I wrote this short story for an English class assignment. I am not yet sure how to continue it. Comments and critique welcome.
Turning down Cooper Street on foot, I reached for the holster on my belt to ensure it was properly occupied. If you were stupid enough to waltz through "WMD Alley" in the wee hours of the morning without eight pounds of lead protection pocketed and easily reachable, there was a skyscraper ledge with your name on it. And the twitchy citizenry, not to mention the cops with their metal detectors, didnt take kindly to fools.
Silencing the few double takes I received with the glint of metal in my holster, I made my way down the block to the next street corner, where I proceeded to wait for my contact to arrive. A few yards away, I could hear the sound of young voices shouting in unison mixed with gunshots. The children must be having their lessons, I assumed, seething with envy; the lessons of my youth were nowhere near as interesting.
I winced a bit at this recollection of my youth. Like many things, the Surge had sounded great at its inception during the War: avoid casualties by arming the citizenry, every man, woman, child, and dog. But we all know which undesirable road is paved with good intentions.
These days, you never knew when some hobo on the street might be packing an automatic rifle, and every now and then a persons life hinged on whether he had a bigger gun than the one being pointed at him .
A flash of black cloth told me my contact was approaching, and I corrected my posture appropriately. This particular personage, as well as the act he would require of me, required the utmost caution and care. Feigning a collision, I slipped a device I had palmed hours earlier into my contacts hand and waited for him to reach the center of town three blocks away. I then proceeded to run like hell in the opposite direction.
I didnt look back until I had reached the highest point of the hill, and by that point, the city that had once been situated in the valley had been reduced to a mushroom cloud.
We had won the Arms Race of 1945.
Bearing Arms
Turning down Cooper Street on foot, I reached for the holster on my belt to ensure it was properly occupied. If you were stupid enough to waltz through "WMD Alley" in the wee hours of the morning without eight pounds of lead protection pocketed and easily reachable, there was a skyscraper ledge with your name on it. And the twitchy citizenry, not to mention the cops with their metal detectors, didnt take kindly to fools.
Silencing the few double takes I received with the glint of metal in my holster, I made my way down the block to the next street corner, where I proceeded to wait for my contact to arrive. A few yards away, I could hear the sound of young voices shouting in unison mixed with gunshots. The children must be having their lessons, I assumed, seething with envy; the lessons of my youth were nowhere near as interesting.
I winced a bit at this recollection of my youth. Like many things, the Surge had sounded great at its inception during the War: avoid casualties by arming the citizenry, every man, woman, child, and dog. But we all know which undesirable road is paved with good intentions.
These days, you never knew when some hobo on the street might be packing an automatic rifle, and every now and then a persons life hinged on whether he had a bigger gun than the one being pointed at him .
A flash of black cloth told me my contact was approaching, and I corrected my posture appropriately. This particular personage, as well as the act he would require of me, required the utmost caution and care. Feigning a collision, I slipped a device I had palmed hours earlier into my contacts hand and waited for him to reach the center of town three blocks away. I then proceeded to run like hell in the opposite direction.
I didnt look back until I had reached the highest point of the hill, and by that point, the city that had once been situated in the valley had been reduced to a mushroom cloud.
We had won the Arms Race of 1945.
