The Street Home

My last Creative Writing assignment was to write a short that began with the line "It was a dark and stormy night"

I wasn't thrilled so I took it as a joke and decided to make fun of it. Hope it's enjoyable.

The Street Home

It was a dark and stormy night, and I needed to get home. Thunder cracked menacingly above as I smiled into the sky. Dawn was due within the hour, and my quota had been filled. I even managed to obtain a surplus, and I hefted the extra along in a specially designed briefcase. As I headed down the damp but busy street, I couldn’t help but feel good. What with everyone running to and fro, doing their thing so urgently you would’ve thought the apocalypse had been announced. I was seemingly the only relaxed, content person in sight, and everyone and everything else was in a perpetual hurry.

As I approached the narrowest section of the street, where the sub-divisions on either side seemed to lean inwards over the road, I knew what to expect. “IT’S ALIVE!!!!” Yea yea, Frank, we all know, give us a break. The triumphant declaration had escaped from the open window of the most crooked house in the alleyway. There were hundreds of thick black cables running up, down, and across the façade which seemed to weigh the whole thing down. Old Frank sure was a crazy bastard.

After passing by the scientist’s place, I came to the start of the busiest few blocks of the street. To the right, through a window, I caught a splash of the good red stuff soak a shower curtain. Norman’s hand reared back for another go, but I looked away, distracted by obnoxious noise. “MAY THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELL YOU!” Some fool was repeatedly shouting from a few stories up on the other side of the street. I couldn’t see where it was coming from, but I knew it had to be some lunatic.

I tried to turn my attention away from the shouting by looking back down the street. Some tired, perturbed looking mother was pushing a big black carriage up the sidewalk towards me. The baby was being kept dry by the carriage’s roof, and he was a cute little bugger, disregarding the triangle of six’s which looked to be stamped onto his forehead. Then there was the sharp sound of shattering glass, and I felt my heart freeze as I saw a priest plummet towards the carriage. The mother swerved quickly and managed to veer clear. I sighed, relieved, as I watched the body slap safely into the sidewalk behind her. At least the shouting had stopped.

I had come to the major intersection of the street, and the traffic was so thick and slow that I had to, at least temporarily, abandon any notion of progress. So I sat my brief case down and checked the time, finding I didn’t have much left. An old, rimless, beat up, and generally shady looking van with the huge words “FREE CANDY” scrawled on the side was stopped in front of me. Two teenage girls to my right were debating whether or not to take the driver up on the offer. Just then a ghoulish scream came from an alley that was behind us about half a block, followed by a disturbing cracking. “Oooh, wonder what that was! I’m gonna go investigate!” said one girl enthusiastically, before running off alone. The girl still standing next to me watched her friend disappear into the alleyway, and heard the scream that came shortly after. “Hey! Stop kidding around Kath! I know you’re just trying to scare me, quit it!” She pauses expectantly for a few moments. “Oh no… Kath!? I know you’re there, I’m coming to find you!”

I just shook my head as she ran off towards the alleyway. The traffic had eased up enough to make a crossing. Nothing else eventful happened on the way home, and while I was finally approaching my place I saw the familiar sight of my neighbors on either side. That old wench to the right, sweeping around her stoup as usual, gave me a nasty stare. Her warts always seemed bigger each time you saw her, and she hung to that broom as if it were a part of her. Never said a word, would just mutter curses under her breath at you as you passed. To the left, I saw my neighbor Jack through a window, freaking out at his wife, undoubtedly telling her for the millionth time that “All work and no play make Jack a dull boy,” whatever the hell that means.

I just ignored both sides and went straight into my home; didn’t even take the time to have a snack before bed. I threw my brief case in the refrigerator, hurried down stairs, and jumped into my coffin. “Crazy bastards,” I said, before warm sleep enveloped me.

HAHAHAHA! That's brilliant!

Thank you, glad you enjoyed it.

Indeed, it was quite refreshing. One iconic scene after another. ^_^

Hey APEist, next time your teacher tells you to write that phrase synonymous with bad writing, tell him or her about this:
Bad writing contest
(Friends are always urging me to enter that contest, but I tell them that bad writing is too close to the real thing in my case!)

Your piece isn't "bad writing" at all, and its clever allusions make it a good example of postmodernism. The only one missing is Eisenstein's baby carriage hurtling down the palace steps. My only misgiving is: would the average reader be media savvy enough to get the jokes?

Not that yours truly is the hippest person on the planet, mind you, but I did enjoy it!

Hahaha! That link cracked me up, especially that picture of the cover.

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/nextbook.htm

"A Collection of the Worst Fiction Ever Written"

Priceless.

By the way, your comments and thoughts are much appreciated. Valued more than most others, I should say.