Misc. Stories

He Ran - Rewrite of 2015 Story

Hi. I love writing stories, and the first one I remember writing I now choose to call "He Ran" because that is literally the first sentence. I wrote it in 2015, and don't have it but I remember the events. As I write this, it is 2018 and I am going to write it again, hopefully making it better because I remember there was like NO description last time. Anyway, now that I've rambled on about random sentimental crap let's move on to the story. Oh by the way I'm thirteen years old; I wrote the previous version when I was ten. Keep that in mind as you read (and see the names because those are the ones I think I used), starting with the warning.

WARNING: VIOLENCE, MILD BAD LANGUAGE, ANNOYINGLY UNSOLVED EVENTS AND A CHARACTER WHO IS MOST LIKELY A PSYCHOPATH.

He ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, refusing to stop. Afterall, his life depended on it.
He ran to the docks, where a wide, tall jump was required to get onto his boat fast enough. He couldn't hesitate. He couldn't fail. He couldn't take the time to climb the ladder instead. He took the last step before he'd have to make the jump and he...
Hesitated.
He hesitated.

He mumbled a series of colourful swear words in a rough voice, reaching across the gap between the metal bars at the top of the boat's railing and the dock he stood on. Then, he jumped as high as he could possibly do, considering that of all the things he had trained himself to do well over the past twenty three years - run, think quickly, swim, throw targets, lie - jumping was not one.
     He managed to get his chin levelled with the top bar, then pulled himself onto the boat, landing on the wooden deck with a harsh thud. Then, he rolled and jumped up painfully, running into the boat's control room, where His Friend was waiting for him.
   "Start the engine," He ordered.
   "We shouldn't do this," His Friend argued.
   "Start the engine," He repeated impatiently. His Friend started the engine hesistantly, still arguing, bringing up their wives, saying that they wouldn't forgive them. When this wasn't enough for him, the man began to get more and more desperate.
   "Why are you so stubborn? You don't need revenge to live your life! Just let Patrick go! What did he do to make you hate him so much, Steve?" His Friend rambled.
  "I don't hate Patrick. He's a good lad. But revenge... Oh, I most definetly need that," his voice was low, mysterious and, in other words, creepy. Especially with the confusion that his words caused. Steve was staring out the window, his fist what looked like millimetres from his chin.
  "I don't understand. What are you saying?"
  "Wow. You still don't get it, Dave," Steve chuckled. "I'm not after Patrick."
This took Dave aback. Steve had told him that the plan was to travel by boat for several days, maybe weeks over to the Croatian coast where they'd rob Patrick's house while he was still in England. He'd return a couple months later and they'd be long gone, begging for their wives' forgiveness with barely any hope that they'd take them as criminals.
   Steve seemed untouched by the possibility of losing his family, but Dave was only doing this because he had been friends with Steve for over a decade and owed him more than a few favours. Now, he found that this was all a lie? Maybe he wasn't losing his family! Maybe this was all a mean, a little sick joke. Maybe his wife and kids were going to run into the room, laughing at him.
  "See, I knew a boy once," Steve broke the long, hopeful silence. "He drowned when he was eight years old."
That sentence stirred some memories. Dave nearly failed to contain his shudder.
"He had a friend, who witnessed his death. And, instead of trying to help, his friend ran, leaving him to drown in the fast-flowing river he had fallen into," he turned to Dave, a malicious glisten in his eye.
   "But I survived," he said, increasing the rate of the beating of Dave's heart. Something seemed to click in his head and something bad scratched the back of his mind. "Well, my body did. But the little boy... Jeremy. He died. And I, Steve, arrived, thirsty for my killer's blood."
   "How..." he trailed off, then muttered the word under his breath a few more times. It seemed to be all he could say.
  "I was angry, Dave. I knew something changed. I wasn't the same, cheery, cheeky lad I had been before I nearly drowned. Before you abandoned me. And I knew, I knew it was your fault," he pointed an shaky finger at his friend. "All your fault!" he shrieked.
  "Come on, I ran to get help! When I couldn't find you, I thought I got back too late! I tried to help you, Jeremy, but I didn't do it on time! I thought you were dead!" Dave shouted, his voice unsteady, panicky.
  "Liar!" He yelled. "Liar! Liar!"
A tense, frightening silence filled the air. Dave wasn't sure what was about to happen, but there was one thing he knew. This wasn't Jeremy anymore. This wasn't the Steve he thought he knew. This was... He. And He was insane. And, as He reached into his back pocket, He obtained a knife. So he ran.
   Dave ran to the lower decks of the boat, looking for anything - anything at all - that he could protect himself with. But the narrow hallway was blank, the cabins locked. He heard footsteps - angry, urgent ones - following him. They synchronised with the beating of his heart. And every step was louder, faster. And, in seconds, Dave was looking at the wall, at his dead end. The footsteps ceased, and he felt a dangerous presence lurking behind his back.
  "Turn around," He ordered.
  "Please," His friend argued.
  "Turn around!" He repeated impatiently.
Slowly, Dave turned to face Him and saw nothing but evil, thirst for bloodshed and cruelty in His grin.
   He shoved Dave abruptly, pinning him against the wall. Then He drove the knife into Dave's shoulder, again, and again and then his rib cage, once more.
  "Anything to pass on to your wife and children? Don't worry, I won't harm them. I'll just play the role of the bearer of bad news. The grieving friend," He sneered. "Funny how life works out sometimes, don't you think? Especially when death's involved."
  "Please," Dave choked. "Stay away from them."
  "I guess I can do that one thing for you," then He smirked.

     "Goodbye, Dave," He whispered, pushing the knife through Dave's heart, then letting him sink into his arms.

###

When morning came then night fell again, He and His Friend were out at open sea. No one could possibly see Him dropping Dave's corpse into the ocean.
                         Or could they?