Tudball
08-08-2011, 03:05 PM
I'm a mathematics student, so I've never written a short story before. There's a decent chance that this is awful, but I'd appreciate any feedback. Thanks in advance!
Thunder claps rattled a small cottage, as streaks of lightning cast long shadows through the windows. A particularly large crash caused Mr. Keitel's headboard to bounce against the wall.
“These storms have been rather intense, dear. Wouldn't you say?” he remarked.
“Yes, rather intense indeed,” Mrs. Keitel replied drowsily. “But you ought to get some rest.”
“Impossible in this racket. How you do it is beyond me, dear.”
“I just shut my eyes and let it pass,” she muttered.
“But it's not passing. That's the problem! I might as well give up on sleep altogether.”
“Oh, calm down, dear. You're getting yourself all worked up. Grab a glass of water and you'll feel better,” Mrs. Keitel snapped, turning over in bed.
“I'm quite calm, thank you. And, if anything, I need the loo. But I'm not getting out of bed during this storm, not with these leaks and drips. I'll catch a dreadful cold.”
Mrs. Keitel's cold silence indicated his impertinence. He squeezed his eyes shut and, with no great ease, drifted off to sleep. Assisted by a pillow wrapped tightly around his head.
The next morning, Mr. Keitel gazed through the front window, waiting for the postal delivery.
“No sign of it again,” he grunted. “It's been months since the last delivery. And even then, the paper was from seven years ago.”
Mrs. Keitel shuffled into the living room, her apron splattered with bread batter.
“We're not missing much,” she chirped. “Always some old government nonsense, anyway.”
“I haven't tackled a good crossword puzzle since it stopped. What's the point of being retired if I can't even do my bloody crosswords?”
“Well, it was you who decided to come and live out here, not me,” Mrs. Keitel replied angrily.
“And I don't regret it. Getting away from the hustle and bustle of it all has been the best decision I've ever made,” he announced. “We can just forget about all of it.”
“If that's what you think, I suppose the crosswords are just a small sacrifice then.”
“Still, I would like my crosswords,” Mr. Keitel sighed, his gaze drifting back toward the window.
“As long as Klaus keeps delivering our food and water, I'm perfectly satisfied,” Mrs. Keitel responded, shuffling back to the kitchen.
“I should think so. We pay him enough.”
Mr. Keitel arose from his armchair with a groan, and ambled towards the front door.
“I'm just going to get some fresh air, and make sure nothing was damaged last night,” he declared, as he slipped outside. The air smelled faintly burnt, and Mr. Keitel could see smoke rising in the distance.
“Lightning must have struck the forest,” he grunted. “I hope the fire doesn't make it here.”
Aside from the forest fire in the distance, there was no trace of the storm at all. Mrs. Keitel's flowers remained rooted in the soil, blooming innocently in the overcast light. The evergreens stood firmly in the woods, without even a twig out of place.
“Perhaps I was over-reacting,” Mr. Keitel mumbled, as he stepped back inside.
“How's my garden?” Mrs. Keitel called from the kitchen.
“Completely fine, dear. Not a petal missing.”
“Wonderful. I was going to weed it today,” she replied. “Anyway, breakfast is ready in the kitchen. Don't dawdle, or it'll get cold.”
The porridge slid down Mr. Keitel's throat, as he gazed glumly at his plate.
“I suppose I'll read the last paper we received. I never bother with the politics, but I've nothing better to do.”
“You could always clean the gutter,” Mrs. Keitel mentioned.
“I want the dew to clear first. I wouldn't want to slip off the roof.”
“Always with the excuses.” Mrs. Keitel chortled.
Mr. Keitel grinned, as he dusted off the front page.
ECONOMIC OUTPUT UP BY 2.9% THIS QUARTER, TREBLED IN PAST FOUR YEARS
The headline was complemented by a photograph of beaming officials, grouped outside an armaments factory. Mr. Keitel skimmed through the article, stopping on a quote by one of the officials.
'We must be prepared for every eventuality. The defence of our great nation is paramount, and a strong, competitive economy is one way to remain vigilant against all opposition, both internal and external.'
“What a load of crap,” he mumbled. “What's the government called again?”
“Socialist, I think.” Mrs. Keitel replied. “Or was it National Socialist? Is there a difference?”
“They're all the same to me. Always blustering or posturing about something. That's the exact reason we came out here: for some peace and quiet, and an escape from all this nonsense,” Mr. Keitel announced, as he tapped the newspaper accusingly.
“At least they're better than Hindenburg. We have food on the table these days,” Mrs. Keitel interjected.
“I just don't understand why all these weapons are needed. Who are our enemies?”
“I have no clue, dear. That's for the government to deal with,” Mrs. Keitel responded, wiping the kitchen table.
“I just hope they know what they're doing,” Mr. Keitel mumbled, flipping through the newspaper.
“Well, they managed to put food back on our plates. So they've done all right by me.”
The next morning, Mr. Keitel sat in the living room, ears perked for the sound of Klaus' truck clattering down the dirt road.
“He's usually here by now,” he grumbled. “Perhaps the storm held him up.”
“Yes, last night's was especially violent,” Mrs. Keitel agreed, “Still, I've nothing for breakfast. If he doesn't come by lunchtime, we'll need to go into town.”
“We haven't been there in years. Perhaps we should just wait for Klaus,” Mr. Keitel said nervously, wringing his hands.
Mrs. Keitel sighed sympathetically, “I know that this is difficult for you, but-”
“It's not difficult. I just think that it would be better to wait.” he snapped.
Mrs. Keitel paused, “We may have some millet in the cupboard. I'll make porridge.”
Throughout the day, a dense silence permeated the air, as Mr. Keitel sat subdued in the living room. Eventually, Mrs. Keitel wandered up to his armchair, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Perhaps you can pick up your crossword puzzles while we're there,” she said quietly.
Mr. Keitel sighed, and looked up at his wife.
“I suppose you have always wanted to start a vegetable garden. I'm sure they'll have seeds at the garden centre.”
Mrs. Keitel smiled, as he arose from his armchair with a groan, shuffling over to the coat-rack. Mrs. Keitel followed, and proceeded to clean off her shoes with a teacloth. Mr. Keitel dusted his overcoat, picking off fluffs and hairs.
“Are you ready?” Mrs. Keitel asked.
“As I'm going to be.”
They stepped outside, blinking in the light.
“Which way is the town again?” Mr. Keitel asked.
“We can probably just follow Klaus' tyre tracks.”
Mr. Keitel laughed, “You always were much cleverer than me.”
Mrs. Keitel giggled, and held her husband's hand, as they both walked down the beaten dirt track to town. The path was flanked by towering evergreens, and dense thickets lined the forest. Insects could be heard chirping in the tall grasses, and birds fluttered in the trees above.
“We're walking towards the forest fire,” Mr. Keitel noticed. “I hope the town is all right.”
“That's what the fire service is for,” Mrs. Keitel replied. “I could really go for some chocolate while we're there. It's been much too long since I last had chocolate.”
“I'm just looking forward to my crosswords. They might even have some puzzle books in the book-store.”
They walked for two hours, eventually approaching a steep hill. Smoke billowed from behind it, and fire could be hear cackling nearby.
Mrs. Keitel hesitated, “Is it safe to continue?”
“Wait here, dear. I'll take a look.” Mr. Keitel struggled up the hill, using a large stick for support. When he reached the top, his jaw dropped at what lay before him.
“What is it?” Mrs. Keitel called. The town had been reduced to rubble. Shards of glass littered the upturned streets, as loose papers fluttered in the wind. Smoke billowed from burnt-out houses, as their crumbled walls lay demolished on the ground. Soldiers could be heard barking orders, directing muddied people into military trucks.
Mrs. Keitel hurried up the hill, and looked down at the decimated town in subdued silence.
“What happened?” she whispered.
But before Mr. Keitel could muster a response, two soldiers ran towards them.
“What are you doing here? All civilians are being evacuated,” the older one demanded.
“What happened?” Mrs. Keitel repeated.
The soldier hesitated, “It's another Allied air raid. They're coming this way, headed for Berlin. All civilians must be evacuated for their own safety.”
“Allies?” Mr. Keitel murmured.
“I don't have time for this,” he growled. “Come this way.”
The older soldier took Mr. Keitel by the arm, as the younger one gently directed Mrs. Keitel. As they waded through the rubble, they passed by a burning truck, its windows shattered and scattered across the road. Inside, lay a young man, blood staining his white shirt, mouth hanging agape. On the back of the truck was a bundle of food and water, torn open and spilling onto the road. Lying in the pile, stained brown with thick dust, was a small book of crossword puzzles.
Thunder claps rattled a small cottage, as streaks of lightning cast long shadows through the windows. A particularly large crash caused Mr. Keitel's headboard to bounce against the wall.
“These storms have been rather intense, dear. Wouldn't you say?” he remarked.
“Yes, rather intense indeed,” Mrs. Keitel replied drowsily. “But you ought to get some rest.”
“Impossible in this racket. How you do it is beyond me, dear.”
“I just shut my eyes and let it pass,” she muttered.
“But it's not passing. That's the problem! I might as well give up on sleep altogether.”
“Oh, calm down, dear. You're getting yourself all worked up. Grab a glass of water and you'll feel better,” Mrs. Keitel snapped, turning over in bed.
“I'm quite calm, thank you. And, if anything, I need the loo. But I'm not getting out of bed during this storm, not with these leaks and drips. I'll catch a dreadful cold.”
Mrs. Keitel's cold silence indicated his impertinence. He squeezed his eyes shut and, with no great ease, drifted off to sleep. Assisted by a pillow wrapped tightly around his head.
The next morning, Mr. Keitel gazed through the front window, waiting for the postal delivery.
“No sign of it again,” he grunted. “It's been months since the last delivery. And even then, the paper was from seven years ago.”
Mrs. Keitel shuffled into the living room, her apron splattered with bread batter.
“We're not missing much,” she chirped. “Always some old government nonsense, anyway.”
“I haven't tackled a good crossword puzzle since it stopped. What's the point of being retired if I can't even do my bloody crosswords?”
“Well, it was you who decided to come and live out here, not me,” Mrs. Keitel replied angrily.
“And I don't regret it. Getting away from the hustle and bustle of it all has been the best decision I've ever made,” he announced. “We can just forget about all of it.”
“If that's what you think, I suppose the crosswords are just a small sacrifice then.”
“Still, I would like my crosswords,” Mr. Keitel sighed, his gaze drifting back toward the window.
“As long as Klaus keeps delivering our food and water, I'm perfectly satisfied,” Mrs. Keitel responded, shuffling back to the kitchen.
“I should think so. We pay him enough.”
Mr. Keitel arose from his armchair with a groan, and ambled towards the front door.
“I'm just going to get some fresh air, and make sure nothing was damaged last night,” he declared, as he slipped outside. The air smelled faintly burnt, and Mr. Keitel could see smoke rising in the distance.
“Lightning must have struck the forest,” he grunted. “I hope the fire doesn't make it here.”
Aside from the forest fire in the distance, there was no trace of the storm at all. Mrs. Keitel's flowers remained rooted in the soil, blooming innocently in the overcast light. The evergreens stood firmly in the woods, without even a twig out of place.
“Perhaps I was over-reacting,” Mr. Keitel mumbled, as he stepped back inside.
“How's my garden?” Mrs. Keitel called from the kitchen.
“Completely fine, dear. Not a petal missing.”
“Wonderful. I was going to weed it today,” she replied. “Anyway, breakfast is ready in the kitchen. Don't dawdle, or it'll get cold.”
The porridge slid down Mr. Keitel's throat, as he gazed glumly at his plate.
“I suppose I'll read the last paper we received. I never bother with the politics, but I've nothing better to do.”
“You could always clean the gutter,” Mrs. Keitel mentioned.
“I want the dew to clear first. I wouldn't want to slip off the roof.”
“Always with the excuses.” Mrs. Keitel chortled.
Mr. Keitel grinned, as he dusted off the front page.
ECONOMIC OUTPUT UP BY 2.9% THIS QUARTER, TREBLED IN PAST FOUR YEARS
The headline was complemented by a photograph of beaming officials, grouped outside an armaments factory. Mr. Keitel skimmed through the article, stopping on a quote by one of the officials.
'We must be prepared for every eventuality. The defence of our great nation is paramount, and a strong, competitive economy is one way to remain vigilant against all opposition, both internal and external.'
“What a load of crap,” he mumbled. “What's the government called again?”
“Socialist, I think.” Mrs. Keitel replied. “Or was it National Socialist? Is there a difference?”
“They're all the same to me. Always blustering or posturing about something. That's the exact reason we came out here: for some peace and quiet, and an escape from all this nonsense,” Mr. Keitel announced, as he tapped the newspaper accusingly.
“At least they're better than Hindenburg. We have food on the table these days,” Mrs. Keitel interjected.
“I just don't understand why all these weapons are needed. Who are our enemies?”
“I have no clue, dear. That's for the government to deal with,” Mrs. Keitel responded, wiping the kitchen table.
“I just hope they know what they're doing,” Mr. Keitel mumbled, flipping through the newspaper.
“Well, they managed to put food back on our plates. So they've done all right by me.”
The next morning, Mr. Keitel sat in the living room, ears perked for the sound of Klaus' truck clattering down the dirt road.
“He's usually here by now,” he grumbled. “Perhaps the storm held him up.”
“Yes, last night's was especially violent,” Mrs. Keitel agreed, “Still, I've nothing for breakfast. If he doesn't come by lunchtime, we'll need to go into town.”
“We haven't been there in years. Perhaps we should just wait for Klaus,” Mr. Keitel said nervously, wringing his hands.
Mrs. Keitel sighed sympathetically, “I know that this is difficult for you, but-”
“It's not difficult. I just think that it would be better to wait.” he snapped.
Mrs. Keitel paused, “We may have some millet in the cupboard. I'll make porridge.”
Throughout the day, a dense silence permeated the air, as Mr. Keitel sat subdued in the living room. Eventually, Mrs. Keitel wandered up to his armchair, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Perhaps you can pick up your crossword puzzles while we're there,” she said quietly.
Mr. Keitel sighed, and looked up at his wife.
“I suppose you have always wanted to start a vegetable garden. I'm sure they'll have seeds at the garden centre.”
Mrs. Keitel smiled, as he arose from his armchair with a groan, shuffling over to the coat-rack. Mrs. Keitel followed, and proceeded to clean off her shoes with a teacloth. Mr. Keitel dusted his overcoat, picking off fluffs and hairs.
“Are you ready?” Mrs. Keitel asked.
“As I'm going to be.”
They stepped outside, blinking in the light.
“Which way is the town again?” Mr. Keitel asked.
“We can probably just follow Klaus' tyre tracks.”
Mr. Keitel laughed, “You always were much cleverer than me.”
Mrs. Keitel giggled, and held her husband's hand, as they both walked down the beaten dirt track to town. The path was flanked by towering evergreens, and dense thickets lined the forest. Insects could be heard chirping in the tall grasses, and birds fluttered in the trees above.
“We're walking towards the forest fire,” Mr. Keitel noticed. “I hope the town is all right.”
“That's what the fire service is for,” Mrs. Keitel replied. “I could really go for some chocolate while we're there. It's been much too long since I last had chocolate.”
“I'm just looking forward to my crosswords. They might even have some puzzle books in the book-store.”
They walked for two hours, eventually approaching a steep hill. Smoke billowed from behind it, and fire could be hear cackling nearby.
Mrs. Keitel hesitated, “Is it safe to continue?”
“Wait here, dear. I'll take a look.” Mr. Keitel struggled up the hill, using a large stick for support. When he reached the top, his jaw dropped at what lay before him.
“What is it?” Mrs. Keitel called. The town had been reduced to rubble. Shards of glass littered the upturned streets, as loose papers fluttered in the wind. Smoke billowed from burnt-out houses, as their crumbled walls lay demolished on the ground. Soldiers could be heard barking orders, directing muddied people into military trucks.
Mrs. Keitel hurried up the hill, and looked down at the decimated town in subdued silence.
“What happened?” she whispered.
But before Mr. Keitel could muster a response, two soldiers ran towards them.
“What are you doing here? All civilians are being evacuated,” the older one demanded.
“What happened?” Mrs. Keitel repeated.
The soldier hesitated, “It's another Allied air raid. They're coming this way, headed for Berlin. All civilians must be evacuated for their own safety.”
“Allies?” Mr. Keitel murmured.
“I don't have time for this,” he growled. “Come this way.”
The older soldier took Mr. Keitel by the arm, as the younger one gently directed Mrs. Keitel. As they waded through the rubble, they passed by a burning truck, its windows shattered and scattered across the road. Inside, lay a young man, blood staining his white shirt, mouth hanging agape. On the back of the truck was a bundle of food and water, torn open and spilling onto the road. Lying in the pile, stained brown with thick dust, was a small book of crossword puzzles.