short story I found on my old laptop that I wrote when I was a kid. It's pretty badly written, and I think it only needs better polishing. I thought I should post the original before polishing, since all you guys are so good at that anyway
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The young boy sat there, letting the wind blow on this face. He watched a man study a tree in the beautiful orchard, which was now blossoming thanks to the wonders of spring. The man had his hand on his head and looked very confused. Every now and again he would consult a book, and take notes on a sheet.
“What are you looking at, sir?” the young boy asked in his bored tone. The boy succumbed to boredom too easily, like most his age. He normally spent most of the time in the orchard finding old and mouldy apples, then throwing them against a wooden post like target practise.
Today, however, was different. Today, the man had stridden into the orchard with a smile on his face, and half way through his gazes and experiments, had cried out in success. He was writing frantically on his creased piece of paper. This caught the boy’s interest, so instead he sat on a piece of ground next to the man, taking cheeky glances at his work occasionally. These glances soon became a challenge, and the boy began to annoy the busy man.
“This, my young boy, will change history.” The man replied, giving the boy the first smile he had ever given him.
What happened next happened so fast.
A sound rang out through the silent orchard. It started as a very high pitched whine, but soon turned into static. The boy looked around for the source of the sound in confusion. Instead of finding the exact source, something else caught the boy’s attention.
The man and the boy were not alone in the orchard. Now there was another man, standing next to the physicist. He was holding something in his hand, and had an expression of anger on his face. His clothes were like none the boy had ever seen before. He wore green pads on his sheets over his chest. They looked as hard as stone, and on his head he wore an unusual helmet. It was also green, but it had a net with leaves poking out of it. The man himself had cuts and dirt spread randomly over his body.
The new man did something to the thing in his hand, and suddenly, the smart man was on the floor, holding a hole in his chest. Blood was pouring from the hole like a blocked drain.
The boy stood up in shock and drew his hands to his gaping mouth. The new man looked up to him with a look of pain in his eyes.
“For the love of god, people can’t get too smart,” was all he said, in a croaky voice. The high-pitched noise grew louder, and the static returned. The man disappeared, and all that was left of his presence was a dying physicist and a small piece of metal in the same man’s chest.
The young boy fell down to the man’s side, with tears running down his cheeks.
“Doctor Isaac, sir! Please, Dr. Isaac, talk to me!” but the man’s eyes were already white and had a layer of bacteria over them. He was surely dead.
The boy stood quickly and ran from the orchard. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, pumping his muscles harder and harder. He had to find help. What Mr. Newton had found was too great to pass up. He said it would change history. Isaac had to survive.
What was that thing he was working on?
Gravity?
The boy couldn’t remember.
