We have two more weeks to bring together our Solo Story Project. For our Solo Story we each have to pick a story from our lives that caused a life changing moment and find a creative way to tell it in about 5 to 7 minutes. Here is my story:
“I was 16 the first time my parents let me roam around Amsterdam all by myself. It was a beautiful crisp spring day, sunny, blue skies spotted with a few fluffy clouds. I was making my way through De Dam, Amsterdam’s central plaza. There was a cheerful atmosphere as a few people wandered in and about the shops, cafes, and the large monument that dominated the plaza. I was walking towards one of the side streets and I noticed a yellow cab parked in front of a diamond shop.
A man in a long tweed coat and brown fedora stepped out of the back seat. Wisps of graying hair stuck out from under his hat, and his rugged face was covered by a graying beard. He was a tall man, with a confidence that only comes from power. Out from the other side of the cab stepped a stunning woman, obviously at least 20 years his junior. She had a head full of dark curls and was dressed fashionably in a fur lined jacket, suede skirt and heels.
Then time slowed as I saw the man freeze. The metallic glint of a silencer gleamed as it pressed against the powerful man’s forehead. The shinny tube was attached to the black matte of a Glock, which was firmly clasped in the hands of a killer.
Dressed in the cliche black trench coat and cap, he didn’t waver or flinch as he pulled the trigger. With a soft pop the back of the mans head exploded, spattering the ground with skull and gray matter. Lifeless, he fell over like timber.
As an after thought the killer aimed the gun at the woman, let loose another shot and ran as she crumpled to the ground.
Time stopped completely as the woman looked up, blue eyes wide with shock, face half red with the blood from where the bullet had grazed her skull, and she saw her dead companion. She reached for him.
I will forever remember this picture, from the dust filtering through the sunlight to the strangled sound that escaped her throat.
I remember that, at that moment, I wanted the killer, the threat, to die. Because of this, I know I would kill to survive. I still get flashes of fear if I walk through a plaza with a large monument in it.
The powerful man was a druglord visiting from Bulgaria. What if the killer isn’t so different from me? “
I think that the creative storytelling part with come with some props. I’m going to try and see if I can use the gun from the props closet, and throroughout the story slowly turn into the killer by putting on a black trench coat, cap and then bust out the gun at the end.
Good story. Terrifying, but good.
I miss you, my dear. Are you coming home for the summer, or will you stay in good ol’ London? If you’re staying, I might be able to come visit you. My older sister Karen, who you met when you visited me in France, got accepted to grad school in London! Yay!