Ding Dong Ditch Gone Wrong

March 13, 2012
By LSinclare7 BRONZE, South Riding, Virginia
LSinclare7 BRONZE, South Riding, Virginia
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I reached up to my cheek to wipe away the smear of black war paint. We jogged down the sidewalk, giggling and pushing each other before another. My best friend, Chloe, her little brother, Declan, his friend, Brandon, and I idled outside our victim’s house bickering with each other as to who would get the job done fastest. I argued that since I was tallest, my legs were longest, and could move the fastest .Ultimately, we decided Declan was the bravest, and that he could ring the doorbell. The remaining three of us huddled behind the bushes, crouched and holding our breath, as if our breathing would give ourselves away to the people on the opposite side of the door.

Declan rang once, and jolted off the porch steps, leaping over the bush to join our side. In the same instant, we all sprang up, and sprinted down the sidewalk. But then, Declan shouted repeatedly, “Wait! They’re not even coming!” Disappointed, we insisted we do it again for we could see their lights on, and knew they were home. We went back for round two. As we took our positions, I crossed my fingers and wished for success. Declan lifted each finger as he motioned his count to three, and then sprang off the porch. This time, the door flung open, exposing a man with a hammer in hand.

Chloe screamed, my mouth dropped, and we struggled to get to our feet. We flew down the sidewalk with Chloe’s house in view. My heart pounded out of my chest, but I forced one foot in front of the other. I glanced over my shoulder to check the gap within myself and the crazed man, but instead found him straddling one of the boys. Brandon’s arms and legs jerked about violently for release. In the same moment his screams filled the air, my body changed direction, and I raced to his rescue.

I pushed out my hands to transfer my entire body’s force onto the man, knocking him off of Brandon. I screamed into his face, and pounded on his chest, enraged, “What’s wrong with you?! He’s just a little boy!” The man pulled himself onto his feet, not making eye contact with me, bent to pick up his hammer, and strode towards his house. I focused my attention onto Brandon amidst the grass. Next to his head laid fallen stones he had been thrashed onto. Blood trickled down his forehead, originating from somewhere I couldn’t see within his hair. I lifted him to his feet as he wept, and leaned him against myself for support as we limped towards safety together.

The author's comments:
I was recently asked if I've ever felt like a hero. This is what I recalled.

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