Scent of Death

March 5, 2008
By Michael Bannerman, Pickerington, OH

It was a dark and lonely night Anthony and his brother Deontae walked the streets on the way to their house. They conversed about the many struggles of there day that would frequently lead to them cursing out an enemy they hated. They walked along the main road hoping to catch a bus, which could lessen the time of there journey. Each with matching sets of jackets that they wore with pride, they liked to dress the same. They would constantly talk about themselves as if no one could hear, two conceded brothers with a lot on their minds. They talked about girls, money, and sex a topic on both of their minds, as would be normal for kids their age.

They walked and nothing but their voices could be heard. As they conversed he could all of a sudden smell something ,it had the sent of old water and burning , what is this smelled he thought to himself. He turned around after hearing the sound of footsteps. Anthony turned around and there it was a mass group of dark figures conversing amongst each other. He and his brother were shocked to see that so many boys were behind them, but they didn’t care they felt as if nothing could happen. They continued to joke and converse about there days when they could hear footsteps running towards them. They turned around and fear filled their body’s as the mass of boys ran with murderous instinct seeping from their eyes.

The group circled the boys in an attempt to cut off all exits. Anthony didn’t know what to do, he could only wonder why this was happening. One boy in the group, a somewhat tall boy with a black hoodie on making it hard to see his face yelled out, run your pockets, with an deep and thuggish tone. Sensing the seriousness of the situation the Anthony and Deontae emptied their pockets with haste. They could tell this was not a joke as the boy pulled out a black skinny object which had to be a gun. Deontae began to panic and Anthony could feel his lifes cool composure slipping away, frantically he and Deontae made a run for it, pushing one of the weaker looking boys creating an exit, Anthony followed. They ran as if their life depended on it.

A shot was fired, but neither one of them slowed down, but gained even more speed. They lost the boys and hid in an abandoned garage. They could hear the boys outside searching for them. "Where they at", said two boys from the group. They sat their in the garage filled with old beds and torn up wooden dressers. Anthony could feel his side hurting and as he pressed his hand to it, he felt the wound and let out a mown of pain. Anthony put his hand in front of his face, it was damp and dripping in blood. "Man I got shot", he could feel the bullet wound now. He looked at his brother , with eyes of freight, "what you talking about", Deontae whispered, in an effort to keep hidden from the searching group.

In my stomach Anthony replied as he lifted his hand into the tiny strand of light peering in though a cracked window. Anthony sat there and could see his brother fading away and the whole time the mysterious smell continued to fill his nostrils. Anthony could hear his brother talking to him but only the smell stayed constant as all other senses slowly became insignificant. Anthony spoke "can you smell it Deontae". Deontae was in shock and didn’t know what to do. His brother lay their dying right in front of him as blood seeped from his stomach. The echo of another shot filled the silent night, as a hooded boy enters the garage filling the room with a hidious light.Deontae too began to fill the blood gushing from his chest. Deontae could only whimper as he too began to smell death, and all images around him slowly became insignificant to the ingnorant aroma.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book