A Shot: A Fictional Narrative

It was dark. Just dark and cold. Nothing but the frozen breath of a small, dark-skinned boy in the city. She was as quiet as the empty city; the rusty buildings sometimes creaking along with his shaky, unsteady breath. His sweaty hands nervously gripped the gun lying beside him and as he did, he remembered his father. He was always there for him; talking and laughing, then going camping and fishing, and he even taught him how to shoot a gun and-shoot. A shot... a shot which broke him, split him, cracked him. Here, waiting, just waiting.
As the boy waited, he tried to remember how the city was when he was young. The sky was always light blue in the day, but black and star-filled in the night. The city below the sky always glowed and shimmered unlike the dusty, crumbling buildings that surround him now. His father once said that people used to …show more content…
A faint memory of words and whispers, bombs and soldiers. The boy didn’t understand what those memories meant and he never understood why the city fell apart, but when he asked his father, he refused to tell him. “Mistakes were made by both sides, but in the end only the people suffered.” He sometimes told him, although he didn’t understand what he was talking about. All the girl knew was that many people fought and died, something that he father called war.
His father was a simple, average man; not too tall, short, fat or muscular. He was very intelligent in the boy’s eyes, he was kind and patients. He was light-skinned, unlike his son; he also had light eyes and hair. He always thought his son looked like his mother, a beautiful dark-skinned woman with long, flowing black hair. The boy didn’t really remember his mother or what she looked like, but she had a memory of being with her- running fast, but she didn’t make it into the shelter: father looked so sad that day. Although his son was similar to his mother, he had his