Post by Mr. Showtime on Jan 31, 2012 18:36:15 GMT -5
So I entered another Short Story Contest and here is what I was able to produce. The Genre/Subject/Character all had to be the same as the 25 others in my heat. Any feedback would be great;
Title: What's in a Name
Genre: Historic Fiction
Subject: A Riot
Character: A Philanderer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The date was March fifth in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy, and the tavern on King Street, in Boston, Massachusetts Bay, was all a buzz over numerous topics. Some men sat idly by speaking of business, while others passionately discuss the unjustness of the newly enacted Townshend Acts. The tensions ran high in this part of the colonies and the increase of British Regiments of Foot did not help to quell the situation.
“It is a travesty,” bellows a young man, slamming his mug of ale down on the table, some of its content sloshing out.
“You get too riled up Theodor,” replied his acquaintance with a sly smile.
“They have even added duties to paper and tea, Barnaby,” Theodor continued his rant.
“And like I always say, you never mess with a man’s tea.”
“Be serious,” pleads Theodor, not enjoying the fact his friend was openly mocking him. “These new laws have begun to stir up talks of Freedom. A revolution.”
“Just a lot of talk from a group of blowhards if you ask me.”
“You never take anything seriously, my friend,” sadly admitted Theodor. “Don’t you care about freedom? Liberty?”
“Of course I care about Freedom and she is standing right over there,” answered Barnaby drawing his counterpart’s attention to a beautiful young lass cleaning one of the tables adjacent to the bar. Her face turned a deep red when she noticed that the duo had been looking in her direction. “And I am hoping to liberate her of her undergarments tonight as well.”
“You disgust me sometimes you know that,” Theodor told his friend, his face flushing a bit as well.
“I know, but I just can’t help myself. These Bostonian females really know how to get my blood pumping.”
“Don’t you get tired of the meaningless relationships?” asked a somber Theodor to his promiscuous friend.
“Do the fish get tired of the sea? Do cows get tired of chewing the grass? Do you get tired of droning on over finding your one true love? I think not.”
“I will find her Barnaby!” exclaimed Theodor, loud enough to get the patrons at the surrounding tables to turn their attention on the two men.
“You know that true love is a farce?”
“Lies! You are nothing more than a cynic.”
“It’s true my friend and the sooner you realize it, the better off you will be,” continued Barnaby, only trying to goat his friend into an argument. “Even the great tales of our forefathers show us that true love ends in nothing but disaster. Romeo and Juliet, Paris and Helena, Orpheus and Eurydice. The world’s greatest lovers all end in tragedy.”
“Bah, you are incorrigible.”
“Well thank you,” replied Barnaby. At that moment the two men heard a commotion coming from the other side of the nearby window. Barnaby opened his mouth to continue, but before he could Theodor is out of his chair and at the tavern door. He stopped to shoot Barnaby a look, which caused him to reluctantly raise from his table and follow into King Street. They had not been the only ones to hear the altercation taking place in the street. A small group had begun to collect around the Customs House.
“Is that Edward Garrick?” asked Theodor.
Indeed it was Edward Garrick, a wig maker’s apprentice, who had been shouting insults at one of the British Infantrymen. The soldier that was being insulted didn’t pay the wig maker much attention but his subordinate did.
“You should pay more respect to a Captain in his Majesties army,” shouts Private Huge White. He then slowly walks down the Custom House stairs to confront the Bostonian. The two heated men get nose to nose. Though Theodor and Barnaby had moved closer, they still could not hear what the two men spoke about. The body language of Private White could clearly be interpreted that he was trying to entice Garrick to engage in a physical confrontation.
“Boring,” yawned Barnaby as he slapped his friend on the shoulder and pointed back to the tavern. Theodor was slower to retreat, allowing him to witness the Private strike the unarmed Garrick on the side of the head with his loaded musket. Garrick screamed out in agony as he crumpled to the ground. It was then that one of Garrick’s companions approached the physical watchman and begun to shout at him.
“I cannot see anything, I am moving upfront,” stated a young man behind the two friends. They recognized him as Henry Knox, and Theodor began to follow him true. Barnaby, always being more of a lover than a fighter, allowed saner heads to prevail and grabbed his counterpart by the shoulder.
“You let Knox get arrested, we should stay towards the middle just in case,” warned Barnaby.
“You are a coward Barnaby,” spat Theodor with a look of disgust.
“Trust me my friend, you’ll thank me before the night is out,” reiterated Barnaby, but Theodor had liberty on the mind and wove his way through the crowd, which had grown significantly.
“If he fired he must die,” they heard Knox shout out trying to quell the tension. The thought that the soldiers might actually fire made Barnaby insist that he and his friend stay where they currently where. This time Theodor agreed, being significantly closer to the action. They were then able to notice that more British officers had arrived and they all stood on the Custom House stairs. They loaded their muskets and fixed their bayonets.
“I think we should go,” pleaded Barnaby, as he stared at the soldiers. “This crowd is beginning to become unruly.”
“Would you not give your life to stop this tyranny?”
“I would, but I would not give my life for an unpaid wig. We must flee.”
The soldiers had now formed a semicircle around the front of the crowd, and were poised to stop anyone from advancing. In front of the soldiers was the officer of the watch, Captain Thomas Preston. He had been trying to quiet the crowd at no avail.
“For God’s sake, take care of your men,” shouted Knox trying to dilute the situation again. “If they fire, you must die!”
“I am aware,” shouted the Captain. “They shall not fire unless I order, and as I stand before them they will not risk my harm.” Again he tried to quiet the angry mob as the church bells rang out. Usually to signify a fire in the city, the bells caused more people to flood into the streets. There were well more people than a handful of soldiers would be able to handle.
Theodor turned back to his friend who now was more concerned with the pair of women who had stepped next to them in the crowd. He was in the process of explaining the events leading up to this moment in time. Assuring them that he and Theodor had only come out here to try and help their brave friend who’d been struck by rogue soldier.
“This unjustness will not be tolerated,” bellowed Barnaby causing a cheer to upraise from the mob. The women looked thoroughly impressed.
“What are you doing?” asked a confused Theodor in a hushed tone.
“I told you, these Bostonian women get my blood pumping,” he answered with a wink. Then he turned on his friend by saying, “What is the problem young Theodor? Would you not give your life to stop this tyranny?”
Clearly perturbed by the insults of his friend, which were only to impress the two young ladies. Barnaby looked to Theodor to say something and when he didn’t Barnaby said in a hushed tone, “Come on Theodor, who knows, maybe one of these ladies is your true love.” At the thought of finding his true love Theodor pushes his friend aside and with a handful of snow tossed a snowball at the soldiers. What young men wouldn’t do for love?
This caused the crowd to join in throwing snow and small objects. Some even began to yell to the soldiers to fire, which they knew they wouldn’t unless ordered. With the ladies impressed with their bravery and the two extremely happy with that fact. They saw that the local inn keeper had approached the soldiers with his cudgel in hand.
“Isn’t that Mr. Palmes?” asked Theodor, and with a sullen face Barnaby nodded. “Remember the last time you saw him yielding his trusty cudgel?”
Barnaby rubbed the side of his head, “I remember oh too well. That man does not like to find strange men in his daughter’s quarters.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Have you seen his daughter,” asked Barnaby with a twang of insult carried in his voice. “Of course it was worth it. I am going to try and return the favor.” Barnaby picked up a stone and packed now around it. He launched it at the inn keeper but missed his mark. Instead he hit one of the Privates in the head causing him to drop his loaded musket. A shot rang out through the night, right into the crowd.
The Private recovered his weapon and yelled to his fellow men, “Damn you, fire!”
Under the protest of Captain Preston, a ragged series of shots tore through the crowd hitting several men. Palmes brought down his club hard on the clumsy private’s arm then aimed a swing at the head of Captain Preston. Luckily for Preston he had moved and it only connected with his arm.
There was a panic that ensued that caused the gathered people to leave the customs house, but remained in the streets. More people emerged from their homes at the sound of the gunfire to join the angry mob. A mob that had begun to turn into a full on riot. Captain Preston informed his men to return to the barracks and ordered the whole regiment to take up defensive positioning to protect the state house. The people were clearly angry with the assault on the group of unarmed gatherers.
Theodor and Barnaby whisked their lady friends away towards the State House, where the 29th Regiment had already gathered. They joined a group of protestors who had gathered, demanding the governor to act. After some time of yelling the governor emerged onto his balcony to appease the crowd.
“Please fine people of Boston, calm yourselves,” addressed Governor Thomas Hutchinson. “I have been briefed of the events that have transpired in front of the Customs house tonight. I assure you that we will make a fair inquiry into tonight’s shooting. That is only if you disband your mob and return to your homes. If order is not regained, there is nothing I can do.”
For most of the townspeople this was good enough to regain some semblance of order, but not for Theodor. He pulled Barnaby and the females from the crowd and took them to his workspace at the Boston Gazette. By trade Theodor worked the Gazette’s printing press, one day hoping to be the paper’s editor and chief. He begun to scurry around the printing press and gathered the tiles to start putting together the front page.
“So why are we here,” asked Barnaby.
“This incident will easily be swept under the rug by the political powers that be,” replied Theodor. “It is our duty to make sure that the word gets out.”
“I understand that you work for the Gazette, but everyone will be talking about this tomorrow.”
“Talk is cheap Barnaby, but there is no power like the written word,” explained Theodor. “All through the colonies, from Philadelphia to Atlanta, they will talk about the tyranny of tonight.”
“I believe in squashing this tyranny just as much as you,” said Barnaby, looking towards the ladies and shooting them a smile. “But it was an accident, you saw it.”
“Maybe the first shot was an accident, but the others soldiers fired on innocent people.”
“People die every day, Theodor,” explained Barnaby. “What makes you think people are going to care about a few poor individuals that were in the line of fire?”
“You’re right,” replied Theodor dejected, and then his tone turned to excitement. “Then we will have to make this sound what it truly was.”
“Please Theodor, listen to reason,” pleaded Barnaby. “This was no massacre.”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Theodor.
“What?” all three asked in unison.
“The headline for tomorrow’s paper will be, ‘The Boston Massacre.’ Let the British try to silence something as strong as that.”
“Let’s just hope no one can connect this to you, the governor will not be pleased.”
“They couldn’t link the Journal of Occurrences to me, what makes you assume that they will be able to get me on this?” asked Theodor. He worked late into the morning on his front page, his company falling asleep as he persevered by candlelight.
Title: What's in a Name
Genre: Historic Fiction
Subject: A Riot
Character: A Philanderer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The date was March fifth in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy, and the tavern on King Street, in Boston, Massachusetts Bay, was all a buzz over numerous topics. Some men sat idly by speaking of business, while others passionately discuss the unjustness of the newly enacted Townshend Acts. The tensions ran high in this part of the colonies and the increase of British Regiments of Foot did not help to quell the situation.
“It is a travesty,” bellows a young man, slamming his mug of ale down on the table, some of its content sloshing out.
“You get too riled up Theodor,” replied his acquaintance with a sly smile.
“They have even added duties to paper and tea, Barnaby,” Theodor continued his rant.
“And like I always say, you never mess with a man’s tea.”
“Be serious,” pleads Theodor, not enjoying the fact his friend was openly mocking him. “These new laws have begun to stir up talks of Freedom. A revolution.”
“Just a lot of talk from a group of blowhards if you ask me.”
“You never take anything seriously, my friend,” sadly admitted Theodor. “Don’t you care about freedom? Liberty?”
“Of course I care about Freedom and she is standing right over there,” answered Barnaby drawing his counterpart’s attention to a beautiful young lass cleaning one of the tables adjacent to the bar. Her face turned a deep red when she noticed that the duo had been looking in her direction. “And I am hoping to liberate her of her undergarments tonight as well.”
“You disgust me sometimes you know that,” Theodor told his friend, his face flushing a bit as well.
“I know, but I just can’t help myself. These Bostonian females really know how to get my blood pumping.”
“Don’t you get tired of the meaningless relationships?” asked a somber Theodor to his promiscuous friend.
“Do the fish get tired of the sea? Do cows get tired of chewing the grass? Do you get tired of droning on over finding your one true love? I think not.”
“I will find her Barnaby!” exclaimed Theodor, loud enough to get the patrons at the surrounding tables to turn their attention on the two men.
“You know that true love is a farce?”
“Lies! You are nothing more than a cynic.”
“It’s true my friend and the sooner you realize it, the better off you will be,” continued Barnaby, only trying to goat his friend into an argument. “Even the great tales of our forefathers show us that true love ends in nothing but disaster. Romeo and Juliet, Paris and Helena, Orpheus and Eurydice. The world’s greatest lovers all end in tragedy.”
“Bah, you are incorrigible.”
“Well thank you,” replied Barnaby. At that moment the two men heard a commotion coming from the other side of the nearby window. Barnaby opened his mouth to continue, but before he could Theodor is out of his chair and at the tavern door. He stopped to shoot Barnaby a look, which caused him to reluctantly raise from his table and follow into King Street. They had not been the only ones to hear the altercation taking place in the street. A small group had begun to collect around the Customs House.
“Is that Edward Garrick?” asked Theodor.
Indeed it was Edward Garrick, a wig maker’s apprentice, who had been shouting insults at one of the British Infantrymen. The soldier that was being insulted didn’t pay the wig maker much attention but his subordinate did.
“You should pay more respect to a Captain in his Majesties army,” shouts Private Huge White. He then slowly walks down the Custom House stairs to confront the Bostonian. The two heated men get nose to nose. Though Theodor and Barnaby had moved closer, they still could not hear what the two men spoke about. The body language of Private White could clearly be interpreted that he was trying to entice Garrick to engage in a physical confrontation.
“Boring,” yawned Barnaby as he slapped his friend on the shoulder and pointed back to the tavern. Theodor was slower to retreat, allowing him to witness the Private strike the unarmed Garrick on the side of the head with his loaded musket. Garrick screamed out in agony as he crumpled to the ground. It was then that one of Garrick’s companions approached the physical watchman and begun to shout at him.
“I cannot see anything, I am moving upfront,” stated a young man behind the two friends. They recognized him as Henry Knox, and Theodor began to follow him true. Barnaby, always being more of a lover than a fighter, allowed saner heads to prevail and grabbed his counterpart by the shoulder.
“You let Knox get arrested, we should stay towards the middle just in case,” warned Barnaby.
“You are a coward Barnaby,” spat Theodor with a look of disgust.
“Trust me my friend, you’ll thank me before the night is out,” reiterated Barnaby, but Theodor had liberty on the mind and wove his way through the crowd, which had grown significantly.
“If he fired he must die,” they heard Knox shout out trying to quell the tension. The thought that the soldiers might actually fire made Barnaby insist that he and his friend stay where they currently where. This time Theodor agreed, being significantly closer to the action. They were then able to notice that more British officers had arrived and they all stood on the Custom House stairs. They loaded their muskets and fixed their bayonets.
“I think we should go,” pleaded Barnaby, as he stared at the soldiers. “This crowd is beginning to become unruly.”
“Would you not give your life to stop this tyranny?”
“I would, but I would not give my life for an unpaid wig. We must flee.”
The soldiers had now formed a semicircle around the front of the crowd, and were poised to stop anyone from advancing. In front of the soldiers was the officer of the watch, Captain Thomas Preston. He had been trying to quiet the crowd at no avail.
“For God’s sake, take care of your men,” shouted Knox trying to dilute the situation again. “If they fire, you must die!”
“I am aware,” shouted the Captain. “They shall not fire unless I order, and as I stand before them they will not risk my harm.” Again he tried to quiet the angry mob as the church bells rang out. Usually to signify a fire in the city, the bells caused more people to flood into the streets. There were well more people than a handful of soldiers would be able to handle.
Theodor turned back to his friend who now was more concerned with the pair of women who had stepped next to them in the crowd. He was in the process of explaining the events leading up to this moment in time. Assuring them that he and Theodor had only come out here to try and help their brave friend who’d been struck by rogue soldier.
“This unjustness will not be tolerated,” bellowed Barnaby causing a cheer to upraise from the mob. The women looked thoroughly impressed.
“What are you doing?” asked a confused Theodor in a hushed tone.
“I told you, these Bostonian women get my blood pumping,” he answered with a wink. Then he turned on his friend by saying, “What is the problem young Theodor? Would you not give your life to stop this tyranny?”
Clearly perturbed by the insults of his friend, which were only to impress the two young ladies. Barnaby looked to Theodor to say something and when he didn’t Barnaby said in a hushed tone, “Come on Theodor, who knows, maybe one of these ladies is your true love.” At the thought of finding his true love Theodor pushes his friend aside and with a handful of snow tossed a snowball at the soldiers. What young men wouldn’t do for love?
This caused the crowd to join in throwing snow and small objects. Some even began to yell to the soldiers to fire, which they knew they wouldn’t unless ordered. With the ladies impressed with their bravery and the two extremely happy with that fact. They saw that the local inn keeper had approached the soldiers with his cudgel in hand.
“Isn’t that Mr. Palmes?” asked Theodor, and with a sullen face Barnaby nodded. “Remember the last time you saw him yielding his trusty cudgel?”
Barnaby rubbed the side of his head, “I remember oh too well. That man does not like to find strange men in his daughter’s quarters.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Have you seen his daughter,” asked Barnaby with a twang of insult carried in his voice. “Of course it was worth it. I am going to try and return the favor.” Barnaby picked up a stone and packed now around it. He launched it at the inn keeper but missed his mark. Instead he hit one of the Privates in the head causing him to drop his loaded musket. A shot rang out through the night, right into the crowd.
The Private recovered his weapon and yelled to his fellow men, “Damn you, fire!”
Under the protest of Captain Preston, a ragged series of shots tore through the crowd hitting several men. Palmes brought down his club hard on the clumsy private’s arm then aimed a swing at the head of Captain Preston. Luckily for Preston he had moved and it only connected with his arm.
There was a panic that ensued that caused the gathered people to leave the customs house, but remained in the streets. More people emerged from their homes at the sound of the gunfire to join the angry mob. A mob that had begun to turn into a full on riot. Captain Preston informed his men to return to the barracks and ordered the whole regiment to take up defensive positioning to protect the state house. The people were clearly angry with the assault on the group of unarmed gatherers.
Theodor and Barnaby whisked their lady friends away towards the State House, where the 29th Regiment had already gathered. They joined a group of protestors who had gathered, demanding the governor to act. After some time of yelling the governor emerged onto his balcony to appease the crowd.
“Please fine people of Boston, calm yourselves,” addressed Governor Thomas Hutchinson. “I have been briefed of the events that have transpired in front of the Customs house tonight. I assure you that we will make a fair inquiry into tonight’s shooting. That is only if you disband your mob and return to your homes. If order is not regained, there is nothing I can do.”
For most of the townspeople this was good enough to regain some semblance of order, but not for Theodor. He pulled Barnaby and the females from the crowd and took them to his workspace at the Boston Gazette. By trade Theodor worked the Gazette’s printing press, one day hoping to be the paper’s editor and chief. He begun to scurry around the printing press and gathered the tiles to start putting together the front page.
“So why are we here,” asked Barnaby.
“This incident will easily be swept under the rug by the political powers that be,” replied Theodor. “It is our duty to make sure that the word gets out.”
“I understand that you work for the Gazette, but everyone will be talking about this tomorrow.”
“Talk is cheap Barnaby, but there is no power like the written word,” explained Theodor. “All through the colonies, from Philadelphia to Atlanta, they will talk about the tyranny of tonight.”
“I believe in squashing this tyranny just as much as you,” said Barnaby, looking towards the ladies and shooting them a smile. “But it was an accident, you saw it.”
“Maybe the first shot was an accident, but the others soldiers fired on innocent people.”
“People die every day, Theodor,” explained Barnaby. “What makes you think people are going to care about a few poor individuals that were in the line of fire?”
“You’re right,” replied Theodor dejected, and then his tone turned to excitement. “Then we will have to make this sound what it truly was.”
“Please Theodor, listen to reason,” pleaded Barnaby. “This was no massacre.”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Theodor.
“What?” all three asked in unison.
“The headline for tomorrow’s paper will be, ‘The Boston Massacre.’ Let the British try to silence something as strong as that.”
“Let’s just hope no one can connect this to you, the governor will not be pleased.”
“They couldn’t link the Journal of Occurrences to me, what makes you assume that they will be able to get me on this?” asked Theodor. He worked late into the morning on his front page, his company falling asleep as he persevered by candlelight.