Juvenile Delinquents...
The drive was rather couthy; but our destination was not- A cemetery. I was travelling with Steve McRoul, a sixteen year old, jolly, ardent, committed and inquisitive poet. His poems were acclaimed all over the world.
I was ambivalent of the reason- why were we travelling to a graveyard?
“Time would tell,” Steve answered discreetly. McRoul had given me a story- the sole story written by him- to read. The smooth road and the cloudy sky gave me an ethical reason to sail through the excitement of the pages piled in front of me in the form of a story:-
““Rellson, drive faster. The police’s just behind us!” Steve yelled. “I sometimes feel that you are incompetent at driving….”
“Duh…wear your seatbelt. Stop being imprudent!” Rellson remarked. …show more content…
You’re a wimp, Steve thought. “I want to see him...”
“Cannot... his entire body is damaged, not a bone left which is not broken… A child of your age cannot afford to see all this…” The doctor gesticulated the nurse to bring the syringe.
“You cannot let him die…” Steve raved.
“Even we don’t want him to die... Elusive Rellson, a notorious criminal... He has many queries to answer, which you’ll answer… after your heart transplant…”
“Not a word against my brother... You criminals wanted 500000 dollars for my heart transplant…And now, you call Rellson a criminal? He’s giving his heart to me, you shameless people…”Steve’s emotions came out in the form of a whoop, like an inundate.
Steve failed to comprehend that he was already injected and was falling asleep, and so was his decrepit whim of meeting his brother, for one last time. ***
Steve has a sudden pang in his head. The memories, all are abominable. Steve has been absolved from the crime of stealing. The advent of his writing career was august. His poems are adulated. Obviously his first poem was an ode for his brother:-
“Long ago, I stood unchaperoned, the night was a
The drive was rather couthy; but our destination was not- A cemetery. I was travelling with Steve McRoul, a sixteen year old, jolly, ardent, committed and inquisitive poet. His poems were acclaimed all over the world.
I was ambivalent of the reason- why were we travelling to a graveyard?
“Time would tell,” Steve answered discreetly. McRoul had given me a story- the sole story written by him- to read. The smooth road and the cloudy sky gave me an ethical reason to sail through the excitement of the pages piled in front of me in the form of a story:-
““Rellson, drive faster. The police’s just behind us!” Steve yelled. “I sometimes feel that you are incompetent at driving….”
“Duh…wear your seatbelt. Stop being imprudent!” Rellson remarked. …show more content…
You’re a wimp, Steve thought. “I want to see him...”
“Cannot... his entire body is damaged, not a bone left which is not broken… A child of your age cannot afford to see all this…” The doctor gesticulated the nurse to bring the syringe.
“You cannot let him die…” Steve raved.
“Even we don’t want him to die... Elusive Rellson, a notorious criminal... He has many queries to answer, which you’ll answer… after your heart transplant…”
“Not a word against my brother... You criminals wanted 500000 dollars for my heart transplant…And now, you call Rellson a criminal? He’s giving his heart to me, you shameless people…”Steve’s emotions came out in the form of a whoop, like an inundate.
Steve failed to comprehend that he was already injected and was falling asleep, and so was his decrepit whim of meeting his brother, for one last time. ***
Steve has a sudden pang in his head. The memories, all are abominable. Steve has been absolved from the crime of stealing. The advent of his writing career was august. His poems are adulated. Obviously his first poem was an ode for his brother:-
“Long ago, I stood unchaperoned, the night was a