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Struggle For Power

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New member
Jun 14, 2008
So here is one of my many ideas I've worked on for a book. I don't personally like it but many of my friends do so I've continued working on it. Please tell me what you think, I'm completely open to criticism.

Chapter 1​

A small boy, around the age of nine sat in front of the television as he did every Saturday morning watching his favorite cartoons and playing with his Power Rangers. Just moments ago his mother had told him what she always repeated right before leaving to the store.

“Don’t leave this house and don’t let anyone in until I’m home. You understand me Keaton?” his mother said.

“Yes mom I promise I won’t go anywhere.” Keaton said in a monotoneistic voice, like usual.

Keaton scooted closer to the television as the new episode came on, now sitting only a few inches away from it, still playing with his toys. Then suddenly the phone rang and without a second thought the child dropped his toys and sprinted to the phone. Quickly he answered the phone.

“Hello?” Keaton said in his small child voice.

“Keaton..is that you?” a mans voice said on the other line.

“Daddy! Yes daddy it’s me.” He said with excitement in his voice.

“Is your mother home? I need to speak to her immediately.” His father answered in rapid voice so his words were hard to understand.

“No, she just left to the store. She says we’re having meatloaf for dinner… YUCK. When are you coming home from New York daddy?”

“It’s going to be a long time, longer than I expected. Now listen closely, I want you to know I love you and mommy very much. And-“ there was beating on a door and yelling in the background. “Tell mommy something terrible has gone wrong. Now hang up the phone.” His dad said.

“Daddy are you okay? It sounds like you’re crying. Is-“

“I’m fine now hang up the phone.”

Obediently Keaton set down the phone. Just before the phone touched the receiver there was a bang and yelling from the phone, then a gunshot. Keaton stood silent and teary eyed. Slowly he moved to the sofa and sat in silence. He picked up the remote grudgingly and changed the channel flipping past several stations he felt like something told him to go back a few. Stopping it on a news station he listened intently as the new caster from Channel 11 came on.

“This breaking news.” The news man said in his deep voice his lips trembling as he spoke. “We have just gotten word that there is now a full scale terrorist attack on New York City. Officials say that there have been several people killed and that the entire city is not being help hostage. Here are some live shots of the city now from one of our helicopters.”

A video flashed on of a birds eye few of the city. You could see people running between cars trying to run from people with guns. Men, women, children everyone was trying to escape. Then a faint bang was heard and several bodies hit the cold pavement with a thud. Just as the camera began to turn the screen went blank just as an RPG hit the helicopter. The television went fuzzy then the news caster came back.

“Ladies and gentlemen New York has just been declared a dead zone. Nobody goes in and nobody comes out.” He finished as Keaton turned off the television. A silent tear slid down his cheek as he lowered his head onto the warm cushion of the old sofa and closed his eyes drifting into a deep sleep. Keaton laid there shaking still asleep until his mother came home.

Several weeks past until it was time for the funeral. The body was never recovered. How odd Keaton thought to attend a funeral with nobody in the casket. He sat in the front row with his mother as the father began to ceremony. Between words weeping and sniffs could be heard throughout the room. Keaton looked around with tears in his eyes trying to fight them back and look strong for his mother. He was a smart child for his age and realized he now had to be the man of the family, especially with another baby on the way for the family. As a tear finally managed to slide down his face he quickly wiped it off with the edge of his sleeve, hoping nobody had seen then blinking the rest away.

None of the words that the Father said made since to him. To be perfectly honest he didn’t really even listen. He knew he should but he couldn’t for he knew he would cry and only make him more confused. The only word his ears picked up on was his fathers name. Charles. Charles this, and Charles that. Every time his name was said it felt as if a knife was stabbed into Keatons stomach, making him feel sick and dizzy. Slowly he closed his eyes as if when he opened them he would be home with his mother and father, watching a movie, or perhaps playing a game and laughing like they always did.

An hour or so passed until the funeral ended. Without a word they stood up and walked to the parking lot being stopped by crying guests and others apologies at their loss. Keaton walked with his hands in his pocket and his head down until they reached the car. It was a nice car a cherry red 2008 mustang with black leather seats. After a minute or so of digging in her purse his mother pulled out the key and unlocked the door solemnly and stepped in. Keaton jerked on the door opening it faster than he had expected and knocked him down scraping his elbow. Quickly he jumped up, and into the car closing the door slowly behind him.

“Are you okay Keaton?” his mother asked in her soft motherly voice.

“I’m- I’m fine.” He answered brushing the dirt off his elbows and buckling the seat belt.

They pulled out of the parking lot and out into the bust street. Sleep began to creep up on Keaton like a hungry monster causing him to lean his head against the window. He looked into the mirror at himself. Keaton was a small boy with light brown hair to the beginning of his nose and dark blue eyes. He was smaller than the rest of the boys and he often got made fun of for this. He had always wanted to play football though his built was for tennis, so likely he played it. He was good at it despite the fact he believed he could be a pro at football. His mother often made fun of him saying they would need to find a 4 year old girl for him to play football with.

With the sun beating on his face Keaton closed his eyes and before too long sleep took a hold of him. His mother listened as the steady rhythm of his breathing began. She looked at him and a smile crept across her face. He had no clue how proud of his she was. Leaning over at a read light she kissed his cheek and ran her hand through his hair. Another tear formed in her eye as she pressed the gas peddle slowly not stopping again until the reached home.

The pulled up to a decent sized white house with several toys in the front yard. It was two stories with blue shutters on the windows. A flat roof on the garage and a wind above it making it a perfect spot to lay and watch the stars at night, which Keaton often did. Looking his mother held up a hand to block out the sun seeing that it was setting. Getting out of the car the quietly closing her door and walking around opening his door slowly and reached across to undo his seat built. Then sliding one hand on his back and the other under his legs she picked him up and out of the car kicking the door with her leg to close it.

Stepping up the steps to the porch a sharp pain in her knee shot up and down her leg. Stumbling a little she fell and woke up Keaton as she landed in the grass with a thud sending Keaton tumbling head on end.

“Damnit” she grumbled as she took off her high heels and looked at Keaton. “Honey, are you okay? I’m so sorry.”

Rubbing his eyes he replied. “Yeah- I’m fine, just fine. What are we doing out here?” he said looking around then shrugging. “I had the worst nightmare! Daddy died and we were at his funeral and..” then the truth sunk in.

Knowing that he would never be able to run to the door every evening grabbing his dad. Knowing he would never again be able to look in the stands after he hit a bad shot in a tennis match, and see his reassuring face. Or the fact that he would never again sit on the couch when his mom wasn’t home leaning against his dads chest with his arm around him, watching some cheesy horror movie, or action flick.

Tears began to weld up in his eyes and he ran to his mother who was now standing. Grabbing the end of her dress he clenched it not daring to let go, rubbing the warm tears that now ran down his face like a river onto the corner of the jet black dress.

“It’ll be okay.. I promise.” She said taking his hand and walking up the steps and opening the big red door leading into the dark home letting Keaton run inside and up the stairs followed by a bang from his door. Then remembering the mail she reached out the door and pulled the mail out looking at the front envelope which was just another bill. Flipping that one to the back the looked at the next, another bill. Walking into the kitchen she looked at the next which said.

To: Cynthia Jones
5407 67th st.
Emerson, New Jersey 6074

Her hear sank like a rock looking up at the return address. It was from the hospital. Pulling out a chair from the kitchen table she sat down. With a shaky hand she opened her letter. Reaching in the pulled out a piece of paper which was folded several times. Her heart raced as she unfolded it piece by piece until it laid bent in her hands a began to read. She reached the end of the letter and her stomach knotted up, tears began to run down her cheeks. Cynthia dropped her head onto her arms folded on the table as she began to cry. Forcing herself up she walked begrudgingly to her room reaching behind her as she shut the door then fell onto her bed like a heap of clothes she waited until sleep took the best of her and she drifted into sleep.
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