Setting: 10. a concert hall
Time: 4. after a big thunderstorm has passed.
Situation: 4. a death has occurred.
This was an assignment issued to me by my Writing 110 teacher, in which you choose form a selection of four categories, ten options for each one, and try to create a story from the setting and characters you chose. Here's what I came up with. It's a little long, but once I started writing, I just couldn't help myself. I have to say though, this is my most complete and solid story that I have created to date. So, I hope you like it, and please feel free to let me know what you think!
Oh, and here's the original site if you want to make a Jumble story yourself, or are looking for a lesson plan. Just click the link here in blue. Good luck, and happy reading!
My feet splashed through the puddles as I hurried up the steps. I was cold, wet and late, quite disorderly for an social gathering of such stature. I straightened my tie and combed my hair as I stood in the doorway, staring at the terror in the clouds above. Great tongs of lightning flashed across the sky, whipping-up the wind and causing rain to fall in buckets on the earth below. I was safe under the drip-edge of the concert hall, the only thing that sheltered me from the elements on this cold, rainy night. The storm had hindered travel for many concert-goers. People who came from the other side of town (the middle-class lot; one of such people included me) were making there way up the rain-washed steps, as well. I nodded and smiled as a man in a bollman hat reached for the push-bar on the steal framed door. A burst of noise exhaled from the opening door. A mixture of crowd chatter, and the tuning jazz instruments met me in the face.
Good, it's only the first intermission I thought to myself as the doors slowly shut, engulfing the portly man wearing the hat inside. Maybe they won't notice me if I sneak-in now.
I turned to the door, took a deep breath and let-out a sigh, preparing myself for whatever lied ahead. I only hoped that the camera guy, me, wouldn't be too missed during the first half of the show, and that my boss, Mr. Turner wouldn't be one of the people amongst the crowd. With that, I entered the business of the hall.
Just as I was opening the door, the crud began to quiet-down. I had already missed my chance of sneaking-in unnoticed, the second part of the concert was about to start. I tall African-American man, dressed in a plaid vest and a red tie stepped out from behind the curtains and began to speak into the mike, telling everyone to begin taking their seats. I followed behind a large group of people as though I knew them and had sat already sat with them during the first half of the show. No one was suspicious of me, I was used to blending in with crowds. As a photographer for a newspaper, it was my duty to get the best shots possible, without your subject ever noticing you're there. Hiding in vale of like-people always made things easier; it was a trick I often used to get myself into places where no camera operator were aloud. With some of the city's richest people gathered here for the annual fall jazz concert, security was bound to be tight. No wonder they hired me for a job like this. Even though they new I was a newbie, the newspaper company also knew that my stealth would come in handy on a night like tonight. Plus, if anything did happen to me tonight, they wouldn't have to spare loosing another one of their top photographers like they did last year. Something always went on during the night of the concert, tonight would be no exception.
As I weaved my way through the rows of people trying to find and empty seat, the old man in the vest and tie began to speak.
"Once again, I want to thank you all for coming down tonight, on this our hundredth anniversary of the Frentonville Autumn concert. This is my sixty-fifth,.. oops, sorry,.. sixty-seventh year of hosting the MC of this concert." He cleared his throat as I hurried my way along to the end of the row, yet still no empty seats were left for me to set-up my tri-pod in. I would have to do all of the shots by hand.
"My grandfather started this concert back in the early 1910's in the commemoration of the opening of his oil company, which at the time, was celebrating its hundredth year in business as well." I navigated my way through the crowd of wealthy people, a few of them complained as I began taking pictures.
"My word!" a plump old woman said in disgust, when the flash on my camera went-off in her face. She sat there looking starry-eyed, while a man called at me a few rows back "Hey, you! Down in front!"
I rushed as quickly as I could down the row, making my way towards the the isle before taking one last picture at the end, where I thought that I wouldn't be in anybodies way. I was crouching-down, snapping a picture, when a man dressed in a black suit bent over and whispered in my ear.
"Late, are we?" I jumped rate out of my own skin. It was Mr. Turner. "Where were you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago! Uh,.. On second thought, never mind that. What I want you to do is go back-stage and get a few close-ups with Mr. McIntyre, the man that's holding the mike, maybe an interview. Do you think you can handle that?"
"Uhh,.." was all I could manage to say; I had never hosted an interview before, and had no idea how to conduct one like this on the spot. I was stammered trying to think of an excuse not to go back there, surprised by this unexpected task. But Mr. Turner was persistent, and there was no changing his mind.
"That's the spirit, boy!" He said faithfully.
"But,.. I.." I always stutter when nervous.
Mr. Turner leaned over the edge of his chair and made it a point to walk to look me fair in the eyes. "No is not an answer, NOW GO!"
Mr. Turner took his job as manager of the local newspaper very seriously. If I didn't make haste, it would be coming out of my paycheck for sure. And, if I didn't make any motion towards the front of the room (which, at the moment was exactly what my mind had all intentions of doing) then I was going to get the boot. Somehow I managed to brake free, though. With every step I took, I was almost most fighting of the urge to plant my feet where they were, turn around, and tell that news rat, just what a lunatic he was. But I held my breath, and bit my lip, hoping that this nightmare would all be over soon.
"Now, as you all know, this will be my last year for hosting the the concert, as I will be passing the torch onto my daughter in-law Kate. But don't feel so sorry for me, for I will be living the remainder of my life out at my home in the Bahamas..." Mr. McIntyre continued to say.
I tried to walk as leisurely as possible toward the front of the room, avoiding the wondering eyes of the people seated in the stands. I felt so weird climbing the stairs under the plaque reading back stage. I had no idea where I was going, but I had to look like I did in order to keep from being caught.
From behind stage, I could see the jazz band getting ready for their reappearance, now only moments away. I could also hear the echo of Mr. McIntyre's voice as it bounced off the high ceilings of the concert hall. Pen in hand, I began jotting down all the question one could possible manage to ask a man you know nothing about, only that he was loaded with cash. How long has your family been in the oil business? or How are you planing to celebrate for your retirement upon your arrival in the Bahamas? was all I could muster out of my head. My penmanship was horrible due to the fact that my hand was trembling heavily with nerviness. I was about to meet the most influential person in all of Frentonville City, without any warning.
"Now, without a further a do, lets welcome these fine gentlemen out on stage, one last time." Mr. McIntyre announced to the crowd, stepping to the left side of the stage. The curtains opened and everyone clapped to welcome "Da Classez" back for the second and final part of the show. I raised my camera and pressed the zoom button on my lens, as Mr. McIntyre walked towards me, hidden from the audience by the drape in the curtain.
Looking through the lens on my camera, I noticed that something wasn't quite right. As he approached the shadows, some thing lit-up on his forehead, a red dot, like the kind you see beaming out the end of a laser pointer, only this one was angled different; it was oval-shaped, as though pointed from above. My first instinct was to look up, only at the time, I wished I hadn't, for what I saw startled me and stuck me with fear. A man with a gun was standing on the steal railing of the balcony directly above the stage. He was looking through the scope of his *semi-automatic rifle* with his hand on the trigger, ready to shoot.
What could I do? I tried yelling, though no one could hear me over the sound of the jazz band playing their trumpets and swinging their basses. Then I remember my camera that I was holding in my hand. If I couldn't save the man, then I was at least going to serve justice for him. And with that, I raised my camera and snapped a clear image of Mr. McIntyre's killer, just as his finger began slowly pulling back on the trigger.
What happened in the next? It all seemed to happen so fast. Yet, I remember that night's events so vividly, that it's hard to tell exactly how long it really was.
It felt like an eternity that I stood on that stage holding the camera in my hands; every thing was in slow motion. Almost simultaneously after the flash went off on my camera, the shot was fired. All I could hear was my heart beating inside of my chest, and the tempo of the jazz band becoming elongated and irregular for the kind of up-beat music they were playing. The audience gasped as the man behind the curtain started to slowly drift backwards, dead before he hit the ground.
That threw the audience into a state of panic. Everyone was trying to run for the nearest, except me. I just stood their staring blankly at the lifeless body laying on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood. I felt sick. Blood always makes me squeamish.
I tried to prop myself against a wall. My breathing was irregular; I felt like I was going to faint. I staggered my way forward, trying to get to make my way towards the red exit sign, but all I could think about was the fact that that could have been me.
The room was spinning now; blurs of screaming men and woman rushed through my head, and stars began to cloud my eyes, narrowing my range of view. The door was just within arms reach, yet, I couldn't seem to find the knob. My hand slipped, I couldn't make it. My center of gravity was off-balanced. The last thing I remember was the ground floating upward to meet me in the face. I was out like a light.
...
I found myself lying in an ambulance, with the worst headache I ever had. There was an ice-pack upon my forehead, and bandages along my left arm. A nurse grabbed my hand and ordered me to lay back down, as I sprung off the stretcher and began to reach forward for a door that wasn't there, not fully realizing where I was. Sitting up, I looked around the ambulance with a expression of confusion on my face. I was quite dazed, that was, until I saw Mr. McIntyre lying in the stretcher next to mine. Then everything began to flood back into my head, and I felt queasy inside. The nurse was already prepared for me being sick. She handed me a brown paper bag and I began to vomit.
When I was finished, I looked up to find my boss, Mr. Turner, looking me in the face with a look of concern. He was worried about me? something that I never thought would ever happen. I half smiled at him, letting him know that I was alright.
"Look,.. I'm sorry I forced you into a situation that you felt uncomfortable with. It was my fault that you got trampled by the crowd like that, you... you could have died in there!" Trampled... by a crowd? I studied my bandaged arm and realised what had happened. There was also a square-shaped bruise of my right leg, like the kind from the butt-end of a high heel shoe. I looked again at the corpse laying beside me, there was no heart-monitor nor IV attached to him, he was dead. A chill ran up my spine. Was I really that close to being touched by death?
I removed the ice-pack and wiped the sweat off my forehead with my non bandaged hand. I put my face in my palms and squeezed my eyebrows in frustration. I wished that this night was all a dream, but it wasn't, it was all a reality. Then I remembered my camera and the picture I had taken of Mr. McIntyre's killer. I started darting my eyes at the floor around me, frantically searching for it.
"Where's my camera!" I yelled so quickly that it startled both the nurse that was comforting me with her hand on my shoulder and Mr. Turner who jumped a few steps backwards. Mr. Turner reached from the side to the ground and lifted the tangled mesh of what was once my camera. I looked like I could have burst into tears, that camera was worth a fortune! I had spent weeks bagging groceries at my local Supper Store just to scrounge-up enough money to buy the thing, and another week of mowing lawns to get the stand.
"Never mind that boy. If your still alive, that's all that really matters." Mr. Turner said in a neutral tone of voice, as if to say oh, well.
"No, no! I need to see the film! Will the film still be okay?!" I said hastily.
"Well, I guess so? I mean, I don't see any reason why it wouldn't be. Why is it you ask?" The old man was seriously confused with me.
"Get me to the film development center!"
"I am not taking you anywhere until you lie down and get some rest!" The nurse said, now more irritated than concerned.
"Yes, boy! You deserve it!" Mr. Turner chimed-in.
"But you don't understand! I caught who done it!"
"You mean to say you have a picture of the man that murdered Mr. McIntyre?!" Mr. Turner asked in a rising tone of voice. I nodded my head minutely.
"That's my man! I always knew I could trust you to get the winning shot!" He started to reach out to hug me but was then slapped away by the nurse.
"Shouldn't you be taking that to the police office first?" The nurse proclaimed, putting Mr. Turner on the spot. Very few people had the courage to do that, but the nurse was used to dealing with those kind of patients through her years of work.
"Oh, umm... I see. Right away! I'll take it there rate now!" Mr. Turner turned to the left of the left and started made his way across the parking lot without looking back. He didn't like being told what to do, especially by a woman. I began to lean forward to follow.
"Am I going to have to strap you to the stretcher like we do with the mentally ill people, or are you going to do what you're told?!" I gave up trying, there was no way the nurse was going to let me out of her sight.
I laid there for a few minutes, staring at the blinking lights on the roof of the ambulance, trying to take in all that happened that night. I thought about life and death, and how lucky I was that it wasn't me lying in the stretcher to my right, instead if Mr. McIntyre. I didn't dare look at him though. I am one to normally sleep on my right side, but for that night, I felt that my back was the best way to rest. I would have slept on my left, if it wasn't for my bandages. But, it really didn't matter. I was so tired that I could have fallen asleep standing up, or hanging upside down like a bat, if a really wanted to that is. Soon all I heard was silence as I drifted off to sleep.
...
I woke up in the hospital the next day. My headache was gone, and despite the fact that there was a sharp pain running up my spine, I felt better. Mr. Turner had visited earlier that morning before he left for work, and had dropped-off a bouquet of flowers that were sitting on the night stand next to my hospital bed. There was a note attached to them saying that the pictures had been developed successfully and that the man who killed Mr. McIntyre had been caught and arrested, as well. I knew that I would most likely be put-on-trial in the courtroom during the hearing, but that didn't concern me at the moment. My attention was soon directed to the bottom part of the note that said that I had captured the photo of the century and for that reason, was going to be issued a raise in my weekly pay. As if that wasn't good enough, there was another note sitting on the table, this one left by the McIntyre family. When I opened the card, ten hundred dollar bills spilled out onto my lap. Justice had been served, alright! Justice indeed.
...
After that nights events, my life would never be the same. I had continued to move my way up through the ranks at the newspaper company, each job baring new achievement and new responsibilities. When Mr. Turner died, I even took his position as Manager of the local "Frentonville Times." I ended-up marrying into the richest family in town, the McIntyre's, of course. And, ironically enough, held the same mike at the Annual Fall Jazz Concert that Mr. McIntyre used to have. All because of that split second decision to take that one perfect shot. All's well that ends well, I guess?
I think I made a mistake somewhere in the story. (-.-) I wrote "Mr. Jones" instead of "Mr. McIntyre"
Please don't get confuesed...('.')~? I'm sorry... I truely am.
I think I made a mistake somewhere in the story. (-.-) I wrote "Mr. Jones" instead of "Mr. McIntyre"
Please don't get confuesed...('.')~? I'm sorry... I truely am.
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