Print

Author Topic: The Drifter-A Non Mario Stroy  (Read 1510 times)

« on: February 11, 2006, 11:03:45 AM »
This stroy is based off of "Maniac Magee", by Jerry Spinelli, or however you spell it.

In the year of 1986, in the small of town of Walla-Walla, Washington, a kid from heaven was born under the influence of Gordon and Gina Hawk. Gordon and Gina were about the best parents you could wish for. Gave you  cookies before dinner, never told you to sleep at 9:00, about what any kid wants their parents to be like. The kid was named Will, and, like his parents, was extraordinary. Washed his plate after dinner, cleaned his room even when not asked to. He was the perfect son to the perfect parents. But, like any good thing, it must come to an end, and this is where the legend begins…

             It was a hot July in the year of 2003, the “Day It Happened”. Gordon and Gina kissed Will on the cheek. Said “See You Later”, and left the house, anticipating the new day off work. They patted their forehead with a washcloth to wipe off sweat, and hopped in the car. Will peeked out of his bedroom window, and watched his parents leave for the day. Will quickly finished his homework, and ran down to the Living Room, flicked on the lights, grabbed the remote for the TV, and began to watch some good TV.

   Next thing he knows, he wakes up and sees the news, showing his parent’s car smashed into a sandwich between a bus and a wall. After that, Will saw his life go into shambles. From just a day, he was transported to his great-uncle, the one uncle he never knew about. He was gone from the perfect life, the perfect parents were gone, and the perfect boy was sent to a dirty part of town in Chicago, the “not-so-perfect” side of town. His great-uncle Leo was a smoker, an alcoholic, all those things that destroy your body. He barely knew Will’s name, instead calling him “boy” or “you”. Will could put up with this, for now.

   “You, boy, fetch me a beer from the fridge, would ya,” Leo flung his cigar around, smoke trailing the air. “and make sure not to shake it up! Fizz is what makes me grumpy.” Will stepped into the kitchen, scoffing at Leo’s remark. He thought in his head, When aren’t you grumpy? He yanked open the fridge, grabbed the last beer can, and walked back to the poor excuse of a table. He handed Leo the beer can. Leo opened the beer can, and inspected it, then threw it at Will’s stomach. It made a loud thump, and splashed bubbly beer over Will’s shoes. Leo screamed out,
   “I said not to shake it!”
Will’s nose twitched. I can’t believe I have been dealing with this for the last 2 years! It was true. He just turned sixteen just a few days ago. Sweet sixteen. Sweet sixteen. Will couldn’t take it anymore. Three years of misery and sadness. Three years of loneliness and sickness. He grabbed his empty plate, and threw it to the ground. It cracked into a thousand pieces. Leo’s brain burned with rage.
   “What the hell was that for? You got brain dead, huh? Thinkin’ you can go around, break your elder’s things? Well, answer me.” Will made a loud scream.
   “Arghhhh!” Will’s hand turned into a fist, and he began swinging it towards Leo’s left cheek. The impact was a loud one. Leo flew off his chair, down to the ground with a sickening THUD. Leo lay there, motionless. Will kicked him in the leg, and Leo didn’t move. Will ran out of the door. Away from the Windy City. Away from Leo. Away from the wasted three years. Away from the sickening feeling he would get when someone would ask him “How was your sixteenth birthday?” Away from here. Away from there.

   The next year was lost in time. Will spent the rest of the year of 2005 wallowing anywhere around the countries. Every state had its own story on Will. “He gave food to the homeless.” says one Texas native. “He cleaned up the park.” says an Mississippi native. “He helped me cross the street.” says an elderly woman in the state of New York. He went to almost every state in the country, until he went to the town of Silver Spring, Maryland. Now, this is where the true story began. Throw out the stories about him saving China, about him wrestling sharks in Brazil, this is the real story about  Will “Drifter” Hawk. Buckle your seatbelts, adjust your rear-view mirror, this will be one wild ride.\

   The lights of Silver Spring was a sight to see. The stars twinkled, and the ground was dark and quiet. Although it seemed country-ish, it made Will happy. All of the places he have been to were large cities, and only lights in the air was from apartment complexes and helicopters. The stars twinkled in the sky, making Will feel like at home. Home. He longed for it. He approached the city.

   The streets was freshly wet with rain, and silent, just like home. Will spotted a house nearby, one without lights and one without people. He hopped over the fence with ease, landing firmly on his soles. He brushed off his shoes, and headed inside. The door creaked, and it nearly fell of its hinges. The dust swirled around in a vortex, barely visible with the aid of the moonlight. The few furniture in the house were covered with ghost-white sheets, and to add to the illusion of a haunted house, the house creaked and moaned. With each step Will took, the wooden floors creaked with the sound of a grunting football player. Will was used to it. He slept in many scarier houses before. It was a walk in the park for him.

   “I think he’s dead.” A voice threw Will from his deep sleep. His eyes opened slowly, and a girl, about his age, glanced down at him. The girl seemed to peer into his soul. He quickly jumps to his feet, and says with a yawn,
   “I never knew that someone lived here before.”
   “Lived here before? This is my secret hideout. Why, you live here?”
   “No. I never lived anywhere. Never had a home for a year.”
The girl shuffled around Will, looking at his appearance. Will was wearing the same shirt-and-pants combo he wore the day he socked Leo in the cheek. The old-navy logo was faded, and the jeans was a light brown form overuse. He looked poor, from the likes of him.
   “What’s your name?” The girl was curious enough.
   “Will Hawk. But just call me Will. What’s yours?”
   “Jenny. So, why are you here?”
   “It’s an awfully long story. But to sum it all up, I have no home. I have no sanctuary.”
   “A house isn’t a home. You live where you please, I bet. Doubtful you have no home, since a home isn’t always a house, or even a building.”
   “Oh.”
   “Well, I must be going now.”
   “Wait! What’s your name again?
Halfway out the door, the girl screamed “Jenny!” Jenny. The name stuck in Will’s head. He peered out the window. Bright sunlight poured into the old house. Will dusted off his pants, and headed out.

   Many stories and rumors were going around of Will. Most people recognize him as “The Drifter”, and watched him insecurely. A strange fellow he was. Many false stories popped out off of many guy’s and gal’s brain. From when he attacked a school teacher,  to when they say he ate alien brains, the stories were all over the place. One of the true stories you’ll hear though, is “Dawson Football Miracle”.

   It was a hot February, one of those trick days when it seemed like spring. The sun was beating down on Silver Spring, and the atmosphere just called for sports. At Dawson Park, a small football game was being held, street rules, of course. The teams got pretty rowdy, resulting in hard tackles and moans of pain. Quarterback Jimmy Hart was lining up a play, when he was sacked. The ball flew into the air, and a fumble was forming. The ball bounced off the ground, and the only person wise enough to get it was Will Hawk himself. He ran up to the ball and picked it off the ground. He ran towards where Jimmy was aiming to go. The opposing team ran after him. Will was too fast, too fast. He easily reached first down, and beyond. He ducked and weaved through the defenders, and through some double teams, too. The miraculous play resulted in a miraculous touchdown. Jimmy’s team won ,and the team was confused, the opposing team enraged. Will quickly ran out, fearing rebellious football players. (He knows that they punch hard from another confrontation to rowdy football players, but he does it for the thrill of the chase, or being chased) He eventually stopped, and dusted off his pants. (His signature trademark, of course) The area surrounding him looked like home. A little, suburban house with a perfect yard. Memories flashed through Will’s eyes. The painful memories. It was too much. He quickly ran off.

   

   
Most Wishy-Washy

Print