The Riots

The school bus rattled along the busy street. It was an especially quiet day. Laxman stared out of the window at the pavement on the other side of the street.

A little too late, Laxman noticed a brick flying right at him. “GET DOWN!” Laxman cried, ducking. The brick sailed into the bus, shattering against a girl, who passed out cold, and everything exploded into chaos.

Every car around the bus stopped. People came out with guns ablaze. The bus driver got up. “EVERYBODY SIT DOWN!” he bellowed, shooting his pistol at the ceiling of the bus.

The bus became quiet, but from outside, gunshots assaulted Laxman’s ears. The bus conductor was shooting anyone who tried to get into the bus. Laxman got in his seat and looked outside the window. What he saw scarred him for life.

The street was painted in blood. People were getting riddled with bullets. Every bullet that entered a person’s body erupted in blood, as it splattered the street with red. The worst was when it entered their heads. The head shattered, pieces of skull and brain flying in every direction.

A man ran at the bus. The driver aimed his pistol and fired. The man exploded right outside Laxman’s window. Blood splashed on Laxman’s face. He screamed, trying to wipe it off, but it only became worse. “Shut up!” yelled the driver, his weapon pointed at his forehead. Laxman’s blood froze.

“I-I-I’m sorry, I-” he whimpered.
“Shut the hell up NOW!”
“I’m s-s-sorry-” Laxman began to cry.
The driver yelled in frustration and fired.

Laxman saw the bullet soar through the air, cutting through his skin like butter. Every nerve erupted in pain. The last thing he remembered was the spark of light, as the world went black.

Comments

  1. Badri nana

    I was feeling sad after reading this story. Can you try to think of writing a story which would give me pleasant feeling post reading!

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      Author
  2. Deepa

    Abu, I enjoy your posts. Looking forward to seeing the world through your eyes as the years roll on.

    I like the attention to visual detail you have provided in this story. ( example – The worst was when it entered their heads. The head shattered, pieces of skull and brain flying in every direction.)

    Got me thinking about story-tellers who are great at atmosphere building and through their descriptions can transport you to the scene. One of the storytellers I have loved for his ability to recreate a scene in multi-sensory splendour is Guy de Maupassant. Here is a sample from his story `A Piece of String’

    `…. In the market-place at Goderville was a great crowd, a mingled multitude of men and beasts. The horns of cattle, the high, long-napped hats of wealthy peasants, the headdresses of the women came to the surface of that sea. And the sharp, shrill, barking voices made a continuous, wild din, while above it occasionally rose a huge burst of laughter from the sturdy lungs of a merry peasant or a prolonged bellow from a cow tied fast to the wall of a house.

    It all smelled of the stable, of milk, of hay and of perspiration, giving off that half-human, half-animal odor which is peculiar to country folks…….’

    SIght, smell, sounds…. it just sucks you right in!

    What do you think?

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      Abu Singh

      That piece of description is AWESOME. I, however think that description is one of the deparments in which I lack. I never feel like the reader feels a sense of place, but comments like these help me understand where exactly I lack. Thanks!

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