The KillersSep 29 '02 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line This is my first short story and I know it isn't that great. I am hoping someone with a little more experience could give me some pointers. Thanks. :)
An assignment in creative writing class was to pick a random story from a book of Ernest Hemingway's short stories and read it. Then we were supposed to write our own short story that was somehow related to the one we read. I chose to rewrite The Killers. The Killers The door of Henry’s Diner opened with a jingle of bells. Two men sat down at the counter. George, the waiter, came out from the swinging door to the kitchen and said, ‘’What’ll ya have?” ‘’I’ll have a roast pork tenderloin with applesauce and mashed potatoes,” the first man said. “Sorry we’re not serving dinner yet. It’s only five o’clock.” Outside the streetlight flickered on. At this time of year it got dark at Summit Point around then. “Why not? It’s already dark out and I came in here for dinner,” the first man yelled at George. He glanced at his friend who he came in with. Al was his name. Nick Adams lived in Summit Point all his life. He was about 25 and was a regular at the diner. He went to school with George and worked down the block at the carpet store. From across the empty room, the man and Al heard, “I recommend the steak sandwich.” Al said, “Give me chicken croquettes with green peas and cream sauce and mashed potatoes… extra gravy.” “That’s dinner. I can make you a sandwich. Or how ‘bout some soup?” “Max, this boy says he can get us soup. What do you think about that?” By this time, Nick looked up. Max replied, ‘I don’t want any God-damn soup.” As he pulled a shiny black gun from his grey buttoned overcoat, he said, “Make us our dinners.” “R-right away sir.” George inched toward the kitchen with Max right behind him. Ten minutes later they returned with two piping hot plates. Al in the meantime had tied up Nick to the counter. “What do you want from us?” George said hesitantly. With his mouth full, Al replied, “You know Iron Anderson?” “You mean Andy? Sure. He’s in here all the time. He just came back from Chicago. Too bad he lost that fight.” “We were told he comes in here every day at six” “Yep. Almost every day. It’s getting near six now. Why do you need to see Andy? Said George. “A friend told us about him. We’ll all wait ‘till he gets here.” Al and Max finished their dinner in silence, except for the sound of the forks scratching against the plates. “Where the hell is he? “ Max screamed at George. “I-I don’t know. “ George looked up and said, ”If he’s not here by now, he’s not coming.” Max pulled Al aside. “What the hell are we supposed to do? We can’t wait here until tomorrow night. And we’ve been damn lucky no one else has showed up.” “ I have an idea. And just loud enough for the tied up men to hear, ”Someone else’ll just have to kill ‘im. We can’t stay here much longer.’ “Thank you boys. Great meal.” And that was it. Al and Max left the diner with a jangling of the overhead bells. They drove off in a small, rusty car and disappeared around the corner. The clock struck 8. Henry walked in and found George and Nick tied up. "What happened here?” “Weirdest thing. These two guys came in and tied us up. Said they were waiting for Andy. Left about an hour ago. We’ve been trying to get these ropes loose ever since.” Henry cut open the ropes with the kitchen shears. “I heard them say they wanted to kill him. I’m going to go over there and see if he’s alright.” Nick pulled up to the curb of a big grey house. He rang the bell and Mrs. Anderson answered the door. “Come in, come in.” “Andy in?” “Yes, he’s right upstairs. First door on the left.” A brown car pulled up two houses down. “I told you this would work.” “He can’t call the cops - no evidence. ”The two men waited for Nick to leave. Nick drove back to the diner to tell George about the encounter. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. They let us go all to easily after conveniently letting us overhear their plan. Let’s go back to Andy’s house.” The forest green door was ajar. The first floor smelled of chocolate chip cookies. Andy and his wife weren’t in sight. Nick and George tiptoed upstairs. With a running start, Nick knocked down the bedroom door like a linebacker. He played some football in high school. Max was leaning up against the door. The jolt slid him across the hardwood floor into the dresser - his gun flying under the bed. Al wasn’t sure what happened, but he began to draw his gun as a reflex. Iron Anderson, as he is called in the ring, kicked it out of his hand, landing it in the neighbor’s bushes. Mrs. Anderson hurried to the telephone to call the police. "Wow, this is a day we’ll never forget. Why did they want to kill you anyway?” “I'm not sure. They probably worked for Leonard Carlson though. He placed a big bet on my last fight in Chicago and I didn’t come through.” “Some people have such warped reasoning. If the police don’t have anymore questions, I think I’ll go home now.” “Alright. See you tomorrow. Thanks.”  |
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