Dark Side of the Court - Original Writing

Dark Side of the Court - Original Writing

As the searing sun slowly set in the attractive ginger hued sky, a

rusted and ramshackle vehicle laboured along Oakland Hill Road in such

a manner that it seemed as if it weren’t meant to reach its

destination. What now seemed a worthless hunk of scrap to onlookers

used to be a vibrant red special edition Ford, though so much time had

passed that it had little resemblance to what it once was, besides the

shape. It had been serviced a few times in its fifteen year history,

the last one being almost six protracted years ago; the year ‘she’ had

left the two who were seated inside, amongst the filthy interior.

The owner of the dilapidated Ford was surveying the road for the

correct house, number 62, as the two had only recently moved from

Boston to Philadelphia. Out of the open window on the front

passenger’s side popped a small, pale white hand, which motioned as if

it were pointing at something.

‘Look dad, there it is,’ muttered the son, who was quite obviously not

overjoyed at the event.

‘Ah ha, finally we made it, eh Timmy?’ exclaimed the father,

attempting to ignore his son’s attitude.

Timmy, or Tim for short, didn’t give an answer but was amusing himself

by avidly watching a faded green leaf fall gracefully from the tree in

front of their new home; a modestly sized semi-detached wooden house,

which had belonged to a friend who had recently moved abroad. With the

car finally at rest, the two stepped in front of their new home. There

was an uneasy silence between the two whilst they unloaded the car in

an almost machine-like fashion.

'I sure hope I have the key!' Tim's fathe...

... middle of paper ...

... of his head. David’s hand

became strangely spasmodic. Nevertheless, he gripped the torch with

both hands and forced it toward the darkness.

The powerful beam penetrated it like a knife through butter. David

took a huge gulp as he slowly but surely searched around. Roy was

shaken by a massive gust of wind that almost knocked the mighty guy

clean off his feet; he recaptured his balance uneasily before hearing

the torch drop hard onto the court floor. He turned in disgust at the

illuminated sight. ‘I’m so sorry David. I’m sorry that I was right

about those kids.’ Roy spoke sympathetically, but wasn’t heard.

The wind wailed as though it were a banshee. David simply stood

without any palpitation, rock solid and pale. His head was burning

with guilt as he gazed at his son, who lay dead on the dark side of

the court.