Here’s another story written by me for my Creative Writing class. It’s kind of like a “noire” sort of story. I really enjoyed creating my characters. 🙂
The Night
Down the long dark alley, a black silhouette of a man appeared for a flash of a second. It was because of the soaked-in-rain trench coat that shimmered in the rising moon light, that you could notice him. And there was nothing for a while. No movement. No noise. Then he appeared again, much further down, almost at the end of the alley, where the city’s plaza was with a big, old clock standing majestically in the center of it. The face of the clock was big and round and it was shining in the moonlight like a magical crystal. Heavy hands moved slowly and with a little choke, pointed towards twelve. It was midnight then.
The man stopped at the corner, hiding in the shadow of a building, and looked attentively at the clock. He took out a cigarette and matches out of his coat’s pocket and lighted it up slowly. Glowing red light lit his face when he put a cigarette between his lips. He looked quite rugged. He stood there for a while, resting his shoulder on the cold stone of the building, when suddenly he decided that it’s time to move. It was when he was fully in the moonlight, you could see, he was a really big man, almost 6 ft tall, with big, broad shoulders and long arms, which made him resemble an ape. He crossed the plaza quickly and disappeared in the darkness of the night again.
***
A loud noise was coming from under the window, which woke up Eleonore in the middle of the night. She was lying in her bed, her eyes wide open and could clearly hear how the garbage cans were getting tossed around. With trembling hands, she pulled away her covers, and sat at the edge of her bed. The moonlight coming through the open window illuminated her fragile and  transparent looking face, and you could notice the deep folds of wrinkles, running from the top of her cheeks, down to the clenched and narrow lips. Her forehead, full of deep creases, was hidden a little bit by a white puff of curly, messy hair, tied up on top of her head in an old fashioned bun. In the white gown rich with intricate frills around the neck and shoulders, she looked more like a little girl then the old woman.
She pulled on her slippers that were beside her bed and looked at the framed picture of a young man holding a rifle, on her bedside table. Her fierce, narrow eyes, lighted up softly for a moment. She then got up and toddled, surprisingly vigorously for her age, towards her closet.
“That’s it,” she said to herself, while opening the closet door. On a hanger, between a variety of skirts, dresses, purses and hats, hung a rifle. Its straps were withered, with its long double-barrels badly rusted. Still shaking, she found a jewelry box; among plenty of assortments of pearls, brooches, necklaces and earrings, rested two bullets, their old, red design contrasting with everything else in the box. Eleonore took the two bullets out of the box, along with the shotgun. She loaded the bullets into the barrels, and went downstairs, shuffling towards the exit door.
She opened the door, revealing a dark alleyway littered with garbage bags and scattered cans. Eleonore stared into the darkness for a second, aiming her gun, looking all around her for whomever might be lurking uninvited. Then, all of a sudden, the sound of a kicked can echoed through the alley, to which the old woman responded with a very loud shot from her gun. Following that was the faint sound of a thud, as if something fell.
“Oh, now I’ve got you!” yelled Eleonore, before heading back inside. She placed her gun back into her closet, and got back inside her bed with a glimmering look of satisfaction on her face.
***
The big, heavy door was in front of him and as he reached out his hand towards the round knob, a sudden noise coming from behind it, made him pull it back with hesitation. The door opened and a bright light coming from the inside made him squint his eyes. He couldn’t see well, but he saw the silhouette of a woman. After a moment of silence, the woman gasped in shock and worryingly said:
“Jack! Oh, my goodness, what happened?”
Jack sighed tiringly and went inside. He felt a burning pain on his left cheek. He glanced into the mirror, hanging in a hallway, and saw a big red scar across his face. He then went and reached for a bottle of alcohol, which he opened and gently poured a small amount on a strip of gauze, handed to him by the same woman that greeted him.
He gently dabbed the strip of gauze on his injured face, and then sat down on a big brown armchair, adjusting himself so that he was comfortable. When his wife came up to him, he told her about how he tripped over the cans he couldn’t see because the lights on the street went out because of the storm, and how he almost got shot by someone.
His wife, a sweet, gentle woman with a dark, wavy hair, was listening in disbelief. From her husband’s story, she figured out it all happened in front of a house she and the children were passing by every morning on the way to school. There was an old, very nervous lady living in the house who made fuss and threats over children talking on the street.
Now, Jack thought, the old lady crossed the line. She was dangerous, and what if she decided to shoot at them too, his children, he loved dearly and unconditionally? So he decided to go back and take her gun away to keep his kids safe. He waited until his wife fell asleep and then quietly sneaked his way out of the house and into the dark street. Soon, he was in front of the building where the old woman lived.
There was a window, not very high above the ground and it was slightly open. He carefully climbed the wall and got inside. As he dropped his feet over the windowsill and onto the floor, he had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness that was in the room. As his eyes were getting better, he saw a bed and a sleeping person right in front of him. The tiny face looked so peaceful, Jack doubted himself he got into the right house. But then, he noticed something gleaming in the corner of the open closet . It was a double-barreled shotgun.
“How in the world…?” he murmured to himself as he lifted the gun, which was impressively big and heavy for its kind. He looked carefully over the shoulder at the sleeping old woman, and quietly left the house with a shotgun in his hand.