Here's a story I wrote for an ELA project. I don't think it's very good; in fact, the only reason I'm posting this is because I promised Jolly I would. Anyhow, here it is.
[U]An Awkward Meeting on the Sidewalk[/U]
Montag plucked his eyes from the gnarled old oak on which they had been resting and began to walk faster. His worn leather messenger bag swung back and forth rhythmically with his steps. Every so often, Montag would thrust his body sideways in mid-step and listen to the explosion of pens, pencils, and notebooks inside his bag as his hip collided with it. It was about the only sound he could bear listening to anymore.
It was an uncharacteristically warm November afternoon, and the streets were as empty as the sky. It had been raining for the past three days, and the snow that had been on the ground had turned into a grey sludge which complimented Montag's mood perfectly.
He walked on, wearing the same expression on his face that he had been wearing for exactly six years. Little pools of water splashed at his feet as he walked, but all he could hear were her screams. He winced and tried to walk more quietly.
Montag soon found his gaze fixed back on the old oak tree. An almost-grin formed on his scruffy face upon the realization that it was closer than the last time. He side-stepped swiftly, and the contents of his bag once again exploded, this time in celebration.
Suddenly, Montag froze. He thought he had heard something. Cautiously, he turned his head to the side and closed his eyes in concentration.
There! Again! Montag heard the sound more clearly now, and he took a step back in fear. It was footsteps. He wasn't sure where they were coming from, but he assumed it was somewhere up ahead. Any minute now, the footsteps' creator would come into view and spot him. For a split second, Montag considered turning around and going back home, but he had come this far already and it needed to be done. He clenched his teeth and hesitantly continued on.
Montag had barely taken five steps when a figure rounded the corner up ahead and began walking towards him. Montag's heart began to beat very loudly, and each thud was another of her screams. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to drown them out, but he kept walking. There was little time left.
Footsteps, heartbeats, splashing water. The NOISE! Montag's head began to throb. He raised his hands to his ears and covered them as well as he could, attempting to block out the sounds of everyday life which no longer held anything for him. His heartbeats and headthrobs were only intensified by this, and now he felt them throughout his entire body. With his eyes still shut, he bagan to run, hopefully still in the right direction. His racing heart felt like it was going to explode at any minute....
And then it did. Montag's left shoulder was blown backwards. His bag flew to the ground, raining writing utensils on the sidewalk. Montag grimaced at the noise as he too fell to the ground.
"Ah, geez! You alright?"
Montag winced at the sound of the voice, but opened his eyes for a look anyway. Above him stood a gaunt middle-aged man with evil eyes.
"I'm sorry about that," the man said. "I guess I should watch where I'm going, huh?"
Montag flinched at each word the man spoke. Uneasily, he looked around at his notebooks, six years' worth, scattered endlessly around him.
"Here, let me help you with these," the man said. All Montag heard was was screaming. He sat up quickly and wondered how to react. He wanted to gather up his things and be on his way, but the man wouldn't allow that; he could tell from the way the man was looking at him. Montag glanced over at the tree. It was close enough. It didn't matter.
In a dry, whispery voice that was obviously not used very often, Montag said "No. That's okay." He grabbed two of his pens from the sidewalk and stuffed them into his ears with great force, puncturing his eardrums. Montag screamed, but all he heard was silence. Blood trickled down his ears, and Montag looked one last time at the oak tree under which she had died six years ago.
