Tre Cool only has a small part in this, but it was anoter one of my short story tasks. This is the result.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and begrudgingly left the warmth of my bed. I glided over to my desk, sat and collected my iPod, pencil case and notebook. With the action of plugging the ear buds in my ears, I decided I should listen to something soothing. Noah and the Whale. Perfect. It was then when I let my music and hands collide. I never focused on what I did in these artistic times, it was like a trance.
When I had finished, the pencil fell from my grasp and I admired my finished work. The page had a figure neatly in the middle, completely shaded in dark grey, apart from her face and hair. Her hair was auburn in colour and fell gracefully to her waist. Her eyes were like two rings of emerald and specs of honey swimming around in the iris.
I flipped the cover of the notebook over my master piece, returned my pencils to my pencil case and placed my iPod back in my bag. My drawing session must have taken a long time as I could hear the shuffling of feet above me. A sharp knocking on the door made me jump.
“Emma! Come look at this,” a voice called. Not just any voice, but Tre. Tre was my brother, and the local drummer to the masses.
I swiftly scurried to the door and opened it. In front of me stood my sibling, wearing only boxers and a Star Wars T-shirt. He promptly shoved today’s newspaper in my face. I lightly scanned the page until my eyes met a bold font. It read,
‘Today Rolf Gretchen and his gang have committed another killing. They shot the six cabinet ministers at half past six in the morning against the wall of the hospital. Local passersby say that it was a tragic act, continue reading on Pg. 6.’
I looked up in shock at Tre. Rolf Gretchen was on the move again, maybe even moving closer.