Foster Davenport leaned back against his favorite park bench, feeling the afternoon sun caress his unshaven face. His eyes were closed. His mind reached out to listen to the subtle sounds of springtime in the park; children laughing, birds chirping, and a playful couple laughing at the silliness of their young affection.
He sank deeper into a meditative state, enjoying a personal nirvana, when suddenly he heard his name intermingle with the playful sounds of the birds and the children.
“Foster!”
He was thinking, go away, when he felt a hand on his shoulder giving him a slight shake.
“Foster!”
He cupped his hand over his eyes and looked up to see his neighbor standing there. Tommy Shelton was a decent neighbor with one exception: He was annoyingly nosey. He sat down beside Foster and said, “You left way early this morning. Is everything okay?”
He looked over at his neighbor. Foster was angry about his interrupted meditation, but he also needed to talk to somebody about his dream. Tommy, for all his faults, was a pretty good listener.
Turning his head away, he said, “I was up early. I had a horrible dream last night. I dreamed I was going to die today.” Foster had a distant stare in his eyes.
It was as if he was focusing on Apartment 106 in the building almost a quarter mile across the park. If he could have seen into the third window from the left side of the building, he would have seen a small boy, no older than nine. The boy was excited by his latest find. Looking under the bed for his lost toy, he’d found a small metal box containing his father’s pistol.
Mimicking his favorite TV detective, he pointed the gun at the cross-town bus passing the open bedroom window. He tugged on the trigger and in an excited voice shouted, “Bang,” but his word was overwhelmed by the explosion of the gun. The boy cried and dropped the heavy pistol to the floor.
A bullet is a single-minded creature with only one mission. Once propelled by the explosion of gun powder, it will travel along the path chosen for it. The metal slug began its journey the instant the hammer fell on the cartridge igniting the gunpowder. The expanding gas of the explosion propelled the bullet down the rifled barrel, spinning it into a tight trajectory ensuring an accurate continuation of flight.
The bullet exited the barrel and sped through the window of Apartment 106. It entered the right side of the bus through an open window, barely missing the nose of a young salesman seated in row seven. He swatted at it a full half-second after it sailed out the window to his left.
It flew above the warm grass of a city park and above the heads of laughing children. A small Terrier perked its ears and yelped at the sound of the gunshot. The bullet barely nicked the tail feathers of a pigeon in flight and continued, unheeded, unwavering, and straight towards an unknown destination. The young couple was startled, and looked in the direction of the cross-town bus. Without a conscious or a guiding hand, the projectile continued along the chosen path.
Foster pointed at the bus traveling down the boulevard on the other side of the park. He laughed and said, “I dreamed I was going to be run over by the cross-town bus today.”
Traveling at eleven hundred feet per second, the bullet struck Foster in the middle of his forehead. In the roughly six inches from the impact point to the exit wound, the gray matter of his brain deformed the bullet drastically and slowed the travel velocity to a meager two hundred feet per second. A substantial piece of Foster’s skull followed the bullet out the back of his head. It tumbled another forty-seven feet before lodging into a big oak tree at the edge of the park.
Foster’s lifeless body fell forward onto the ground. Tommy screamed. The young couple ran over from their blanket; the girl was shouting, “I heard a gunshot from over there.” Turning around, she pointed across the park.
In Apartment 106, the boy’s father ran into the room and grabbed up his son. The child was frightened and sobbing, “I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry.” Clutching his trembling son in his arms, he knew how lucky they were that the boy was unhurt.
Still holding his frightened child, the man bent down, picked up the gun and put it back in the box. He bent over to look out the window with a concerned stare, and said, “This is not a toy. You could have killed somebody.”
Mickey Mills is a struggling writer on the Harley Davidson of life.
This story was sponsored by
Camilla d’Errico: A character designer and artist who dances on the tightrope between pop surrealist art and manga inspired graphics. Explore her paintings, characters and comics: Tanpopo, BURN and Helmetgirls.
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38 Responses to “TRAJECTORY • by Mickey Mills”
Comments
« ENEMY OF THE PARTY • by Jim Steel | Home | DESTINATION: BEACH • by John A. Mackie »
October 9th, 2009 at 4:43 am
This one lost me with the first POV change. Too much in too short a space, with not enough focus. There’s either no story here, or too many stories. And I’m given no reason to care about any of the characters in any of ‘em.
October 9th, 2009 at 4:45 am
I enjoyed reading this, Mickey. Very visual, filmic (is that a word?… It is now
). You open up that Harley and go for it, man. (Love that metaphor, BTW)
October 9th, 2009 at 6:03 am
Great! Loved it!
And I will say that I did not have any problems with issues mentioned by others, like POV change or “too many characters.” The transitions from Foster to the small boy to the bullet (interesting POV, the bullet!) and back to Foster went fine for me.
Five bullets!
October 9th, 2009 at 6:20 am
Jim, don’t put something into quote marks when you’re not actually quoting somebody. ‘Cause that’s what quote marks are for, you know . . .
October 9th, 2009 at 6:27 am
Bob,
Don’t stir the pot with Jim!
October 9th, 2009 at 6:29 am
What the heck, it’s Friday . . .
October 9th, 2009 at 6:29 am
The ending of the story was predictable, but the journey was well worth taking.
October 9th, 2009 at 6:43 am
Familiar story but with unusual approach, a pleasure.
October 9th, 2009 at 7:47 am
Thank you for the comments. This started out purely as an exercise in POV, hence the rotation of viewpoints that Jim mentioned. I thought the POV of the bullet was the strongest part of this piece.
Thank you to the staff of EDF for choosing this for publication.
October 9th, 2009 at 7:51 am
Enjoyed the story. Haven’t seen this writer on here before. Hope to see more of his works. I don’t even know what a POV is!
October 9th, 2009 at 9:02 am
Oh man, I really liked this one.
Anyone the writes this well and rides a big Harley deserves 5 stars.
October 9th, 2009 at 9:13 am
I loved it Mick. Absolutely excellent.
October 9th, 2009 at 9:25 am
For Merrinell:
POV stands for point-of-view. It refers (roughly) to whose eyes you are looking through while telling the story … or in this case, a particular part of the story. Telling a story from a single POV is the easiest, and many of the books on writing warn you about shifting POV (to another character) in the middle of the story. But if done well, as it was here, it can be very effective.
October 9th, 2009 at 9:47 am
Loved it! Could feel myself on the park bench listening to the day to day sounds, the anxiousness of the dream, and have to admit, the heart raced a little as the bullet traveled it’s course, even guessing the outcome felt as though “is it possible”…..the fathers reaction to seeing the gun and putting it away, is such a sad but true reaction in these days and times….write on…safe travels…..
October 9th, 2009 at 9:47 am
Excellent story! I was intrigued from the beginning and as Jim said about the POV, the shift was very good and very effective. Enjoyed this story and hope to see more from you Mickey! Great job!
October 9th, 2009 at 10:46 am
Chilling. Well told. The shifting POV totally worked for me in this piece. Nice job.
October 9th, 2009 at 10:56 am
The POV changes were a little rough – possibly too much time in Foster’s head initially. But I loved the bullet as a POV character, and the ending was satisfying.
October 9th, 2009 at 11:33 am
This one didn’t do much for me. Foreshadowing needs a lighter touch, in my opinion. To wake up from a dream of death then to switch to a scene with a kid playing with a gun…there is a certain sense of inevitability. The bus Foster dreams of could have been made much more relevant. For example, a set up where Foster is waiting at a bus stop while bus after bus passes by, then showing his trepidation about boarding because of his dream. Highlight the tragic irony somehow. It has a lot of places it could go as a story, but this incarnation seemed lacking.
Best,
–John
October 9th, 2009 at 1:45 pm
I was immersed into it, eased into it at the getgo…Love, how smoothly it rolls from one scene to the next. Evokes, a lot of feeling. GOOD JOB, keep it up.
October 9th, 2009 at 2:26 pm
Everyone has already said exactly what I wanted to say.
Wonderful; kept me captivated; forget the grumpy POV comments. You did a great job, and everything was spelled correctly and punctuated properly. That’s BIG!!
Just one thing–ride that HOG to the River Run in Laughlin next April!! Would love to see you.
October 9th, 2009 at 2:38 pm
Another fine short story, Mickey. I have already told you how much I enjoy your writing.
Looking forward to the new novel. Welcome “home”.
October 9th, 2009 at 3:02 pm
I can not add much to what has already been said, you are a fine author and I am waiting to watch more good things evolve from your creativity.
dp
October 9th, 2009 at 3:08 pm
Mickey…personally, I love the Point of View switches….I could completely see this story as a short film…an uninterupted shot running from Foster to the boy to the bullet and with finality, back to Foster…and on a side note to the fictional father…”Lock up your F-ing pistol!!”…lol
October 9th, 2009 at 7:44 pm
Nothing surprising about what went on in the store it’s too — sadly– possible. I spent many hours preaching from that soap box while working at a gun store. ‘Kids in the house, teach them about real guns and keep the guns locked up’.
- That aside, your clear style kept me hooked from the very start. Your work is nicely done. Keep it coming.
October 9th, 2009 at 8:38 pm
Thank you for all the comments. Good and otherwise. If I learned anything in life it’s you can’t please everyone, and sometimes I can barely please myself.
October 9th, 2009 at 9:36 pm
compact. precise. descriptive suspense at its shortest. i am immensely entertained.
October 10th, 2009 at 4:30 am
Many congratulations, Mick. The idea is simple but effectively brought to life to make a powerful story.
October 10th, 2009 at 8:46 am
I liked the story. The POV shifts didn’t bother me to much. I read it as an omniscient narrator, which is an older form, but perfect for this piece. I would agree that the dream then shift to gun weakened the irony a little. Nice work.
October 10th, 2009 at 9:22 am
Love this story!!! The father’s remark made me think about the number of things we do that have consequences we are not even aware of! What great thinking on your part! Look forward to reading more of the great thinking that comes from that mind!
October 10th, 2009 at 10:08 am
Great visual story that drew me in within the first sentence. The very best to you and your career!
October 10th, 2009 at 12:02 pm
Shootin’ irony…fantastic!
October 12th, 2009 at 8:57 am
I enjoyed it. There wasn’t any ‘what’s going to happen?’ tension for me, since as soon as the boy picked up the gun we all knew where the bullet would go, but I enjoyed the ride.
October 14th, 2009 at 7:06 am
The premonition of death made the story very compelling.The imagery was so real that I rode that bullet from the moment it was fired until the sad ending when it killed poor Foster. Great write. I loved it.
October 24th, 2009 at 8:37 pm
Well done, Mick! This gives us a whole lot to think about, and a whole lot to care about, without losing its power or impact. I like it!
November 3rd, 2009 at 10:18 pm
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November 6th, 2009 at 9:54 pm
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November 18th, 2009 at 8:46 am
Wow Mickey. That was amazing. The switch to the little boy confused me at first and I had to re-read that part. The switch to the bullet…that was amazing. Great read.
November 21st, 2009 at 1:53 am
I think, as others have stated, that the story spends too much time inside Foster’s head in the beginning, thus setting the reader up to expect that the entire story will be written from Foster’s POV.
I do find it ironic that near the end, the story is also inside Foster’s head, in a very different and of course very disturbing way.
I liked the description of the bullet’s trajectory. I think the story could be improved by tightening up the beginning and spending a little more time on the bullet’s path as it travels inevitably toward Foster’s head. The last two paragraphs could be tightened up as well. This is a story where every word should be chosen for maximum impact, and each unnecessary word should be eliminated.