More (minor) literary success.

As many of you aware I am an aspiring author and every month I try to submit a story to my Student Group's writing competition. Well I won again this month (admittedly there was only one other entry, but I was quite proud of this story). It is a little rushed and unrefined but here it is nevertheless.

A 600 word short story for 10 to 15 year olds.

I Heard…

I heard the end of the world today. I always thought it would start as a low rumble that you feel rather than hear that would build into a thundering roar so loud that you hear that funny squeaking as your ears distort with the volume. I read somewhere, I think it was in the New Scientist, that the Americans had come up with a sound ray that could shake a person to bits and make their head explode. This was nothing like that though. It was much quieter.

When it happened I was lying underneath my parents' bed. I had taken some of the spare pillows and the winter blanket from the box at the end of the bed and had crawled underneath with them until I was wedged in tight. I could smell the dust in the carpet and the musty smell of the blanket mixing with lemon-fresh fabric-conditioner mum used on the pillowcases. It was a safe place to come where I could daydream.

I often made up stories in my head where I was trapped, perhaps in the rouble of the house after an earthquake. Some unexplained disaster would have occurred and I would be pinned immobile under tonnes of masonry with only a few small gaps where a little air and light could filter through. It wasn't anything to do with self-harm or any of that mental stuff, it was actually about heroically rescuing someone else. Usually it would be a beautiful girl who was also trapped and I would have to overcome my pain and rescue her. Everybody would think I was a hero and I would become famous and the girl who would end up falling in love with me.

I was under the bed when my mum and dad came in. Mum sat on the edge of the bed. I could see her sandals; they were the ones she wore at the beach that had pink and orange plastic flowers on them. Dad was pacing up and down; he was wearing his old brown work shoes. He must have just finished mowing the lawn because I could see bits of grass stuck to the heel.

"It can't go on any more," dad's voice sounded strange, hoarse. "I know we agreed to wait for the sake of Ben, but I can't stand it anymore."

"He's only a child Richard!"

"I know Carol," dad sat down next to mum on the bed. The springs groaned. "But he's nearly twelve now and it would be better to do it now before he goes to High School."

The bed was pushing down on me and I couldn't move. The air seemed stuffier and my mouth was as dry and dusty as the carpet.
I could barely hear mum above the sound of blood pounding in my ears, "What are you suggesting?"

"I could get a flat nearer to work. I'd only need a few bits and pieces and I would make sure you and Ben had everything you needed."

"Damn right you will!" Mum jumped up and rounded on dad. "I can't stop you from going. Even if I wanted to. But I can damn well make sure you look after your son!"

"I know, I know!" dad had stood up and stepped towards mum but she moved away and turned around. The grass had come off his shoe onto the carpet. Mum always insisted we wipe our feet before coming into the house. "Look we'll talk to Ben tonight, quietly and calmly."

I always thought the end of the world would be louder than that.