“Those stupid kids need to be out of the way” thought the man, shrouded in the shadows of the Chicago alley. He clenched his fists angrily. As soon as the job was over, he would buy himself a mansion in Beverly Hills, lounging and living like a king. He relaxed and sauntered over to his midnight black automobile. As he put the keys in the ignition, he shivered and grinned maniacally simultaneously, picturing the bratty interloper’s screams as they died a gruesome death. Everything would be perfect after they “disappeared” like the other boy. Just perfect.
Things were quiet when he slowly steered into the small town. Not wanting to draw attention when he was about to move the stolen painting, he inconspicuously swaggered out of the car, deliberately moving slower than he wanted to. One slip could mess this whole plan up. The shadowy man emerged out from the cover of a tree and nearly screamed and blew his cover. Quickly, he recovered, but what he had seen infuriated him. Those rotten brats were at it again, this time entering Delia Dell. He had to move fast if he was to stop those kids before it was too late.
Carefully taking step after step in pursuit, he was blocked unexpectedly by a petite girl. Looking nervous, she stuttered ‘W-would you like t-to buy a chocolate b-bar to support my Candy Scouts g-group?’ She gulped and looked up at him with eyes as if she were looking at a nightmarish monster. “No!” barked the mysterious man. The girl ran off, on the verge of tears. “And now that that is out of the way......” muttered the criminal.
In a hurried pace, the man set off for the entrance. Barging through the throng of students and professors, he burst through the door. Inside was a janitor, mopping and singing along to the song emanating from his headphones. Striding past the cleaning expert, he walked along in a somewhat quick rhythm. Failure was not an option, he had to reach the painting before the brats had a chance to intervene. Hearing a door swing shut and an alarm blare, he stopped cold in his tracks.
Sprinting in hot pursuit of the meddlers, he had stumbled upon the same girl who tried to sell him chocolate, still sniffling. Swearing loudly, he regained his speed with a renewed ferocity. He had almost let them slip away. Panting heavily now, he spun around the corner and watched in horror as two figures carrying objects he could not see clearly sprinted desperately to the playground.
Now he was the desperate one. He darted quickly towards the closest kid and trapped him on the slide. Grinning wildly, he uttered a threat:
“Give me the painting and I will not have to kill you or your little friend.”
“No! Petra, run! RUN!”
Still panting, the man roared. Slipping, the boy tumbled down the slide and dropped his wrapped object. Ignoring the fleeing girl, he unwrapped the package and cursed. This was definitely NOT a priceless painting. “It might be too late...” thought the man “But wait, what was this?!” he stealthily stalked over to the vacant police car whilst it’s owner inspected the damage done to the boy. What luck! The painting was still perfectly preserved in it’s velvet wrappings. He stole the priceless artifact and ran like crazy.
Before he knew it, the man was at a treehouse. Quickly climbing up the ladder, he peeked over a tall fence and noticed a railroad yard. Quickly crawling across a convenient branch, he leapt down and-
“ARRGHHHH!!!” A horrible scream rent the silent night. Clutching his breast, Xavier Glitts passed into the void of death. As a young boy staggered across the street, the darkness of night seemed to get a tiny bit lighter, but nobody noticed.
The above was written by my son as part of a project based on the book Chasing Vermeer
How old is he? He certainly has a voluminous vocabulary and seems to be having fun flexing it. I did the same thing in my writing when I was in high school - more for the sake of showing off than literary merit (and I’m sure I’d cringe to read some of the stuff I wrote then). I’d advise him to cut out the adverbs.
He’s eleven and just finishing up the fifth grade.
Wow - in that case I’m impressed. I was thinking at least 15 or 16.
Must be a Doper Kid.
His writing skills are more along the lines of non-fiction. He doesn’t have the fiction gene for writing, I fear.
Wow! That was GREAT for a kid! I think your son has a future as a writer, if he chooses to go in that direction. Definitely give him encouragement!
Thanks for the kind words. As I said, we tend to get a chuckle out of his stuff at times, even if I get a bit worried about some of his POV. And found out this morning he got the President’s Education Award, which from what I can gather is a mix of high marks and teacher nomination and high score on the FCAT*.
*Florida standardized test.
I’ve read many book reports on that book, and that was by far my favorite
Runs: are you a teacher? Is the book worth a read for an adult with a youthful perspective (and ancient body)?
