Short Story / Up & Down
“Get up.”
“Oh come on Patrick, get up!”
The teacher’s southern draw really came out when she was serious. Pat stood up slowly. He didn’t feel why it was necessary for her to always call him Patrick. It was like he was always getting in trouble or something. Of course, he was but that’s not the point.
“Patrick! Why do you insist on NOT paying attention?” prodded the flustered teacher.
“Why do you insist on calling me Patrick? Shot back Pat without hesitating and obviously without thinking.
There was a line of drool from his desk to his mouth. The rest of the class immediately broke out into various uncontrollable cackles and snickers.
“Your wanted in the office, now get your ass out of my classroom.” The teacher was not amused by his performance and his disrespectful attitude.
He got up slowly and trotted down the hall with the least bit of enthusiasm in the history of the tiny tri-county high school. He entered the main office and there was a man in a real fancy uniform. There were all kinds of colors and shapes all over his shoulders and chest. Pat was just a simple high-school senior from Glenwillow, Ohio. Pat new every one of the 237 citizens of proud Glenwillow and he had never seen this man. He looked to be some sort of a man of military importance. He was looking at the picture of the old Austin Powder Mill. Patrick cleared his throat and the man turned to him and smiled. He extended his out to Patrick.
“Patrick Walker?” asked the man in what Pat thought be an east coast accent. He really had no idea but tat was his best guess.
Pat grasped his hand and nodded. “Umm… It’s Pat and what do you want?” he queried in a very accidental rudeness.
“My name is Corporal Peterson.”
Pat didn’t say anything. He just cocked his as if the man had just spoken in an alien language.
“Pat huh? Funny, I’m going to be calling you names that you’ve never even heard of and then you’ll look at me straight in the face and say “It’s Pat.” But I’ll call you whatever I want and you will hate me, but you know what? You won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”
The Corporal looked him deep in the eyes. “I’ll call you what I want and you will call me Sir.” He took an envelope out of his breast pocket and handed it to Pat. The Corporal smirked. He patted him on the shoulder, put on his hat and walked out with a grin on his face like he had just answered a question right in a classroom.
Pat just looked down. He had a look on his face like someone had just come and told him that his life was over.
Funny thing is… it was.
4 months later…
“Get down!”
“Oh come on Walker, get down!”
“Jesus man, what are you thinking? You’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t pay attention,” shouted his first sergeant.
“Get back to the base and get on the radio. Tell them we’re caught in an ambush. Run!” The Corporal turned around to send an array of bullets towards the Vietcong encampment.”
Obviously the only ambush that was happening was the one that we were administering on this camp. That’s just the way things happened over there. The Sergeant knew that if he lost an unusual amount of me in an attack, his command would be questioned, but if they were ambushed and only some came out of it alive, he was a hero.
Private Walker stomped through the jungle trying to out run the bullets. He was doing a pretty good job. After all he was alive. So I guess he had been doing a pretty good job, since he had been there for a few months now and was still breathing and had all of his appendages. You couldn’t really say the same for the companies he’s been in. This was his third. His company always got ambushed and t was always a miracle that he survived. Usually the reason was because he would run off and hide or “volunteer” to go get help.
The truth was that Pat had never killed anything in his life. He had witnessed a countless amount of fellow soldier’s deaths that he could have easily stopped by pulling a trigger. But no matter what kind of danger he or anyone was in, he never shot at anyone. Sure he would point the gun somewhere and fire but he usually aimed towards trees so that they wouldn’t just keep going and tag some one 500 yards away. He could never bring himself to justifying it. He knew nothing of these people. He didn’t know. Why he was here.
Patrick Walker ran until he was out of breath and coughing up his breakfast up all over the soft grass under him. He sat down and leaned up against a tree and began to cry. The tears flowed and dropped on his already cold and wet clothes. He took his pack off his back. He put his gun down and began to walk off into the inner depths of the hazy jungle he had learned to call home. He sobbed hysterically as he trotted through the jungle with no enthusiasm or pride for his country. He didn’t feel like he had made it same for the citizens of Glenwillow to go to sleep at night. He pondered his purpose and even his very existence.
His weeps were joined by the sound of a high pitched scream followed by unmanageable wail. It was coming from the banks of a small pond far up ahead. He ran towards it. It got louder. He was coming up to it and could see a small boy sitting down in the fetal position wearing a tattered oversized shirt. He couldn’t have been over six or seven. His face was bright red from his uncontrollable whines and moans.
Although Pat was a very caring guy, but he had heard stories of kids all wired up to set off when you got near them. So he stayed his distance and just stared at him as he paced around the puddles of moss and mud. It seemed to be soothing to the child though. The boy stretched his legs out and put his arms back to lean on. His sobs had distorted into sniffles. Patrick sat down also. He just looked intently into the eyes of the kid. He heard a rustling form across the pond. He glanced over and saw a man appear from out of the jungle. He was a short man with black spiky hair and puffy eye lids. He wore camouflage pants and a plain black t-shirt. He was holding a rifle.
He looked across the pond and as if he had done it a thousand times before, he raised his rifle and pointed it towards Pat.
Pat just looked down. He had a look on his face like someone had just come and told him that his life was over.
Funny thing is… it was.
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This story has great “bones.” I think if you work on this draft a bit, you really will have something. A few suggestions: Read it out loud. Take out as many “had” and “just” as possible. Add more detail such as what the jungle looked like, its smell,things like that. More information about how Pat made it into the military…was he drafted? Did he receive a sentence from a Judge to force him into active duty? Maybe you could begin with this and then re-submit it.I’d like to see more.
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i like what you’re trying to do here, but unfortunately the telling of this story is not quite compelling enough for a couple reasons. personally, i think it’s strange hearing about nam when the war in iraq is much more threatening to a person of your age. i liked when you brought that one line back for the kicker, though. that was interesting. couple minor grammar/spelling/punctuation problems, but that’s nothing to be worried about.
GREAT PIECE!!!! I was interested from beginning to end. This story had everything, a beginning, middle, and an end.
I liked how it started out, Pat was portrayed to be a loser. Then he was “drafted”. Once there he is clearly not happy. He is tricked by the enemy into thinking a boy needs help, Only to be ambushed.
Great Job. Kudos
Wow i love this piece and how it ended. Your character development for a 17 year old is remarkable. You have a great talent to tell a story and making characters come alive on paper. i think the story can used a little bit of tighening especially since the topic is not an easy topic to write about unless you have actually experience the events. I want to encourage you to continue with this story because it has a lot of potential to be very good and become something outstanding. You have a world of talent. I wish at seventeen that i was drooping words like you are doing her . great job by you.
The story didn’t flow well, at all. While making jokes makes for a good story, you made the whole thing out to be a joke. “Funny thing was” a thousand times doesn’t work. Also, you have to be more descriptive and realistic instead of so to the point. You just say what is going on, you don’t go into detail or let the reader see or feel it. I’m 16 so at least you can get a review from someone closer to your own age. Oh and also, the beginning needs a better hook. It didn’t exactly pull me in.
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