best friends) would tell him about how the Capt'n couldn't bear the sight of one of his soldiers takin' it easy after drill.  They also said that he enjoyed making them do the hardest and worst jobs, and then would hang over them just a waitin' for them to make a mistake, so he could punish them.  It's amazing how unpopular the Capt'n was after being there only two weeks. . . . . Where's Jim?  He should have been here by now.  I wish I could go find him, but I can't because I'm -- 

His train of thought is suddenly broken by the sound of stealthy footsteps somewhere behind him.  He stiffens for an instant then relaxes, it's probably just Jack or Shep trying to sneak up, they are always trying to do that.  Peter was said to have the sharpest ears in the province, even the soldiers in the training camp nearby agreed, but Jack and especially Shep were always trying to sneak up on him, but so far they had never succeeded. 

The footsteps had stopped for a moment but now they started up again.  Peter listened, the steps came closer, then stopped, then started again, until they finally stopped beside Peter's giant tree.  Peter tightened his grip on the staff that he always carried around with him, and turned over as if to find a more comfortably position, but really to get a better swing at his opponent.  Peter waited until the soldier made another sound, this time even smaller then at first, that gave away the man's exact location.  Then Peter went into action, he rolled over onto his knees and at the same time swung his stick around so that it caught the soldier just below the left knee, but the soldier's reaction was not what it was supposed to be.  For, just as Peter felt the satisfying smack of the stick connecting with it object, a rifle butt caught him on the side of the head, knocking his cap off and, spinning him around, sent him back on to his face.


  1. Part 2, part 2, part 2!!! QUICK!!!

  2. I usually have a hard time reading historical fictions, but this is amazing!!! I love the deep description and the quick intensity. More please!(: