Sketchbooks and Slingshots
A revenge story
Tommy Robinson and his pals had been pelting cars with rotten apples along Route Nine for weeks. From what we heard, one guy even pulled over and called the police on them. By the time anyone showed up they’d all darted into the woods and had probably taken some backroads home.
Assholes.
What are those guys thinking? Can you imagine if they slugged some old lady’s car and she flipped into a ditch or something – had a heart attack? Tommy bullies everyone and goes out of his way to make people feel like garbage all the time. We’ve been putting up with him for as long as I can remember. He saunters into study hall and rips my sketchbooks from me, makes fun of my drawings. My hair. He’ll push anyone weaker around.
Enough is enough.
Lucky for me, I’m pretty good with a slingshot. So is my best friend, Raul.
And I happen to know where Tommy’s little hiding spot is.
“You sure about this, Mike?” Raul asks as we set out from his house.
“Yeah. It’s time someone does something.” We’re on bikes. Our backpacks are stuffed with our slingshots and dozens of rocks.
The plan is to ditch the bikes, sneak in from behind Tommy and the others – hopefully from one of the nearby hills to get a clear shot and quick getaway, if needed – and let them have it.
After we put a couple of miles behind us, we arrive at Olivia Orchards. We keep going a bit farther, past the lines of apple trees, and make the climb up the rolling hills. It’s tough pedaling on the way up, but it will make for a fast ride home. We eventually ditch our bikes behind a collapsed barn, cross the road, and duck into the woods.
“Remember that one huge tree that fell over the summer – the one during that really bad storm?” I ask Raul.
“Oh, yeah. That’s where they’re at?”
I nod. We’re both still breathing pretty heavily from the ride.
Careful of our footing, we dip down into a small ravine. We follow it deeper into the woods. The sound of cars rolling past indicate we’re near Route Nine, and as we soften our steps, we can begin to hear muffled voices through the trees. Laughter. Clinking bottles. Apples splatting against tree trunks. Target practice, maybe?
Raul positions himself behind a large oak tree to my right. I’m behind a fallen tree. When I poke my head out above it, I can see all three of them perfectly. Tommy is in the middle facing our direction. He must be telling a story or something because the other two have their backs to us.
Raul glances at me. I nod. We both unzip our bags as quietly as we can, pull out our slingshots, and get our rocks ready.
Then we both take aim and start firing down on the bullies.
My first shot smacks John Wilcox directly in the back, and he staggers a step or two forward, screaming. Raul’s first shot misses, but his second hits Mel Kapers in the thigh as he turns around. He lets out a yelp.
They are in utter confusion, spinning around in circles, as we send a wave of rocks down at them, hitting on about half the shots we take.
“Up there!” Tommy shouts, pointing in our direction.
I fling a final rock at him. In slow motion, I watch it fly. I wonder if, for some reason, Tommy doesn’t see it because it looks like he watches it all the way in.
The rock strikes him in the eye.
“Ahhhhh!” he yells, falling to the ground immediately. “My eye, my eye!” Even from this distance, I swear I can see red stream down his face – between his fingers. John and Mel rush to him, dropping to the ground.
“Mike,” Raul says, dumping the rocks out of his bag. “We gotta go.”
I’m frozen to the spot. I try to take a breath but can’t.
The next thing I know, Raul is dragging me out of the woods, running as fast as possible. All he says is “Shit, shit, shit,” as we tear through the brush and pricker bushes. He must have snagged all my stuff for me because when we break free from the trees, he shoves the empty bag and slingshot into my hands.
“Jesus, man,” he says, hopping on his bike. “We’re screwed.’
We pedal like hell all the way back to Raul’s house where we stash our bikes and bags in the shed.
I don’t hang around too long at Raul’s place. We barely say anything to each other. I hold it together until I catch a ride home, but as soon as I’m safe in my room, I cry like a baby. I’ve never been more scared in my entire life. My hands are shaking, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Did I knock Tommy’s eye out of its socket? Would he be blind in that eye forever? Or had I killed the kid?
I run to the bathroom and kneel before the toilet bowl, dry heaving for what feels like an eternity.
Later that night, around ten, flashing lights approach my house.
I’ve already learned my lesson, but I know this is far from over.
“Mike?” Mom calls from downstairs, the worry evident in her voice.
I count every step on my way down.
Thank you for reading “Sketchbooks and Slingshots” — I hope you enjoyed it.
Have you ever made a decision purely based on emotion?
Thank you so much for being here. I hope you check back on Friday for some fifty-word stories!
This was such an important story, carrying with it a lesson wherein we want to expose the bullies, but we can't use their own methods to punish them, because then we have gotten down to their level, which doesn't accomplish anything good. The reader can totally feel the main character's fear and guilt at the end.
I was worried something was going to go wrong... Echoing what Andrea said, the fear and dread at the end of the story is palpable.