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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1752015-Project-Story
Rated: 18+ · Preface · Personal · #1752015
This is a short story i beganwriting a long time ago.
The storm was getting worse. The smell of rain had infiltrated the house as if there were no windows, but only holes in the walls were mastered into the design. I heard him make his way down the hallway towards the kitchen. I seen out of the corner of my eye, a knife laying on the counter near the sink. I grabbed it and made my way down the kitchen towards the doorway where he popped up. The knife went sharply into his stomach and he fell to the floor of the hallway. As he lay there, a pool of blood formed beneath him. I took the knife out of his stomach and put it back into the sink. I stepped over him and down the hall to the den where I sat by the window watching as the storm begin pick up more. A large bolt of lightning flashed far the distance and I jumped up. I had to get rid of the body somewhere. I then remembered that there was a dirt cliff behind the barn, part of the creek bed. I knew I had to hurry and bury the body in it before the creek floods. I then hurried back to the kitchen and grabbed some trash bags. I carefully stuffed his body into them and laid him outside the back door. The air was chilled and violent. The storm was getting worse by the minute and the rain harder. I knew I had to hurry. I ran to the barn and grabbed the wheel barrow I had sat out a few days ago. Inside I grabbed a shovel, a lantern and some wooden poles and concrete blocks that I knew would build the perfect tomb. I made my way back to the house and lifted his body into the wheelbarrow. I slowly wheeled his body down behind the barn. There was a small path near the back corner that led down to the crushing shore lined with thicket and rocks. A short ways past the barn the path opened up to the creek itself, which was dark and rushing. It had risen nearly three feet since yesterday, and seemed to be rising slowly. Just next to the end of the path, came a small clearing in the shoreline. There was no brush, rocks or any debris. It seemed as though this was meant to be a burial spot of sorts, and now would be granted that privilege. I began to dig the hole into the side of the shallow cliff. The digging was easy and with in twenty minutes, the tomb was nearly three feet deep, six feet long and two and a half feet tall. In then laid his body inside the tomb carefully, as if he were passed out asleep and trying not to wake him from a sleep. I then started to build and outer wall for support and to keep the body from washing down the creek. I first laid the wooden pole upright as if I were framing a wall. Next the blocks were used to hold the poles in and build a half wall of sorts. By this time he was encased in a chamber no bigger than a pantry cabinet. I began to back fill the hole with the dirt and packed it in hard. Within an hour after I started he was buried I the cliff. I turned and noticed the creek had now risen nearly another foot. Luckily it was still four feet below the tomb. I grab what was left of my things and made my way back home. I put the wheelbarrow back next to the barn door and headed for the house. There I saw the blood pool and trail to the back door. I now had the task of cleaning his own blood up, just like I had been cleaning up after him for years now. I began the tedious task and worked well into the late night. By midnight I was down and went to change. I gathered my soiled clothes, rags and towels that I used to clean the mess and threw them into a newly stoked fire. It roared with high flames and I finally fell asleep, as for the storm had began to calm down...
© Copyright 2011 Ian Wylie (trojan_arrow at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1752015-Project-Story